Being a Mother
We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentions
that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family."
"We've taken 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 her soufflé or her best
crystal without a moments 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 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 of
independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a
child molester may be lurking in the 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
arks 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 that 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 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 the most wonderful of callings.
This blessed gift from God…that of being a mother.
Added September 10, 2000
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