12 weeks ago I gave birth to a perfect little girl. While this has been the best thing I've ever done, in so many indescribable ways, it comes with a whole set of worries that I never knew existed. I don't know if every generation of mothers has this same set of worries - that we're sending our children into an uncertain future, one that will most definitely look nothing like the world we ourselves grew up in.
There's a hope in children. This is why we have them. Holocaust survivors had children. People ini wartorn countries have children. Homeless people have children. Cancer patients freeze eggs for the possibility of future children. But somehow in the spectre of global warming, racial tensions, wars, Donald Trump, and a million other terrifying possible futures, I sometimes wonder why I decided to bring life into this screwed up world. I don't regret her, not for a second. But I regret that I can't guarantee her a future that makes sense to me. Civilization could collapse and all the things that made feel secure enough to have her could go away. But I guess that's always been the case.
She brings me joy. Was it selfish of me to want her, just for myself? Egotistical to thing that I could bring something into the world that could make the world better?
I think the most surprising thing about motherhood is the guilt and fear. I knew there would be joy and love, though I didn't know what that would feel like until it was happening. Everything is both better and worse now that I have her.
