I’m 31 (and a half); and, yes, my biological clock is ticking. Everyday I peruse photos of my friends’ babes on facebook or hear news that so-and-so is pregnant. My older sister, who had her first baby a year ago and is expecting her second this summer, recently asked me if this made me jealous or upset. Actually, it doesn’t. I can honestly say that I feel happy for my friends and more of a sense of longing than anything else. Through their photos, I can almost feeling a baby’s soft skin on my chest, her curious fingers wrapping around mine, the blissful cacophony of having one’s entire life and identity turned upside down.
Several years ago I would have told you that I didn’t care to have children. Adopting a child from a faraway land appealed to me (it still does in some ways). Then, one day about four years ago while walking in northern Thailand’s early morning mist, my body, out of the blue, told me in her quiet language of longing that she wanted to have babies. Suddenly, everywhere I looked I saw them: expectant mamas with ripe bellies, doting fathers pushing strollers, the knowing sparkle in a newborn’s eyes.
And this is how it’s been ever since.
Until recently.
In January I began a 12-week creative recovery program with The Artist’s Way . Since then I have started this blog, a book proposal, and a new business identity. I went on a one-week vacation to the beach in Mexico (no yoga teaching involved!) and did a 30-day cleanse. I’m taking dance classes, went on a picnic the other week, and filled my home with plants. I subscribed to magazines like Real Simple and Martha Stewart Living (a fellow Barnard alumna), better organized my finances, started a women’s yoga group and goals group, and set up a “creative corner” in my apartment. I write in my journal each morning and take one “artist” date every week.
As I look back, I can’t believe it. I now somehow feel more, well, “me”; and all of this came organically from desire, rather than ambitious pushing.
My itch to have a baby RIGHT NOW has subsided. This process, this creation, this offering to you, feels like my baby. This is her birth announcement, her official welcome to the world. And I feel like a proud, and slightly exhausted, new mother.
What are your creative longings, rituals, and triumphs? What phase of “motherhood” are you in?




























