Mother’s day is a great day. It is a day to celebrate those who gave us life and those who simply love us for us. For some the day is fraught with emotion. Infertility or the loss of a child makes the day unbearable or even seemly cruel for those whose goal is to have children to love. What I find interesting is that no one focuses on those yet to be a mother, those who long for it, who have yet to get pregnant or even bear a child. Ever since I was in my early twenties, I’ve longed to have a family of my own. Granted, I didn’t marry until I was 33 – a choice not of my own making. I’ve been told by family and quite a few friends that I’d make a great mom. But the reality is I’ve yet to know that. Pregnancy is something of a mystery to me. I’ve yet to know the awe and wonder it is to carry a living being inside you. And it worries me to a degree – childbirth seems like so many unknowns can happen or go wrong and I don’t want that to happen to me. I long for a child in some ways. I’d want at least a few children of both genders, a house full of noisy loud kids that drive me both bonkers and let me love them dearly. I want the bedtime snuggles and the sticky hands and little dirty feet, bringing me dandelions from the lawn and earthworms from the garden. In some ways it feels impossible for me mainly my age being a major factor. But the longing is still there – an idol if there ever was one to be a mother. Its something that I will always hold within me – even after I have children.
