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'The world is not neatly divided into two camps of women, those who
wanted to reproduce and did, and those who didn't want to, and
didn't. So many of us are caught here, in between, neither one
thing nor the other, drifting towards a receding horizon, in our
own camp . . .' When Miranda Ward and her husband decided to have a
baby, they were optimistic. There was no reason not to be: they
were both young, they were both healthy. But five years, three
miscarriages and one ectopic pregnancy later, Ward finds herself
still dealing with the ongoing aftermath of that decision: the
waiting, the doubting, the despairing, the hoping. ADRIFT is a
memoir about the unique place of almost-motherhood. Some people
pass through it without even noticing; others languish there, held
safe, held prisoner, by the walls of not-knowing - for as long as
there is still a question mark, an open ending, there is a chance
of escape. Inspired by her childhood on the California coast, Ward
turns to the water, seeking solace in a landscape of a different
kind - the swimming pool. Hoping to make sense of the uncertainty,
she begins to ask questions of geography on the most intimate
scale. How do we learn to feel at home in our own bodies, even when
they disobey? How can we find our way, even when we feel adrift?
What language do we have for the spaces in between? Charting a
journey through territory at once deeply personal and widely
shared, Ward offers a searing, lyrical and radically honest
narrative of fertility and motherhood that is less often told.
'What would it mean to name this place I'm in, to map it? To say:
this is the landscape. It looks like this, smells like this, at
night these are the sounds that carry on the wind.
Almost-motherhood . . .' When Miranda Ward and her husband decided
to have a baby, they were young and optimistic. But five years,
three miscarriages and one ectopic pregnancy later, she is still
dealing with the ongoing aftermath of that decision, and the shadow
it's cast over her relationship to her partner, her body and her
future. In this searing, lyrical and radically honest memoir, Ward
charts her journey through the uncertain landscape of
almost-motherhood, asking questions of geography on the most
intimate scale. How can we learn to be at home in our own bodies,
even when we feel adrift from them? What language do we have for
the spaces in between, the periods of wanting and waiting? And how
do we maintain hope as we navigate towards an unknown future?
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