biological clock, single mom by choice, SMC, trying to conceive, ttc, writing

writing about writing

Wheeee! What an honor to receive such sweet comments! Plus, wordpress tells me that my site has been viewed 68 times, which I’m guessing is about a dozen visitors plus me checking back every half an hour… I know that blogging can be somewhat of a one-way street, so it’s really nice to get feedback, and I hope you loudmouths will keep it up.

Completely aside from the topic of trying to get pregnant, I’m excited to have a writing project. My last adventure in writing was when I took a Personal Essay class at the Writing Salon around the time I turned 30 and was heartbroken over the end of a long relationship. The class turned out to be all women. We dug up these super emotionally-charged topics from our own lives and everyone would be nodding and smiling and crying because we’d all been there and it was really more like therapy. When you’re going through a hellish time, it’s so important to remember just how many people are or were in your boat. Because it’s pretty much everyone. That’s an easy one to forget, and so consoling to remember.

After that class, I got away from writing creatively for many years. I keep a journal but honestly have become lazy over the fact of having to handwrite it. When I think to myself: What have I not done yet with my life that I would regret if it all ended tomorrow? What comes up for me is: “I haven’t written my book.” (And, “I haven’t started a family” but you knew that one.) It’s so silly and cliché and American, but there it is. Hopefully it’s also a commentary on how I’ve done pretty well with this one wild and precious life, with no major regrets that I can think of, just gratitude…it seems like things have turned out the way they needed to.

Including doing this without a partner. Somewhere in the years of casually considering and the 6 months of seriously planning, I adjusted to the idea of becoming a single mom. By choice. (Or, as some call it, a “choice mom” which sounds totally weird to me, as in, “That’s a choice mom,” or “Check out the MILF!) Not that I wouldn’t prefer doing this with someone. Do I even have to say that? Of course I would rather share parenthood with someone I love who helps out and gives foot massages and brings in a whole second income.

But the plain fact was that when the music stopped at the end of my 30s, I was left standing. It’s ridiculous! Unacceptable! Unfair! How could it be?? says the chorus of friends and family as well as the one in my mind in moments of high self esteem. But… it just is. And: it’s not forever. I’m convinced that ultimately I couldn’t be at peace in a relationship until I resolved this. So, that divorced dad is somewhere down the road, and he will think I am the most courageous and passionate lady he’s ever met. Or maybe I’ll meet him tomorrow, shoot! I’m not off the market yet, people! Or maybe he’ll read my bestselling book. Or see the movie. That’ll seal the deal.


2 thoughts on “writing about writing”

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