Fertility and the wasteland

Once I was a little girl. And I loved it.
I loved that within me was the mystery of fertility....all the baby animals were with and came from female. Female was always what I chose because it felt like the winning hand.
  
   But, I learned to hate the word woman. And lady.
That was associated with caged and unseen and boring and weak.
I hated that I had to become that, and I've been resisting my whole life, in various ways...either to deny what seems to be feminine or what seems to be adult.

  And it's funny and mysterious that this most miraculous draw about being female (as I felt it as a girl) is what I have avoided for so long.
  Motherhood.
Bringing a little animal into the world. 
        Somehow, becoming a mother is embodying the mysterious joy and becoming for sure, without doubt, woman. And adult.
   And for all the learning and discovery and healing I have experienced about being female....somehow those early lessons of female as less than, as weak, as unexciting, as unimportant, fragile, helpless, and petty are deeper.
     
       This thing I want and do not want, this experience that I deeply crave and also deeply threatens me, also eludes me.
      I cannot have it freely, I cannot have it powerfully. At least not so far in my life.
    All my efforts and care seem to have been just failed exercises, thwarted by my own rebellion and wildness.

  A fate I surely share with thousands of women over centuries, which softens it a little.