I spent my Saturday afternoon and evening visiting... lunch with an old friend, her husband and four-month-old - my goddaughter, followed by an afternoon and evening with a former flatmate, her husband and two little ones. Two families - the families of two old friends who I once shared singleness with, with whom I had countless conversations about dreams, hopes, relationships, communication, men. Now we talk more about children - sleeping patterns, nappies, toilet-training, solids.
I once might have resented this - not the subject of conversation, but that I share it only in part. For once envy consumed me - the desire to have what they have, to be the mother that I currently have no opportunity to be, to find my identity and my self-esteem in having a partner and child, to find some security in this. And truly that's what it looks like from the outside.
But I have been - ever so slowly - learning a few things. I'm starting to accept that the grass only looks greener. This is not to say that a husband and children would not give me some security, might not make me happy. It is simply that I have realised that if I envy as a single woman, I will envy as a married woman, or a mother. I now have what I might wish to have if I was part of such a family - freedom, independence, time to myself, the possibility of lots of sleep! None of this should be underestimated.
I have also realised that my desire for a child is a very selfish one. If a child defines me, I am having the child to create my identity. If a husband defines me, I somehow think I am not enough by myself. I lived like this for too long, thinking that if I do not have these central relationships, I somehow have not made it, am somehow less of a woman. For too long I thought that if I do not have these people, I am nobody, I have nothing.
How wrong I have been. For in fact I am part of so many families - so many good friends and family members who consider me part of their lives. My life is rich. Today we ate roast beef sandwiches, olives, pistachios, cherries, Lindt chocolate, blueberry baked cheesecake, home made Italian meatballs and pasta; we drank teapots of tea, glasses of wine and Baileys, mugs of hot strong coffee. Today my goddaughter laughed up at me as I held her, and the cuddly, ringletted one-year-old nuzzled into my neck as soon as I arrived. Today we talked of holidays and parents, work and houses, celebrations and love. Today I pushed a child around the block in a pram - sun on my back, cool breeze on my face - and watched her wide-eyed wonder.
If only my eyes, too, can stay open to the wonder of all that is given to me.
