Being a Mom!

(submitted by Andrea)

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. 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 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.

I want my daughter 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 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 the wants and ambitions of her life, now so important, will be
of so much less value to her once she has a child. That she would give up
her life in a moment to save her offspring, but that 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 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 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. 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 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.