A BABY

 

We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter-in -love casually mentions that she and my son are thinking of “starting a family.” she says “Im curios, though, do you think I will be a good mother?”

“It will change your life,” I  I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral, hiding my excitement at the prospect

“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 over at her, trying to decide what to tell her. 

I want her to know the things 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 want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish outfit 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 casserole or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel that I should warn her that no matter how much she loves her work ,, things will change in motherhood.  One day she may be going into an important meeting and just think of her baby’s sweet smell. In that moment, she'll have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

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I want her 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. 

... that however decisive she may be at work, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at her.now, I want to assure her that she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself ... and that her own life 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 tell her that her relationship with my son, her husband, will change, too, but not in the way she thinks.  

I wish she could undestand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby's bottom or how sexy the man is, who never hesitates to play with his child. 

She should know that she will fall more in love with him, again and again, as she watches him become "Daddy".

I want to capture for her the joy of her baby's belly laugh, touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. 

Or, the exhilaration of seeing your child learn tie their shoe, or 

ride a bike.

I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.

 As I speak, her quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. “You’ll never regret it,” I finally say.

I wish she could sense the bond she will feel with  strong women throughout history.

Then,  I reached across the table, squeezed her hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful calling.

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