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,
n 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 caesarian 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.
Please share this with a Mom that you know or a future Mom you know.
