I write from a place of primal desire and fear. Wanting to feel you in my womb and terrified of what you may experience as you grow. Wondering if my want is pure selfishness with no regard for what you will endure. The dichotomy is vast, and the fear is valid.

Flashbacks appear of when I failed to nurture sentient beings in my care. When my cravings and need to be alone outweigh another’s needs. Will I be fit for the task of ensuring you have all that you need to thrive? Do I deserve to be your mother? As the thoughts pass through, the tears begin to fall. The fear is immense and a dark cloud without the promise of rain. Does my body know that I am not capable and is therefore protecting you from inception?

The fear must not be unique to my experience. Other procreating hopefuls must also have the incessant thoughts that ebb and flow between desire and fear. Where are they and why aren’t we talking about it?

A dear friend told me that the fact that I am asking the questions shows I would be a capable mother. Logic tells me yes that is true, fear tells me not quite.

Before this desire to rear came back full force, I would tell others that every parent I meet is full of complaints and act like they hate their lives. Curating the happy face only for social media posts. Do I want that and is that what I will become? Is that what parenting consists of? Exhaustion, burnout, overwhelm, all iterations of the same state, unending weariness with no peace in sight.

Closing the doors on the fear of the responsibility and weight of raising a human and leaning into what is probably my far-fetched fantasy of being your mother.

The daydream begins with the first positive pregnancy test. The shock and delight that you are a possibility. The reassurance of every symptom that is attributed to fluctuating hormones and a changing body that is making space for you. The first flutters, hearing your heartbeat, kicks and stretches in the cozy space of my womb. The pain that will surely come for us both as you transition from the internal to the external. Joy of the sleepless nights just so I can look into your face as you learn to communicate your needs through cries and screams. The smell of pure innocence as I hold you in my arms and my heart overflows with all my desires for you.

As you grow, I would have the privilege of witnessing you experience the world around you through all your senses. Seeing the vastness of colors and shapes, hearing the sensations of music and the impulse to dance, touching the velvety smooth fur of a puppy, tasting your first strawberry from the garden, and smelling the sweet perfume of spring. Observing your curiosity through questions and exploration. Comforting you through hugs and kisses when it all seems too much to bear. Having the privilege to be your guide until you can learn to be your own.

This is my own fantasy. It is not rooted in reality, and I know there would be moments in between that are full of valid reasons for us both to complain and fear. Moments that bring up my own unhealed wounds and adaptations and the chance that I may project those onto you. Although I teeter on the precipice of retreat into the comfort of the known, I choose to continue the trek towards the possibility of one day experiencing my daydream become my reality. The daydream of loving you.

Continue pondering..