To Be a Mom

I was sent this email recently, and although I've read it before, it struck home with me today for some reason, so I thought I would C+P it here.


To Be a Mom

We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband arethinking of starting a family. "We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I shouldhave 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 wanther to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical woundsof 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 beprofessionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for child-care, 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 rest-room. 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 ofpregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be ofless 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 childaccomplish theirs. I want her to know that a Cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. Mydaughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she couldunderstand 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 regretit," I finally say. Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silentprayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this mostwonderful of callings. This blessed gift from God...TO BE A MOTHER

Today in the Kingdom of Knee Highs we have a sick 4 year old who would win an Oscar if the right producers were watching her. You would think this child has shingles or small pox for the dramatic way she throws her hand across first her head, and then her tummy, proclaiming in an "only used when I'm sick voice" "MOMMMMYY... my tummy hurts. My head! IT's BURNING!!" (although the trusty thermometer has assured me it's scant above 100 deg. )
SO my baby stayed home from pre-school yesterday, because she was actually vomiting. And today, I think she's just playing up the drama, but H stayed home anyway, because his mom, no matter how sure she is of the dramatic flair his sister is putting on, is NOT sure enough to go putting an upset tummy in a moving van twice in 3 hours. Nope. I've had my share of cleaning up stomach contents out of a carseat for a lifetime, thank you.
So my 4 year old got the benefit of my doubt, and has been allowed to play couch potato all day. But rest assured, if there is no more ickiness today, she goes back Tomorrow for sure! Oscar performance or not, I can only take so much!!