So I have some good news, I seem to have found a job. Yes, a job, an actual job, where I leave my house and interact with people while holding sharp objects. I'm excited, I really am. But... Yes, there's a "But", there's a big part of me that doesn't want it. The reason is one that seems to be an unusual one for women my age. I want to be a mom. I've always assumed that someday I'd settle down and do the whole raising a family thing, in that way that I think most everybody does. A couple years ago I was a little surprised to find that when I had a bad day at work (you know, the kind that leaves you miserable, feeling like you want to cry, and wondering why you even bother) I would come home and usually wind up in my mom's room, snuggled up with her and letting the tears come when they needed. And I would wish that that was my job. To be the one doing the comforting and the loving on. To have the arms whose comforting hold is sought out on ...
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