I never feel like writing. I never feel like drawing or painting. I barely even feel like reading.
This is a strange time in my life.
I am the person who writes/draws/reads constantly. Any blank moment is filled with one of those activities. The urge is almost unbelievable.
Except for now. Except for this pregnancy. I don't even want to write in the journals I've been keeping for, oh, twenty one years. All I want to do is lay around, watch tv, web surf, and fllip through magazines.
I suppose I have to chalk it up to being pregnant. All that creative energy is going somewhere else-- making a baby.
I have to say, that in this rational age of science and technology, that just doesn't make any sense. Why should the physical act of gestation-- with all it's attendant growth patterns and umbilical cords and oxygen transfers-- why should it pull on whatever it is that makes me an artist? And it isn't just a basic level of energy thing. There are times within my pregnancy where I have energy, but I end up decorating or cleaning--- nesting. And there are times before I got pregnant where I've had no energy, and I would curl up with my journal and paint a picture or write about how I felt. None of that now.
There's got to be something else involved in being and artist-- and making a baby, something that is shared. What is it? What could it be?
I don't know, but the idea comforts me, somewhat. A lot of my frustration right now is born out of the fear that maybe I won't be able to write and paint anymore, or even want to. Maybe my artist days are over. But if my non-productivity can be understood due to my re-productivity, maybe I can let go of that fear and frustration.
I even did one of those on line tarot readings. I actually read tarot cards for other people, but have problems reading for myself. Too hard to keep my desires and fears out of the interpretation, but the on line thing had interpretations already set up, which I could then understand in my situation. And frankly what it told me was that it was time to reconcile those parts of myself-- the mother and the artist. It also pointed out that what was truly mine could never be lost. Oh and all sorts of things that gave me faith in my ability to retain "the artist."
Society is wierd. It says all sorts of things about what a mother is and isn't. It's really easy to buy into that.
I am going to create again. Art, writing, not just babies. I am. I'm going to work really hard on it, because it's important.
But all I know is that, yes I am going to be a mother, but I am also Rowena, and that is who has something really important to give to her son. Not someone who has drowned herself in motherhood and her child. Just like in any relationship, a romantic relationship as well as a maternal one, a person has to keep her identity, right? Sure, change and transform along with life, but retain her individuality, right?