Sunday morning tears

It’s Sunday morning.. I am heading out to my parents to decorate their tree.. It’s the "family" tree and tradition.. usually there is more of us decorating it but this year it’s only me (and Coop)

And then I am going to out to Zellers to get some stocking stuffers for B… and Coop probably too.. it’s a 10% off day for friends/family..

 

So I leave my mommy friends this "story" I am almost always skim this kinda stuff, but this one is worth reading it’s just so true.

xo

 

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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 souffle 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, 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 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.

Please share this with a Mom that you know or all
of your girlfriends who may someday be Moms. May you always have in
your arms the one who is in your heart.