Catherine Queen

I’m sure I’m not alone in finding writing therapeutic. It’s not just the act of committing thought to paper. For me, it’s about constructing a story from the chaos. Perhaps fooling myself that there is some kind of order to this. That I was meant to go through this.

The universe doesn’t really work like that, I know. The gods have their two buckets and they just chuck stuff at us randomly from either one whenever they feel like it.

They just feel like chucking quite a lot from one side at me, lately.

Anyway, been doing my research and it seems like someone with levels as low as mine doesn’t have very many good options when it comes to fertility treatments. Pending further medical discussions, obviously. But it may be that I need to use a sperm donor.

I guess I always thought I would be a mother.

Conversely, I’ve never imagined myself as a bride. I’ve sometimes idly thought about a song I might like to walk down the aisle to (Roslin and Adam from the BSG soundtrack, obviously), or what style of wedding dress I like while watching ‘Say Yes to the Dress’. But when it comes down to it, do I actually see myself standing in front of all of my friends, saying, ‘This is the life I choose/this is the thing I can’t bear to lose’? No. The thought brings me out in a rash.

But I have often pictured myself with my children. Small vignettes, like picking them up, rocking them, kissing them. Taking them to the museums or the park. Making them little sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Playing hide and seek.