Circles Within Circles

A lifetime ago it seems, I waited for her to be born - sitting in a waiting room at a local hospital, my husband pacing anxiously while I stitched. Nine months of anticipation had come down to these few hours - the first daughter of one of my dearest friends was about to come into the world.

She is a grown woman now, soon to have her own first child and I'm struck by the thought that life is circles within circles within circles. There are those among us who are born to parent and nurture, to pass on family traditions and stay close when needed, to sustain us. I expect this young woman will be of that sort, as is her mother. As are her sisters despite their very individual differences and personalities. As was her daddy.

When I was her age, childlessness was a step above treason and a woman who desired more than the traditional home, family and white picket fence was suspect. I spent considerable time and effort defending my decision not to have children although I was never able to clearly articulate why I didn't want them - it was simply something I had known for as long as I could remember, known with a certainty I had in no other area of my life. I didn't question it, didn't agonize over it, didn't wonder about it. I knew, as surely as I breathed, that I wasn't meant to have children and there was no good or bad to it, and absolutely no doubt. I sometimes wondered if I would find a man who shared my feelings or if marriage would be the trade off for knowing and keeping to my own mind.

My upbringing had taught me that children were a burden and a misery and it was something of a shock to discover that in some families they were treasured, included, even sacrificed for. My mother's constant demands for grandchildren was mystifying to me until I realized that it was all about appearances and the need to keep up. My brother finally satisfied her, producing two beautiful little boys - the very instant the first one was born, I was openly excused from the pressure to bear my own. In public, she doted on these boys, playing the unselfish and loving grandmother perfectly. Privately, she saw them as troublesome little urchins, always underfoot and in the way, undisciplined, overprotected, and consuming all their parents time and attention. She was, as she had been of her own children, jealous and resentful.

Children are designed to outlive and outshine us, to continue the circle, whatever it be made of. It reassures me to know that this child is wanted, will be loved, and will always know it. Miracles are all around us and we have but to look to discover them.