Last Thursday, I went out and, slightly buzzed off life, bought some things. These clothes included a hat for myself, and a pair of overalls.
The overalls were for a baby. Tiny, green, and with a shirt boasting an all-over dinosaur print, the label proudly announced that the wearer of said overalls is a Dinosaur Expert.
I can only hope.
See, I realized, after I had gotten over the cold-water-dunking-booth of emotions that forgiving my father brought to the surface, that I was changing more than I could have ever forseen.
I have, over the years, been very vocal about my desire to not have kids. Kids were fine for people who wanted them, but not for me. I needed my free time. I didn’t want the expense, didn’t want to put my body through the turmoil of pregnancy, didn’t want to deal with a crying infant.
Didn’t want to pick the wrong man and end up a struggling single mother.
Didn’t want the emotional abuse I suffered as a child make me incapable of giving my children the love all children so rightly deserve.
Unpacking my hurt, and releasing it, made me see my fear for just what it was: fear. If there’s anything I am willing to fight against, it’s fear.
The excuses started to ring hollow in my ears the more my heart opened.
“Your body will be ruined!” “It doesn’t have to be, and what’s more valuable: a baby or some random people thinking I look hot?”
“You’re too old!” “Plenty of women have babies even later. Besides, despite all the older-mother shaming posts floating around social media, I feel that everyone is on their own path, and every path is valid and worthy.”
“What if your marriage falls apart?” “I don’t see that happening, but if it did, it wouldn’t make me stop loving my kids.”
Doubtless, there will be people who read this, who do not know me well, and who will nod and say it was only a matter of time, because I found the right man. As much as I love Mike, this is not the case. It was only by confronting MY personal demons that I was able to heal and reach the next step in my journey. I am so incredibly grateful that I have.
There are still many things I don’t know. I don’t know if I will carry my baby myself, or if we will adopt. I don’t know WHEN we will start the process of trying to become parents. I don’t know if I want one or two, boys or girls. (Okay, I want at least one boy.)
But as I held those little green overalls in my arms, I knew one thing, running swift and strong through my veins:
I want to be a mother.