Being a Mom

This sums up all the feelings I have felt in the past 2 months of "motherhood".  Tomorrow, Jon Kent will be two months old and it has been a life changing experience.  One that I probably will never be able to really put into words.  I knew motherhood would change my life, but I never expected it to change my life so much so soon.  It's true, that once you have a baby you look at the world in totally different eyes.  I hope yall enjoy this!

 

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, 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 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 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,
and 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.