THE WOMAN I WAS MEANT TO BE.

It is my firm belief that when things do no work properly, there is something wrong with the system. Something is not the way it is meant to be.
God created us fearfully and wonderfully. Not to be confused with perfect. Even our imperfections are a part of the plan. Any deviation form the original plan causes problems and malfunctions. For example: we are not made to sit for hours on end staring at something shiny. Persons of African descent are not meant to live in Ireland (I am referring to vit. D synthesis of course). Children, women, and men are not meant to spend days (months, years?) without meaningful and nurturing human touch. Young mothers are not meant to be left alone with their babies to figure things out. Hydrogenated crap and red dye #40 have no way to properly interact with out body, because, well, they were not meant to be eaten. You get the picture.
And so on the way to decipher the meaning of womanhood in the context of Western life, I ask myself: "What kind of woman am I meant to be?"
I know somewhere along the way I became convinced that mood fluctuations are a sign of weakness and hysteria. I have grown to believe that vicious hypervigilance of a new mother is nothing but paranoia and unreasonable over-protectiveness. Perhaps, Nestle even convinced me that they can make formula just as well as I can produce milk. Gerber told me that somehow their little jars of technicolour goop are the only appropriate nutrition for our bundles of joy. Parenting magazines can be summed up as: "You will need the brightest, loudest, twinkliest, most expensive gear, gadgets and toys to ensure proper development and happiness of your child." And the Church stumped me completely by teaching that the woman has a purpose and is in no way inferior to a man, and is very very special and wonderful, and in Heaven there will be no male or female, however it is best if she sticks to manning the nursery and, perhaps, teaching an occasional lady's class, preferably after reaching a respectable age.
Well, I am only a few steps onto the yellow brick road, but is apparent that this ain't Kansas no more!!!
I do not suffer from PMS. I enter into an altered state of consciousness which allows me to see things clearer, to be more articulate and perceptive, and to focus on spiritual issues. I deal with physical symptoms by distancing myself from the everyday routine as much as is reasonable.
I fought a mighty battle to continue breastfeeding and won. It made me a more compassionate mother and less likely to let other mothers off the hook because it just isn't easy.
Screw Gerber and Nestle and parenting magazines! My baby loves chickpeas masala, and kalamata olives, and scrambled tofu. We use lots of hand-me-downs, shop at Salvation Army, and labour over DIY's, yielding a beautiful and comfortable life at only a fraction of the price.
I refuse to be dumbed-down for others' comfort! Women were not put to the side, shut-up or condescended to by Jesus, and neither will I be in my house of worship.
I will not allow bearing and raising children to become anything short of a holy mission. I will not look to my family or friends to give me credit for it, I will take the reward meant for the mother by our Maker.
Won't we stop shoving square pegs into round holes? A woman is a holy vessel meant to be filled with none other than the essence of a woman.