I'm surrounded by pregnant women at work. I am fascinated, occasionally disgusted, and above all, deeply respectful. I honor the courage and the strength that it takes to use your body to bring a new life into the world.
Two women have accepted my hand on their bellies this year. The first was a peer, pregnant with her first child. I watched others touch her to feel her baby move for months before shyly asking, at the baby shower the day before she went on maternity leave, if I could feel the baby, because I hadn't yet. The baby fluttered just the tiniest bit. It was the first time I can remember feeling an infant before it was born. When I held her in my arms later, I sat in awe of this tiny life.
The second was a woman in her early forties who was pregnant with her third. At the impromptu cake send-off we had for her, she saw me standing in a corner, said, "You haven't felt her yet. Here," and placed both my hands on her belly. She then proceeded to shake it with her own hands to rouse the baby, who responded by squirming--not much, but definitely moving limbs. I have learned so much from her mother's openness.
In a way, I feel fortunate that I have frequent cause to consider my decisions about children. This way, I know that my choices are my own, and I feel confident in them. I used to be certain that I wanted to raise children, and now I'm not so sure. I have no interest in parenting alone. If I build a life with a partner who wants children, I am open to sharing parenthood. At this point, I feel no desire to carry and birth a baby. There are plenty of children in the world who need homes. I am committed to adopting rather than reproducing.
All things may change.
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