yestheyareallmine's Blog

FOR ALL THE MOMS I KNOW

We are sitting at lunch 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 that 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.

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 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 her discipline to keep from running
home,
just to make sure her baby is all right.

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 it 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 hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most
issues, but
become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to
my
children's future.

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 a cat for the first time.

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 reach across the table, squeeze my daughter's hand and offer a
silent
prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who
stumble
their way into this most wonderful of callings.

This blessed gift from God . . . that of being a Mother.

Please share this with a Mom that you know or a future Mom you know.