I saw this posted on one of the discussion boards I look at...
so very true.
Being A MomWe are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter
casually mentions that she and her husband
are thinking of "starting a family."
"We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you
think I should have a baby?"
"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping
my tone neutral.
"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends,
no more spontaneous vacations."
But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my
daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want
her to know what she will never learn in
childbirth classes.
I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child
bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will
leave her with an emotional wound so raw that
she will forever be vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never again read
a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?"
That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt
her. That when she sees pictures of starving children,
she will wonder if anything could be
worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish
suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is,
becoming a mother will reduce her to
the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an
urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a soufflé or
her best crystal without a moment's
hesitation.
I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many
years she has invested in her career, she will be
professionally derailed by motherhood. She might
arrange for childcare, but one day she will be
going into an important business meeting and she will think
of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every
ounce of discipline to keep from running
home, just to make sure her baby is all right.
I want my daughter to know that every day decisions
will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's
desire to go to the men's room
rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major
dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays
and screaming children, issues
of independence and gender identity will be
weighed against the prospect that a child molester may
be lurking in that restroom.
However decisive she may be at the office, she will
second-guess herself constantly as a mother.
Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure
her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy,
but she will never feel the same about herself.
That her life, now so important, will be of less value
to her once she has a child. That she would give
herself up in a moment to save her offspring, but
will also begin to hope for more years, not to
accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child
accomplish theirs.
I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny
stretch marks will become badges of honour.
My daughter's relationship with her
husband will change, but not in the way she thinks.
I wish she could understand how much more you can love
a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never
hesitates to play with his child. I think
she should know that she will fall in love with him again
for reasons she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel
with women throughout history who have tried to
stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.
I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of
seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the
belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur
of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so
real it actually hurts.
My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that
tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it,"
I finally say. Then I reached across the table,
squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a
silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere
mortal women who stumble
their way into this most wonderful of callings.
Please share this with a Mom that you know or all of
your girlfriends who may someday be Moms.
May you always have in your arms
the one who is in your heart.
