Being A Mother..

This eye-tearing email came through to me today, as if "someone" up there is reminding me to be thankful for being able to experience being a mom.

"Being A Mother"
by Dale Hanson Bourke

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 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 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 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
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 and prejudice. 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 and 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 . . ..that of being a Mother.


Thanks Alys for sending this to me. It brought tears to my eyes..