Being A Mom . . .

My mom sent this to me and I thought it was too good not to pass on . . .


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,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 ofindependence 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,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 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 have stumbled their way into this most wonderful of callings.

May you always have in your arms the one who is in your heart.