Sunday, May 8, 2011
Ben leaves his mom and runs to me, eager to start his day in day care. "Hi, Ben. I missed you." We share a hug.
"How many children do you have?" His mother asks.
"Oh, me? No, I don't have any. I'm not a mom," I confess.
"Too bad, you'll never know what it's like to love a child."
Her words pierce my heart. I feel numb, faint, cold, blind to light. My womb aches to be filled with life, my breasts with milk.
A boulder grows thick and heavy in my gut. Each time I hear a baby coo, giggle, or cry the rough edges of the boulder scarp against my stomach lining and I'm in pain.
How can I pass from virgin to crone without filling the role of mother?
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