I have just been to a baby shower. The mum-to-be was glowing and looked so happy and excited. And watching all that… oh dear, I do worry.
I have written about this before but as the months and years pass by, I find myself freaking out more and more about my lack of maternal instinct. I have lovely friends that have amazingly gorgeous and clever children but a few hours with them is enough for me. I enjoy it but have no desire to have some of my own. I don’t have that gut instinct that tells me: “hell yeah, I want that!”
This is really starting to bug me now. I’ll be 33 years old this year and when I look at my friends, I start to feel left out because I’m not running around a baby like they are but, at the same time, I feel kind of lucky. I have the entire time to do the stuff I like, not having to worry about looking after someone else that needs my full attention. It must be exhausting. But then again, I must be missing out on something, as there must be something amazing about motherhood that I’m bound to enjoy. I just don’t know what it is, although I suppose I’ll only know when my baby finally arrives. Or so this is what they say!
I reckon it will be nice having a baby running around and saying cute and clever things. I reckon I will feel proud of my child and will love it all in the end. It’s just that I’m such a worrier by nature… I will worry about the birth for the full 9 months, I will worry about money, space, about the how my relationship will be affected, about losing myself as a person… and then can you imagine when the kid is in their teens and they go out? I’ll worry all night long and won’t get any sleep. And I need my sleep. Sometimes, it feels like motherhod is a no-return ticket to “worry land” when Ialready fight so hard on a daily basis to just chill out more.
I wish I was 5 years younger, which would mean that I’d have 5 years of “freedom” still. But unfortunately there isn’t such a thing as going back in time or adding years to one’s life, what a great shame!
Having said all that, I look around and think that if so many women are doing it, it must be good and I must be missing out. Hummm… I think I still have about a year to make my mind up and then go for it. I don’t want to be 45 and regret not having kids as I think it’s got to be amazing. It’s got to be. It’s got to be. Or so I’ll make myself believe.