June 28, 2009


Sometimes I fall a little bit in love with parenthood. It's not mothers or babies or families that give me that "awh" feeling deep inside the recesses of my heart that I'm barely brave enough to admit exist - it's fathers. It's the father in the park with the little boy, or one like this man writing about his little girl in the New York Times. It's my father, who I know beyond a shadow of any doubt would make a wonderful grandpa.

I'm ambivalent about motherhood. It is one of those cultural expectations which has never found it's way onto my lifetime To Do List, but remains firmly on the That Would Be Nice Under the Right Circumstances List. I have never, ever doubted that if and when I have children I will love them with all the ooey-gooey, passionate, sentimentality of any parent. Yet, I have always admitted that the possibility of children would rest strongly on whether or not my partner wanted one or two. In a way that seems odd, considering I have never been someone to change herself in life-altering ways for her significant other, and motherhood definitely constitutes a dramatic change. But when I see the fathers and children, I think to myself "I would like to give that to someone. I would like to share that with someone."

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