Everyday. Ten Minutes. No stopping. Barely edited.
It’s only day three and too soon to give up. I had a haunting dream last night. And it haunted me all day. A little girl was mad, because things hadn’t gone her way. Is she my subconscious or is she someone real? She said I was supposed to be her mother. That I had to make things right and find her. I promised I would. I would find her, wherever she is. She said she didn’t know where she was going now. I told her I would find her. I would adopt her if she ended up in the wrong place or I would bring her into this world with my own body. Somehow. I don’t know if she’s already here somewhere or if she’s still waiting.
I have complicated feelings about motherhood. Because I know it’s in the cards for me. But I just don’t know how. There are many ways to be a mother.
I had visions of all the places this girl could be born. In Syria, in Africa, in Detroit, in Haiti, in Mexico, next door, or with me in a hospital with any number of men who could be her father. Any path could bring her to me.
Or maybe she is me. The me that is young, and wild, and free. Little girls are the strongest kind of people I know. They’re creative and resilient. They don’t mind skin knees and they hang upside down.
I’m afraid of motherhood. I don’t know if I want to have a little girl because I want to be a little girl again. I don’t want to worry what people think. I want to wear leggings and oversized t-shirts and pigtails.
I want to laugh and invent games with my friends and check out piles of books from the library.
I want to roll in the grass with my dog. I want the world where the only thing I had to blog about was puppies and the cast of Harry Potter. And quizzes about what kind of fruit I am.
I’m lucky because my childhood is not dead. My childhood friends are still close. Connected through social media and visits once or twice a year but always in my heart.
Little girls bend and do the splits like it’s nothing. Well, not me, I’ve never been able to touch my toes. Not even in grade school. But still, the sentiment of flexibility is there. But I’ve always had too much tension.
My body is full of tension and it finally caught up to me. It keeps me from doing all the things I want to. I don’t know if my small frame and strained muscles will ever be a home for new life. I never quite feel comfortable or free. But that’s a feeling that can come from within, despite the physical pain, we can be comfortable with ourselves.