Do I want children?
I have always and will always have the answer to that question. Yes! Yes, I WANT children. I desire to have a child. I've, at various points, wished for a child. I love children. Rather I become a mother or not, I believe I will always have some degree of want for a child. Wanting a child is not the issue.
Will I be a good mother?
This is the question that causes the most angst. I can be somewhat of a mess. I have my issues, intricacies, and incongruences. I can have the best intentions and still not produce. I have said and did things that hurt people I love. I am difficult to live with. I am too stubborn, particular, and serious. I am me, and I am self-aware. When I examine myself fully, considering both my good and bad qualities, I cannot answer this question definitively.
Baby fever and parental fear have been concomitantly present in my adult life. The idea of being a catalyst for life, loving, teaching, and being connected to someone as a mother parallel to the fear of being a "bad" parent, passing down undesirable traits and habits, and hurting, in anyway, the child(ren) God entrusted me to care for has waged an emotion versus logic debate within myself.
Marriage was the deciding factor. When I became a wife, I experienced a raging case of baby fever. I definitely wanted a baby and motherhood.
I must have spent hundreds of dollars on pregnancy tests. I toyed with babies names. I would drag my then husband to the baby section of stores. I campaigned relentlessly for Baby McDonald. We were married. We would have a two parent household. (I didn't have that and most certainly wanted it for my future children.) We actually could support a child financially. Our parents would be active grandparents; we wouldn't even have to worry about childcare. Their first grandchild! I read lots of articles; everything doesn't have to be perfect.
In hindsight, thankfully my ex-husband was unwavering. In our three year course of marriage, I did not have a pregnancy or child.
Now, you can imagine how incredibly flabbergasted I was on Saturday, November 28, 2015 when I found out I was pregnant. Post separation from my husband, with an impending divorce; a single woman in a single income household, and I was pregnant. Nothing was according to my plan. The examination of every circumstance seemed to validate my fear of parenthood.
Even in the presence of that fear the baby fever and excitement would not subside. I immediately began planning life adjustments for Baby McMillian. No, everything was not ideal, but it had finally happened. I was pregnant! Afterall, I've always wanted a child. Wouldn't I do everything necessary to be a good mother?
On Saturday, December 5, 2016, exactly one week later, I had a spontaneous abortion. I was six weeks pregnant when I miscarried.
It was one of the most bizarre emotional weeks of my life. I couldn't help but feel like the target of an unkind joke. Most insulting to me, however, is that the experience did not resolve the baby fever or eradicate the parental fear.
Do I want children?
Absolutely.
Absolutely.
Will I be a good mother?
Sighs...
Sighs...
