Recently I was blessed with the opportunity to finally find the answer to a question I had asked myself many, many times over the last 25 years.
A question I was not much interested in answering back in my 20’s. During my 30’s it popped up on a regular basis as a mild itch. When the big 4-0 started to appear at my horizon, the mild itch turned into an increasing discomfort that I tried to sooth in a somewhat desperate last-minute spur. Without success.
By the time I entered my 40’s I stopped asking myself the question. Instead, the back of my mind became the home of the soft whispered voice of Miss Should-I-Have. Was this the looming sound of regret?
And just like that, I got myself a new question… *sigh*!
But first, let me go back to the original question: “Do I want children?”
Or its slightly annoying twin sister “Would I make a good mother?”
In my twenties, I had a great boyfriend. Promising father material. But even though the desire to start a family was there, my desire to spread my wings and discover the world was simply bigger. So off I went. Along the road, a few new boyfriends came and went, but I never quite found the right one to settle down with and start a family. Or I would think I found one only to discover I was the only one thinking it. Ouch!
Meanwhile I had started a career, I travelled, I moved countries 3 times…. in short, I was having a pretty eventful and neat life. So why this returning alarm bell in my head? Because I truly wanted to become a mother? Or because society really wanted it and kept pushing the darn snooze button? Or was it the fear of ending in a Home Alone, like a bad horror version of the famous movie?
The thing is: keep hesitating boarding a train long enough, and there comes a point where you realise you were watching the last train leave the station. Quite a sad realisation.
Except, plot twist! It wasn’t. I finally realised that if I really had wanted, I would not have hesitated, because that is the kind of person I am. I had simply been lacking the courage to admit that although I really like trains, I do not care much for the timetables that come along with them. I like to be free and hitch a hike, see till where the next ride takes me. And let me just say it: that.is.okay.too. It does not make me selfish nor less of a woman.
I found there are other ways to nurture the mother in me whilst staying true to myself.
Almost eight years ago, I became foster parent of two little girls, then 3 and 5 years old. They live in a home in Madagascar, created by a humanitarian organisation I joined at the time. The idea of supporting these girls by sending money every month only did not feel quite right though. It took one visit to know what these kids needed most: love and attention. The reassuring knowledge that someone out there thinks of them, cares about them, acknowledges their existence. It was decided: ever since, I visit the girls at least twice a year.
Over the years I have seen them grow into the two beautiful teenagers they are today. And, *sparkle*sparkle*, two months ago, I was blessed with the opportunity to fly the girls to my home where we spent 7 weeks together as a family. Gosh, the anxiety I felt before this huge responsibility! But …. nobody got hurt, nobody fell ill, nobody cried “I want to go home!”.
So I guess I finally did get my answer: yes, I would make a good mother.
P.s.: I owe an apology to my sisters and other working ladies for rolling my eyes whenever they were complaining. I now know better. I bow in front of you and beg your forgiveness.