MOTHERHOOD - IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE
We are sitting at lunch when she 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 the
weekend, no more spontaneous vacations..."
But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my
friend, trying to decide what to tell her. I want
her to know what she will never learn in child
birth classes. I want to tell her that the physical
wounds of child bearing heal, but that becoming a
mother will leave her with an emotional wound so
raw that she will be forever vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never read
a newspaper again without asking "What if that
had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every
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 souffle 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 child care, but one day she will be
going into an important business meeting and she
will think about 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.
I want my friend to know that everyday 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 McDonalds will become a major
dilemma. That right there, in the midst of those
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 beat the office, she will second-guess herself
constantly as a mother.
Looking at my friend, 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. She
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 honor. My
friend's relationship with her husband will
change, but not in the ways she thinks. I wish
she could understand how much more you can love
a man who is always careful to powder the baby
or 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 friend could sense the bond she'll
feel with women throughout history who have
tried desperately to stop war and prejudice
and drunk driving. 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 o my friend 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 friend's quizzical look makes me realize
that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll
never regret it," I say finally. Then I reach
across the table, squeeze my friend'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, the blessed gift of being a Mother.
author unknown
Updated January 31, 2007
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