I had a blind siding revelation last night. After years of declaring that I am not the maternal type, I discovered that in fact I am the maternal type. One that wants kids. What on earth happened? One minute I am trundling along in life, thinking smugly to myself that I am free of that responsibility and my life is my own and then KAPOW. Not so much.
I actually found myself wondering what it would be like to have a little person to care for, love, educate, look out for. And I found myself thinking that it sounded like something that I wanted to do. Like a burning inside of my being had been lit - the maternal spark if you will.
So what, many people may think. Millions of women have been having babies for millions of years. This is true. But the realisation that you are at a stage in your life when you think you are ready for motherhood should be worthy of some note, surely?
It was for me. The concept, and the physical and psychological and financial details, of parenthood still terrify me immensely, but the desire to have a crumpled and pinkish little bundle of joy snuggled in my arms is fast overtaking this fear. And I honestly have no clue where this desire came from.
You could argue it's 'natural', you could argue that it's socialised, but frankly, right now that doesn't matter so much for me. This unbidden maternal spark has been lit within me and no amount of reading Sylvia Plath is putting it out. It might just be a good thing.
I'm not sure. I haven't decided yet.