Motherhood-- It Will Change Your Life.
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 know," she says, "No more sleeping in on the weekend, no more spontaneous vacations." But that is not what I ment at all. I look at my friend, trying to decide what all to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in child birth 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 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 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 soufle or her best crystal without a moments hesitation. I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested into her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange her child care, but one day she will be going to an important business meeting and she will think about her babys 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 every day decisions will no longer be easy. That a five year old boys desire to go to the mens room rather than the womans at McDonalds will become a major dilema. That right there, in the middle of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molestor may be lurking in that rest room. 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 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 cessarian scars or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My friends 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 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 desparately 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 childrens future. I want to describe to my friend that exhileration 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 friends 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, squeze my friends hand, and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderfull of callings--the blessing of God, and that of being a mother.
