Note: To protect the privacy of our members, e-mail addresses have been removed from the archived messages. As a result, some links may be broken.
Date: Thu, 9 Sep 1999 00:41:43 EDT
Subject: Re: Fw: Have a Kleenix ready!
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
X-Mailer: AOL 4.0 for Windows 95 sub 13
In a message dated 9/8/99 8:34:36 PM Central Daylight Time, KempKards writes:
<< To all the Mom's and future mom's out there.......this has made it's
and come back to me again. It's still great the second time around.
On Motherhood Author Unknown
We are sitting at lunch when my friend 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
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 friend, 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
she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could
worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that
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
without a moment's hesitation. I feel I should warn her that no matter
many years she has invested in her career, she will be
professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare,
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 alright.
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 McDonald's will become a major dilemma.
That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming
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
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
to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to
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 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
I wish my friend 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
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
capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of
dog or a 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 finally say. Then I reach across the
table, squeeze my friend's hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and
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.