A Conversation Between Friends.....

We are sitting at lunch when my friend 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 friend, trying to decide
what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth
classes. I want her to know that the pains of child bearing will heal, but
that 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 souffle or her best crystal without a moment's
hesitation.

I feel 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 her discipline to keep from running home, just to make
sure her baby is alright.

I want my friend to know that everyday 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 friend, 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 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 friend'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 friend 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 friend 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 a cat for the first time. I
want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.

My friend's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my
eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say.  Then I reach across the
table, squeeze my friend's hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and for
me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this
most wonderful of callings. The blessed gift of being a Mother.

                                                                                                    Author Unknown

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