Alone with my thoughts and uterus

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I enjoy being alone. I wake up with a plan for the day, or at least a general idea of what I would like to do. Some days, I wake up at 6am and work; Others, I wake up naturally at 9, do yoga, do a workout, re-arrange my room, make a nice big breakfast and won't get dressed 'till noon. I mostly make my own schedule. I would be irritated if I had to compromise that. 

I eat well. At night, I have so many hours between sunset and bed and so I fill that time with making beautiful food. I take a lot of pictures of that food. It's probably obnoxious at this point. Part of me feels that if I am putting so much time into the food, it has to be more than just for consumption - that it should somehow go towards my 'portfolio' or my career, my future. It's as if I am keeping a tally of the nights I am doing just fine being alone. 

I worry being alone will make me selfish and self absorbed. My last partner wasn't always nice to me, and I thanked him for it, worried that if he was too encouraging, my ego would inflate.

I have conflicting thoughts about having children. I worry not having children will make me self-absorbed and selfish. I don't want to be pregnant in my 40s, so I am really hearing the clock tick.  I do want children. I want them with when I am ready, but I know the process isn't that easy or immediate. I am anxious about the possibility of being unable to become or stay pregnant (for a number of reasons). I have internal dialogues with myself, working out timelines and deadlines for meeting a person, bringing up the notion of kids, feeling out the relationship and their ability and then speculating about the time it takes to conceive or carry to term thereafter. 

Part of me has entirely given up on birthing my own biological kids in a hetero-normative relationship. I have started realizing there are so many options: dating someone with kids already, adoption, IVF, raising a child with a gay man, being a surrogate for a gay couple who would include me in the child's life. Fostering. There are a million options. I don't even know if I want kids any more.

For the past two years, I felt a deeply rooted hormonal craving for a child; It was a teeth-clenching, fist-squeezing feeling of absolute necessity. Then my partner and I broke up and the feeling completely dissipated. I don't think it's about finding the right partner any more - I think the feeling is just genuinely gone. I like to be in control. Perhaps because I can't control this sort of planning, I have reverted to telling myself I don't care. Who knows?

Writing is good to let out these sort of subconscious thoughts; These thoughts that easily flow out of my fingers onto my keyboard but which I cannot grasp if I am staring at the wall and trying to think about them. 

I try to be upfront and honest with the people I am interested in. I have this gnawing bug in my ear telling me not to be too forward and not to be too honest, but I like to be forward and honest; It cuts through the bullshit and it doesn't waste any time with pleasantries. 

I feel as if I scared off a potential suitor lately. I don't blame myself or them. I sum it up to them hearing my needs and realizing they couldn't meet them and then backing away. What are my needs? Being alone and doing what I want, how I want. Is finding a partner important because it's a reminder that one must be kind to others and learn to accept compromise each day?  I know being alone doesn't have to be synonymous with being self-absorbed but I have a hard time remembering that. I think a lot of my fear is rooted in seeing my father: a cyclical bachelor with expensive taste and not ever as much time for his daughters as for his projects and jaunts to Paris, Porto or Santander. I envy his freedom and I pity the loneliness he has built.  

I work hard to reach out and feel connected; This blog is partially me doing just that. I fear becoming my father but I don't feel ready to sacrifice my alone time or my flexible routine. I like doing things my way. I like eating what I want to eat and taking 2 hours to cook it. I don't need anybody, but human presence would be nice. I don't want a partner just because it is normal and expected, either.

I'm trying to go with the flow while also trying to flow down the most efficient river with the shortest distance to pregnancy....or at least to a place where I can approach it more optimistically and realistically. There will be a point where I will have to decide to do it on my own or to not do it at all ( or maybe a point where I meet someone and they want the exact same thing "like, now"). 

 

Mex I Can

I feel like for my entire childhood, my mother was in the kitchen.

When we got home at four, we dropped our knapsacks at the door and plopped down on the couch, brain dead from a long day at school.  This was before remote controls, so one of us would squat with our face two inches from the screen and turn the dial while the other would whine, " No, go back! That one". Mom didn't interfere or take sides. She let us sort it out, but we both knew she was she was there, in the kitchen, listening.

Most days, Mom would bring us an after school snack. It was usually 'soldiers' (a peanut butter and jam sandwich cut into four long rectangles) or cheese and crackers. She probably put cucumber and carrot sticks on the plate too...but I don't remember. 

When we spread out our books and paper on the dining room table, Mom was cooking dinner in the next room. We would holler our questions and she would holler back answers. If we called her ("mmmaaaaaaaam"), she would leave her cooking and come help. 

Dinner was difficult for Mom. My sister liked cheese and hot dogs and was pretty fussy. I was a self-declared vegetarian from the age of seven, and my dad was the pickiest. I don't remember watching him eat. I remember my mom having small portions. I remember sitting across from my sister and making faces. The big square table where we sat down to dinner was too big to kick my sister under the table (though I'm sure we tried). 

If we had food left on our pates, Mom would divide the plate and tell us to choose a side and eat it. If we still couldn't, Dad would tell us we were not allowed any cereal or snacks later and that if we were hungry, we would have to finish our plate. 

When we had finished, it was custom (and required of us) to say, " Thank you for the lovely meal. May I please be excused?". We said it every night for my entire childhood and into my teens. 

In high school, Mom worked, so we got home before her. We'd drop our knapsacks with a thud and plop in front of the TV. She would get home, take off her coat and march on ahead to the kitchen. I remember being upset that she didn't take off her shoes when she got home. It never occurred to me she was in a hurry because she was racing against the clock of hungry growing hormonal teens.  It never occurred to me to get dinner started. I would look in the fridge and there would be "nothing to eat" and she'd open it up, spend an hour cooking/pulling rabbits out of hats and would always offer us a (healthy and satisfying) feast. 

Towards the end of high school, I would sit on the barstool at the end of the kitchen counter and watch her cook. 

When we had eaten everything on our plates and were ready to leave the table, we would thank our mom for dinner - often in unison. 

Now, in my 30s, I live alone. I work during the day and when I get home I'm exhausted. But what do I do? I march on ahead to the kitchen with my shoes still on and dive into making dinner.  

Cooking for one is hard. It's hard to tell yourself you are special enough to fuss over. But you are. I am.

I have been craving Mexican. I can't eat onions, garlic, wheat tortillas, beans or dairy, so you can imagine making Mexican seem authentic and satisfying is a challenge. But I did it. 

Because of Mama.

She taught me that it is possible to whip something up from nothing if you're got the right momentum, vision and chutzpah. 

 

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P.S.

I did go to cooking school. Cooking school taught me the rules and techniques. Mama taught me how to love to cook, how to show others you care by cooking for them, how feeding people creates a deep bond, and that sharing food can be the greatest gift given or received. 

 

 

Honest about Goddess

I need to re-train my brain. You do too, probably.

Today I was painting a room. It was the third time this week that I have been contracted to paint a tongue in groove wall. It requires the use of a paint brush. It's not an easy roller job. It takes time and diligence.

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When I had completed half the room in good time, I thought to myself: I am a painting Goddess! I looked at myself. I was standing on a ladder with clunky boots, an oversized t-shirt over a nasty old sweatshirt and I had paint on my hands and face.

I realized then, that the image 'goddess' evokes for me is a perky breasted woman, arched back, standing tall and fierce with a small waist and thick thighs. She has her hands on her hips in defiance (probably against a man).

The problem is that her aesthetic is more dominate than her power, her character or her beliefs. She is usually fighting men...or worse : seducing them. 

In media, the goddess plays a role as man-eater

And what do we think of when we think of a God? What do you think of? 

 

 

Powerful? That's the word I think of.  Why do I think of a word for God but an image for Goddess?

Don't be mistaken: When I call my friend a goddess, it is for her abilities, her accomplishments or her persistence leading to the goals she set for herself. Disappointing myself, I realized today that even though my heart is in the right place, I still imagine a strange Sailor-Moon type scene of that woman when she embodies Goddess: ribbons of light surround her body and she's glowing. Her head is tilted back, her arms open as if she's awaiting embrace. She spins. She is on tippy-toes.

What I've written above is embarrassing for me to admit, but I'm glad I am; This is an honest blog, after all. 

A Goddess is not a precious, fragile thing; She is a fierce woman of her own volition and will conquer her aspirations - with or without grace.  

I need to re-train my brain to think of: Woman As Goddess: Powerful and Able.

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