I've been going through my blog list trying to find something that will capture my attention. I've not been successful, through no fault of the blogs. My mind feels restless right now, like a discontent wanderer. I'm not sure why. Perhaps I really wanted to write instead of read, but I don't really know what to write about.
I could write *even* *more* about how much I'd like to be a mommy, how I'd love to have the trouble Amalah just had with the poop-covered baby, or how I'm terrified that if I ever do get there, I won't like it. What if I find being a mom mundane?
When I was in junior high I was certain that I did not want to get married and have kids. That was the equivalent of a life sentence in a house-shaped cell. I wanted to learn things, travel, experience. I didn't just want to drink life in, I wanted to gulp it. God made a big wide world and I often felt, and sometimes still do, that he made it just for me. Why would I want to limit my life with the drudgery of raising kids? These were the thoughts that went through my mind while I would rinse dishes in my mama's kitchen and stare through the window above the sink. That was before my childhood had ended. I could still see the waves of pale yellow-green grass bordered in the back by a fence row filled with wispy, lace-like mesquite trees with larger, dark-green live oaks behind them, all topped by a big blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. Eventually things would change. A shed would get built that would block the view of the field, and I would grow up and view motherhood in a completely different light.
Even though that was eighteen years ago, there are moments when I feel just like that skinny little barefooted girl in my mama's kitchen who was filled with passion and naivete. My heart will get all fluttery with possibilities and my mind will get fearful of being trapped in a tedious life. But, in the very next moment, I grow up again. Life really is what you make of it. You can either stare at the dishes in the sink that you've washed repetitively and will wash again; or you can stare at the wild, green ocean of grass and endless sky.