> FOR ALL THE MOMS I KNOW . . . . and all others who have been
> touched by a child...
>
> We are sitting at lunch 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 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
> 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 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 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
> 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 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 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 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 a 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 this
> most wonderful of callings. This blessed gift from
> God . . .that of being a
> Mother.
>
> Please share this with a Mom or future Mom that you know
>
FOR ALL THE MOMS I KNOW . . . . and all others who have been
touched by a child...
We are sitting at lunch 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 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
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 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 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
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 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 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 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 a 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 this
most wonderful of callings. This blessed gift from
God . . .that of being a
Mother.
Please share this with a Mom or future Mom that you know
_____________________________________________
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