Dearest Carla,
Carla, truer words and feelings were never spoken. thank you. AS Barb
and I travel to Chicago for my Mothers operation, I thank God every day
of my life that I have the Mother and had the Father that cared for me
and were dedicated to their children without regard in many ways for
their own concerns. I knew when we grew up that they did without clothes
for themselves so that they could clothe us for school, and they did
without spending for their fun time, while they provided help for us
when we were ill, and they were there for us when we were accomplishing
our own goals in school and achievements. My Mothers dedication to my
Brother and I is and was a legacy that we were blessed with and today I
believe that dedication by which she Mothered us she realizes in the
fact that both her sons at 60 years later will be by her side with the
same love for her as she gave to us while she goes through major
surgery. It is the love for us and the dedication she and my Father
provided in terms of discipline, when needed, love all the time,
education, support, honesty and integrity that, as you have so very
beautifully said in your message, "the blessed gift of God and that of
being a Mother" is truly an accomplishment of shere love and grace. Yes,
I am very in accord with your beautiful message. Thank you dear lady.
God Bless
your friend
marty and I am certain my Brother Gary would concur as well.
ken naehring wrote:
>
> *MOTHERHOOD* IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE....
>
> Time is running our for my friend. We are sitting at lunch when she
> casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a
> family". What she means is that her biological clock is ticking and
> has begun its final countdown.
>
> "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 childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of
> childbearing heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an
> emotional wound 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 the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an
> urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a soufflé 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 lbs 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
>
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