It is a cool grey Sunday morning in Saskatoon. Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there. Anne Lamott’s May 8 post on the occasion is giving me pause for thought about the day and motherhood.
I’m realizing that in all my years I have always been a daughter and never a mother – that is except to my fur baby, Sheba. How does that making me feel deep inside? In a sense I feel that I’m still a child, waiting to grow up, to have that family and become a mother. I’m waiting to be authenticated so that I can truly start living. But I realize that it is a false feeling, generated by false assumptions of how we should be.
In all honesty, I have never had vision of a white picket fence, children or being domestic and in the kitchen. I confess that I have developed a love for cooking, baking and other domestic endeavours at this late date. I have to sew myself an apron so I can really feel and look the role.
I believe that we are here for different roles and purposes. Motherhood was not meant for me. I do not feel a loss or tragic about it. Life and love flows through different avenues and streets. Sometimes I encounter traffic jams and have to choose detours and roundabouts. Often I opt for the road less travelled even though it is more difficult.
Though I never saw the husband along with the white picket fence and motherhood, somehow there is a man on the premise. We have a white fence to keep our fur baby out of the garden patch.