I was thinking today (surprising)

I
was thinking today (surprising) about how parenting is the absolutely most
sanctifying thing. I want to be comfortable. I want quiet. I want peace. I want
to be alone. Yes, yes, yes, all of this is possible in having children, but I
think the women that write the articles in all those annoyingly positive
magazines LIE! Or maybe they don't have four or more children? One time I was
talking to my mother and she made some comment about how my life was challenging
because of the number of children I have. I said, "yes, but you had only two."
"And that was a choice I made," she replied. "A choice I made." Did I decide to
have four children? When my third daughter was born, I had two other daughters
ages four and two. I decided then that either I was done, or I was going to
allow myself some breathing room (literally). I mean, I was wiping butts and
noses from the time my feet hit the floor. I would collapse every night and look
over at the father of all these children and think he was crazy to want to even
consider sex. But then four years passed and we had the last one potty trained
and people were getting themselves snacks and drinks and wiping their own butts
and noses, and I decided to start all over again. I knew that I wanted one more
child and that I didn't want to have said child after age thirty (old eggs,
etc.) So, I decided (well, technically "we" decided) to get pregnant once more
and welcome one more child into our family. There were times I thought I was
nuts. Especially when I was nauseated and it felt like my hip was being
extracted straight through my skin. And I definitely thought I was crazy when I
realized that I would have to go through labor again, recover from episiotomy
stitches (I have big-headed children), and start the orifice-oozing game once
more. Why is it that the women with the high, firm breasts get the most awe in
our culture? I have been through far more and yet am esteemed the least! It
should be that the woman with the longest breasts is most valued and highly
regarded! It loudly proclaims self-sacrifice and a well-gotten wisdom. Yet, when
I catch the gentle swing of my own breasts in the mirror, I stop and look and
lift and wonder what they looked like before they swelled and spilled over with
milk. Then my eyes travel downwards and I look at the map drawn lightly over the
south of my stomach by the growth of a wee body. I turn slowly around and try to
see my behind, but there is simply too much to try to see all at once and what
began as an innocent need for a shower turns into a mini-yoga session of
investigation. I have all daughters and want so much for them not to trace the
outlines of their stretch marks or laugh lines and doubt their beauty or
strength because of them. I want them to experience a just world and feel the
value of their moral strength and loveliness of their kindness and
thoughtfulness. We are spiritual beings in a physical body, that cannot be
denied, but how to bring them together in harmony..... And so, I end where I
began. I want all of these things, and yet the very thing taking these away is
making me be the beauty, the loveliness, that I desire so much for my daughters
to have.