I Can Only Imagine

 

I don’t have any children. I have never been pregnant (a couple of false alarms notwithstanding); however, I spend a tremendous amount of time thinking about my “children.” I think about their names ( Zurich Alexandra and Soren Daschle), their education and their perspective personalities.  I love them. I feel this primal, unexplainable love for these people who do not exist. I read blogs about motherhood, and I am convinced that I will be able to handle motherhood, marriage/civil union and work. I have already decided that my daughter and I will be a part of some organization akin to “The Mother-Daughter Project,” and, if dancing suits him, my son can be a ballerina.

I wonder if all this thinking about things that don’t exist is detrimental to my mental health. I mean, most people I know do not sit around thinking about their not-yet-conceived children. I hope I am not hanging the idea of some future happiness on the prospect of being a mother. Maybe being inadequately mothered is finally catching up to my psyche, and I am doing some serious compensating for my own sense of not being valued and loved by imagining the ways in which I will work to give my children a serious chance at health and wholeness.

Whatever the reason for my preoccupation with motherhood, I still try hard to be present in my life. I don’t want to make this stage in my life a dress rehearsal for “real life.” Yes, I am single and childless, but this stage is just as important as any other. So, I will continue to live, learn and love.