When a woman reaches a certain age, the universe takes note. She is pulled in polarizing directions. To the right is motherhood, child rearing, life creating. To the left is a career, prosperity, independence. And the woman, she sits in the middle, taking on the universe.
Right
She looks to her child the way a flower looks to the sun: for guidance, for life, with unfettering love. She goes to every ballet recital and karate tournament and she knows teachers on first name basis. She awakens every morning, her heart swollen with pride for the beautiful life she has created. The child is bright and sweet and everything her mother hoped for. Everything is perfect except for when it isn’t. At her high school reunion, the child’s school photos burn a hole in her pocket as she listens to her former classmates who are now police officers or teachers or artists or nurses or anything more than what she is. Her own unfulfilled potential gnaws at her like a pebble in a show, always there but only sometimes painful. What if, what if, what if. A day will come when there are no more lunches to pack, no more homework to check, no more field trips to chaperone. The child will come to their own fork in the road and she won’t be able to help, she took the wrong path.
Left
She is the best at what she does. Her walls adorned with plaques and pictures, commemorating her successes. She has done good things, great things, made the world a better place and become a better woman because of it. She is intelligent and powerful as well as humble and kind. There was no challenge, no obstacle, no oppressor that she could not beat. Her work drains of effort and energy only to replenish her with pride and purpose. But the Labor Day weekend comes. There is no work to be done. She will attend a friend’s barbeque and witness the beauty of children in the sunlight. Fueled by popsicles and orange juice, they will chase each other, giddily screeching with excitement. One of them will run into her, offering a toothless apologetic smile. And there it is. The twinge in her heart. Somehow, she will end up with someone’s sleepy baby in her arms. Their head will rest comfortably in the crook of her elbow. Pink lips puckered, pink cheeks warm to the touch, pinky finger wrapping around hers. She could have had this. But she took the wrong path
Middle
The teacher thought the babysitter was her mother. She laughed it off as a silly misunderstanding but her cheeks flared with embarrassment. She was a mother always but she only mothered when she could. She scrambled from business meeting to PTA meeting. She tried, she tried, and she tried. If she made it to a soccer game, she’d have to miss dinner. If she missed a morning presentation, she’d make up for it with a late night. She was a high skilled balancing act. But is that what is was? An act? In trying to get everything she wanted, did she get nothing she wanted?
When a woman reaches a certain age, she must take on the universe. She will be pushed and pulled. She will doubt herself. She will make mistakes. She will fall apart and the universe will think it has won. However, if there is any force more powerful than the universe. It is a woman.
