A young woman I know, who was married within this past year, has just announced her pregnancy. I am delighted for her and her husband, and wish them and theirs all the very best.
I was surprised by the depth of memory that her announcement brought back for me: the recollections of what it was like to tell my parents, my coworkers; the strangeness of all the body changes; the slow-moving fish sensation deep within; the anticipation; the rigors (and tremendous difficulties) of labor and birth; and beyond. I am glad I have experienced these things. I am equally sure I would not want to experience them again.
If I could pick one part of it all to relive, I would like, once more, to feel the deep-rooted desire that led me to become a mother -- that hunger for something more than the moment, for something beyond myself; the commingled fear and joy and the infinite question of being open to the possibility of bringing forth a new life.
To yearn. It is what drives the species. To be past the age for that yearning is a freedom in one sense, and a loss in another. It's strange place to be. A no-man's land (no-woman's land?) of invisibility, undesirableness, irrelevancy. Now what, I wonder?
We shall have to wait and see.
Not Poetry Thursday
7 hours ago