I am Not a Mother

Photobucket Today’s guest post is by Reachel Bagley. After searching for their children for over 5 years, Reachel and her husband finally found their daughter Coco through adoption.  They will be adding a son to their clan this December.  She encourages women everywhere to continue searching for those in need of mothers everywhere.  When not writing or teaching about fashion (see Cardigan Empire), Reachel enjoys any combination of travel, vegetarian cooking, modern art, French cinema, Italian opera, poetry, gardening, and especially her husband.

I am not a mother. After 63 months, hundreds of pregnancy tests, a five-digit sum for a ten-syllable label, and two counts of attempted adoption, I’ m reasonably positive.  Andrew’ s seed is essentially flawless, and I’ ve seen live footage of the inside of my uterine soil. Personally, I think it looks lovely. Soft, squishy pink walls with minimal endometrial fluff, floating around like perfect little baby pillows. And the overly chipper doctor performing the exam agreed. (By the way, it is my personal opinion that gynecological doctors specializing in infertility should be shrouded and discreet when performing their service. I do not appreciate small talk during examinations or any emotional discharge whatsoever during our time together. I prefer services be rendered quietly, efficiently, and a treat be dispensed upon completion. I really do think I should get a treat.)

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