Although for most of my potentially reproductive years I felt pretty clear that motherhood wasn’t compatible with many aspects of my personality, there was a period of several years where I felt the biological urge and became pregnant twice. I miscarried both times and grieved each one; though I have since experienced profound relief about this. While on one hand I will always wonder how I might have been emotionally grown by the experience of motherhood and about the profound bonds I understand moms often have with their children, I have also been grateful for the freedom I have been granted to live my life pretty much as I choose, with only me to be responsible for. And I am grateful to not have to co-parent with the man who would have been their father. So much about this feels like random luck; so I can feel compassion for those women who are similar to me this way and ended up as mothers. My mother was one of them, I think.
