It's funny, and I can say this now because I'm on the flip side most of the time, but my biggest fears in those days were about judgment. The worst courtroom moments were when untrue and unflattering things were said about me; I knew the words were untrue but I feared that people would believe them and think less of me as a mother. I knew myself to be a nurturing mother who put her children first, and I wanted people to see that in me because I so strongly identified with the motherhood image I was holding. Now, only a few years later, I'm in a situation that a lot of people find objectionable or at least uncomfortable. I'm okay with their discomfort. It doesn't come from what people know about me but, rather, from the way they feel when they think the symbol of motherhood -- so sacrosanct -- has been threatened.
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Having housemates reminds me of the times that we've opened our home in the past -- various friends, a few relatives (niece and cousin), and once an entire extended family from Nicaragua who stayed during the time when our children were the smallest. It reminds me that we seem to thrive when we open our doors like this, and the more the better. We are all at our best when we're mingling with others.
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Barb Lee's documentary, Adopted (2008), tells the story of two families. First we meet Jennifer Fero, a thirty-two year old Korean woman adopted as an infant by an Oregon couple who experienced secondary infertility after having a son; the second storyline follows John and Jacqui Trainer, a New Hampshire couple who decide to adopt from China after their own long struggle with infertility.
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This is embarrassing. In my kitchen catchall drawer, buried among screwdrivers, packing tape, cough drops, and packages of batteries are rolls of undeveloped film. I'm sure other people must have such things but I imagine that the pictures trapped inside are insignificant to them -- shots of barely remembered ex-boyfriends and acquaintances, or unpeopled scenes from disappointing trips. My rolls hold images of precious milestones like Ethan's birthday parties when he was four and five years old.
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Last month's prompt invited readers to write a fictional story about a woman who discovers her desire as a mother. In this story, the main character starts at a more basic level: by rediscovering her desire for the marriage itself.
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