Somebody sent this to me along time ago & I wish I would've kept it. Since it came back to me again, I thought I'd post it...For all the mom's out there & girlfriends who may someday be Moms. May you
always have in your arms the one who is in your heart.


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”.

“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, ever 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 carefully at her 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 soufflй, and
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 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 weighted 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 dream, 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.