IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE
~Submitted by: Mary Thunder~
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 the weekend, 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 heal, but that becoming a mother will leave
her with an emotional place in her heart so precious 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
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 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 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 some unknown danger 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 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.
My daughter'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 daughter 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
ANYTHING that might be a threat 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 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 say finally.
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. The blessed gift of being a Mother.
(Thank-You, Bryan and Jason, for the privilege of allowing me to be called your
"Mother").
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