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 weekends, no more spontaneous vacations. . ."
But taht 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 childbirth 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 is that had my 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 that 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 course her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesistation.
I feel I should warm 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 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 the baby is alright.
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 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. Decisive she may be in the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.
Looking at my attactive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will forever 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 want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch mark 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's bottom and never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find 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 isues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.
I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the bellylaughs of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to tast 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 her hand and offer a silent prayer for her. And for me. And for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into thsi most wonderful of callings - the blessing gift from God of being a Mother."
I'm so humbled that a handsome & loving 3- yr old calls me his "momma". What a blessing it is!! Nothing can top the hugs, kisses, smiles, and yes even those days of the awful terrific three's that make me pull my hair out and turn me grey . . . I wouldn't trade them for the world!
I love you Austin. Thank you for making me strive to be the best mom ever!!
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