Plus there is the art course I am doing on rediscovering that pre-pubescent girl in me (the photo above is one I took for the class; info about the class can be found on the sublime site). Our last assignment was to look at photos of ourselves going through the “vortex” of early adolescence, and I looked so sad and tight and empty. I sat apart from others. I came through those years eventually and later pictures show me radiant, arms entangled with good friends. But the 12-14 range is when I got my period, and first started really thinking about fertility and my capacity to procreate eventually. It’s when I started my lifelong pastime of making baby name lists (seriously). Looking at me then was a heart breaking exercise. I wish I could reach out to that girl through time and tell her, well, I don’t know what. Hug her perhaps, love her more. Love others more. Relax and send warmth to my midsection, the bodily area of so many traumas for my mother and her mother. I guess my big cry Sunday was for that lonely girl, dreaming of that someday life filled with the mind-boggling mix of love and fear that is parenting. Maybe my instincts knew then what a hard road I would travel to get there.
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