When I announced my pregnancy I swore I could hear the whispering.
I believed marriage was a lie and love was an illusion before I knew the name of the first boy I’d kiss.
They are profoundly imperfect.
“Ready” isn’t a state of mind as much as it is a lack of options.
I’ve asked myself this question countless times.
I was that woman who, rather proudly, didn’t want children.
No, love is a feeling you braid with moments you probably overlooked and moments you know you’ll never forget.
Mysterious and honest simultaneously; a difficult combination to master, I assure you. Women that I’m addicted to spending time with.
So why do I, hell we, push against change?
I’m not sure how we arrived at the painfully stereotypical image of mothers we seem to collectively have.