What our kids mean to us

[Guest guest]

This is a bit off-topic, but I think still special enough to share (and

apologies for sending junk -- something I am loathe to do). Regardless of the

challenges our children face, they make our lives complete. Happy Mother's Day.

Edith

mom to Lidy and Mimi (mild-mod SNHL) and Owen (hearing) -- all three and full of

sass!

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We are sitting at lunch one day 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 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 moments 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 Mc'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 herself 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 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.

May you always have in your arms the one who is in your heart.