A conversation between friends

Oct 5 16:45 UTC 2000

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 to tell her that
the physical wounds 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 all right. 

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 God and that of being a
Mother. 

Please share this with a Mom that you know or a future Mom you know. 

"Author Unknown"

response 2 of 20:

Oct 5 17:53 UTC 2000

This time, God's only mentioned the once, and late one... he must be getting
tired. ;}

response 4 of 20:

Oct 5 18:39 UTC 2000

I prefer LArd: Mate, spawn, and die.

response 6 of 20:

Oct 5 19:28 UTC 2000

Heh. Good point (#5's last sentence).

response 8 of 20:

Oct 6 00:21 UTC 2000

did anyone but me see this post as somewhat misogynistic?

response 10 of 20:

Oct 6 05:19 UTC 2000

It seemed to be saying that a woman couldn't have kids and a successful
career.

response 12 of 20:

Oct 6 08:04 UTC 2000

It is possible to have a successful career and be a mother, but it ain't
easy.  Whats-her-name in a job prior to her prior job was instantly put
on the 'mommy track' the moment she announced she was preggers - her
management was particularly mad because they's just given her a big
raise.  Its not easy.  We spend about half our income for live-in nanny.
But its worth it.

Other notes on having children.  Don't plan on having nice furniture or
a Martha Stewart decorated home for at least 18 years out.  No more
watching much of anything on TV other than cartoons or G movies. 
(Sometimes you get a break but not often.)  You will learn all the
Barney Songs and as Mary Remmers entered once "You will wear your heart
on your sleeve".  You will learn a lot about poop.

response 14 of 20:

Oct 6 15:43 UTC 2000

Your track record varies. We watched a *lot* of Sherlock Holmes, did
not learn a single Barney song, and the poopy period passed quickly.
But we *are* discussing redecorating. 

response 16 of 20:

Oct 8 00:38 UTC 2000

You're talking about jobs on an A2 BBS? *chuckle*

response 18 of 20:

Oct 9 15:29 UTC 2000

Steve Jobs? Isn't that what they do in the Landing Strip parking lot?

response 20 of 20:

Oct 11 06:34 UTC 2000

Ditto.