“Living is like tearing through a museum.
Not until later do you really start absorbing what you saw….”
– Audrey Hepburn
Today I find myself questioning, well, myself. I keep wondering if there isn’t some deep part of me that may doubt my ability to be a good mother. May question whether I am truly ready. May dread the mess a child makes out of an organized life.
I wonder if there’s a part of me that fears the stress a baby would put on my marriage that already at times bends under the pressure of life. Is there a part of me, deep down there, maybe a wiser part than my consciousness, that’s keeping me from conceiving?
Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t about a feeling of being “at fault,” or “causing” this awful circumstance. I suppose it’s more of a philosophical questioning. Am I really ready?
My life is filled beyond full at the moment: working, teaching, finishing my PhD, being a friend, a wife, a daughter, managing to keep a house too big for the two of us in some semblance of order, cooking food to stay healthy, and caring for four animals—one nearly blind. So where in all of this does a baby fit in?
People say that I would find the room, the time, the space. But today I am wondering if I’m not blocking the arrival of this new life because some part of me just isn’t ready, or is simply too scared.
Have I been living my life like the frantic rush through the Louvre my husband and I made when in Paris with only one hour to spare? Maybe it is time for me to stop and absorb what I’ve seen.