Posted by Phil on May 05, 1999 at 16:34:15:
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 weekend, no more
spontaneous vacations..."
But that 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 child birth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of
child bearing so raw 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 theprimitive 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 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 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 McDonalds 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 friend, 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 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 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 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 issues, 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 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 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 my friend'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 God and that of
being a Mother.
(Source unknown)