A thing I have learnt in the past year or two is that you don’t know what you haven’t experienced for yourself. You just don’t know until you know. I didn’t know, what it was like. Until I knew. Until it was carved onto me. And I can see it, see it in others. They don’t know. They try to surmise what it might be like, describe and theorise. But they don’t know SHIT.

I didn’t know shit until I did. Once I shook my head at her wondered what the big deal was. Once I judged and assessed things I didn’t know anything about. I shake my head now. The girl that I was, she didn’t know anything. Didn’t know what was ahead of her. Didn’t know anything of the journey people were living around her. She didn’t know SHIT!

And I wonder. Now. As I see so much of it more clearly. So much of this waiting and planning and trying. And I wonder, do I really know anything about anything, really? It feels like a great lesson in life. An important thing to know while interpreting and analyzing. To remember that you don’t know until you know. 

Because really, until I taste the wine warmed by the sun in an Italian village, hand shading my eyes from the glare and stare lovingly at Hubby with laughter and mischief in my eyes. It doesn’t exist. My journey there. The outcome. It’s not real. And I will never know what it is really like. What it all feels like, tastes like, smells like…  

Just like, until I hold a baby of my own, I will never know what it is to be a Mother.