Motherhood- It will change
your life
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?
Carefully,
I keep my tone neutral and say, “It will change your life”.
“I
know” she says, “no more sleeping in on the weekends, no more spontaneous vacations….”
I look at my daughter and think, “I wish it was that simple”. I try 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 heal, but
that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw she will
forever be vulnerable. I consider telling 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 her 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 meeting and she
will think about the smell of her baby’s skin and it will take every ounce of
discipline she has not to run home and check on her. I want her to know that
she has not experienced unconditional love until she hears the exuberant call
of her name and feels the headlong, messy leg hug of a toddler welcoming her
home on an otherwise crappy day.
I
want my daughter to know that routine decisions will be called into question.
That no matter how decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess
everything she does as a mother …constantly.
Looking
at my daughter, I want to reassure 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 far less value to her once she has a child. That
she would give up her life in a moment’s notice to save her offspring. She will
also hope for more years – not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her
child accomplish theirs.
I
want her to know that her relationship with her husband will change, but not in
the way she thinks. I wish she can 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 she could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who
have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving. I want to
describe to her how she will suffer her child’s every friendship, break-up and
accomplishment as though it was her own. I want to capture for her the belly
laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or a toddler who is being
chased and tickled by Dad. 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 her hand and offer a silent prayer
for her, for me and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into
this most wonderful of callings. This gift, this blessing. Being a Mom.
