Thirty-nine years wiser

Miss Seven, standing in the doorway to the church hall, held some cute little bagged sugar cookies under her chin. They were decorated in pastel coloured fondant, stamped with "LOVE", and tied up with curly ribbons - gifts for Mothers Day.

She whispered to me cautiously, "Are you a mother?"

"No," I answered, hoping my tone had enough lightness to hide any of my own residual regret, but also to protect her from embarrassment at asking the question. She should be allowed to ask. We don't know each other that well but we share a community.

"Oh," she looked off to one side. She wanted to give me a cookie and her brain was searching for the right broadening of the parameters. She hadn't heard the pastor say the cookies were also for all the women. "Are you married yet?" Hopeful, earnest, curious.

"No," I chuckled because of the 'yet'.

"Oh. I'm sorry." With the resilience of being seven, she spotted someone new, and moved on. I gently pushed past the other kids holding little colourful bags and ordered myself a coffee.

I wanted to tell her, but it was busy, and seven is probably too young to hear:

• It's ok that I'm not a mother. I wanted to be, but it just never worked out that way. I could have made it happen on my own but I didn't want it more than the compromises I knew I would have to make.

• It's also ok that I'm not married. I wouldn't have chosen this lifestyle but for now, it's the way things are. I've had to learn, by years of sometimes bitter experience, that I am just as worthy as any person in a committed relationship. I have different worries, different fears, different pressures and different delights.

• I haven't closed the door on either. While it's extremely unlikely that I will ever bear and raise a child, I may be called to be Mum-like in some way or other.

I still care very much that Miss Seven and her sisters are nurtured and protected and get to learn that their own value is in who they are in life's circumstances, not because of them. They are loved by someone truer, more faithful and more aware of their needs than any parent, husband or child.

I am part of their village, their herd. It's why I volunteer where I can, including in the crazy little creche we hold on alternate Sundays.

It's also why I am writing this disclosure, why I am cauterising my own disappointment with every stroke of this keyboard. Sharing with someone else helps to confirm your own belief. Seven is too young but maybe there's a 27 who needs to know: sometimes the pain is because you haven't met the world's expectations; sometimes you haven't met your own. The desire doesn't have to go away for the pain to be converted to contentment.

There were leftover cookies.

I'd helped a kid that morning build a Duplo tower that was bigger than him.

I chose green.