My Mom sent me this blurb when I was pregnant and I remember reading it and tearing up at the prospect of the awesome, exciting and frightening journey I was about to embark on. It is an extremely intense experience, this becoming a mother, and yah it's probably much too early for me to know how much more intense it will get, but I am loving every minute I get with this little angel, sleep deprived and all. Just looking at her little face makes me SO happy.... ahhhh, heaven.
And like I already told my Mom, I was talking to Addison the other day and I was saying that she was a lucky little thing, and that I sure wish I had someone to dote on me all day, carry me around, entertain me, feed me on command, bathe/change/dress me, be my pack mule and my driver, kiss my face incessantly, etc. etc. etc. when a light bulb suddenly went off in my head.... someone did do all this for me! Oh the new found appreciation. THANKS MOM, love you!
BEING A MOM
We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of “starting a family.”
"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 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 that 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 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 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 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 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 reached across the table, squeezed my daughter’s hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. This blessed gift from God … that of being a Mother.
And my first Mother's Day was GREAT, including a long nap in the morning before church while Dad watched Addi, breakfast in bed, a fancy steak dinner (and partial dish duty) and this baby jogger that I'd been eying! Now me and the munchkin can hit the streets of Irvine in style and do some walking/jogging and yes, eventually running. It has some swanky built in speakers that connect to your iPod and an odometer so I can track how far I've gone (or not gone as the case may be right now). Thanks babe!!
