When Will I Know You

(Author’s Note: I wrote this months before I coincidentally became pregnant. This is meant to mark a major turning point in my story.)

As my maternal clock tempts me into rushing toward motherhood, I resist until I am certain the circumstances speak well to me. Until the doubt has receded, when I will not fear the abandonment, divorce, entrapment and despair that has befallen the women of my past, when my feminist ideals permit me to surrender pursuit of a career to the potential joy of a baby.

I think of you often. Who might you be? Will you love me? Will you talk to me about your problems, consult me for guidance but be capable of finding your own answers? Will you adopt my principles and build upon them? Will you treasure my writings, my pondering about you? Will you be empathetic like me? Will you cry at the thought of an animal being mistreated? Will it anger you? Will you be bold enough to stand up for your beliefs, defend those unable to? Will you rise above the superficial, materialistic, judgmental and often insensitive influences of our culture? Will you be curious about other perspectives, about the questions of death and existence, or religion and not simply discard it as a weak or meaningless practice, nor fall entirely into its spell and encourage others to follow? What will you believe? Will you be able to uphold faith in something despite your awareness of its potential to be false? Will you understand the power of your thoughts on your actions, those around you, the course of your life?
Can I possibly teach you all of this?
Rather I should be asking, who will I be, what will I do as your parent. Hopefully, by monitoring my own choices in raising you, I will find that whoever you become is someone I will be proud to call my child.
I yearn for the experience of holding you to my breast and looking into the eyes of a soul I have been waiting to meet.
When will I meet you.