Being a Mom............
We are sitting at lunch one day 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 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 and 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 souffle or her best
crystal without a moments hesitation. I feel that 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 discipline
to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.
I want my daughter to know that every day 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 her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once
she has a child. That she would give herself 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 marks will
become badges of honor. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, and 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 mydaughter could
sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have
tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.
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 finally say. Then I reached
across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent
prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who
stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.
