The Blessed Gift of Being a Mother...

I received this e-mail around Mother’s Day this year, which was my first Mother’s Day and just shortly after giving birth to Madeline. I remember crying my eyes out when reading it, probably mostly due to the hormones coursing through my veins and the lack of sleep I was suffering at the time, but I just read it again this morning and it touched me in such a way that I can’t even explain. All of this is so true. Before I had Madeline, I considered myself to be a pretty well put together person. I had my education, a great job, a wonderful husband…we drove nice cars, had bought our first home, kept busy on the weekends. Our life was PERFECT. We had everything we could ever wish for. Then, we decide to have a baby. My pregnancy was so exciting for both of us. We made sure we had two of everything…our baby would have enough clothes, diapers, wipes, blankets, and toys to get her through her first two years of life, no problem! When Madeline finally arrived, it donned on us that everything we thought was so important would be trivial now that she was in our lives. After bringing her home, we realized that we didn’t need half the stuff we had bought for her. All that she wanted was to be loved, and we could do that with none of the amenities we had regarded as necessities for nine months prior. When I sit at work (for the measly 12 hours a week I can manage to be away from her) I think of Madeline constantly. I wonder what she is doing, how she is feeling, if she’s eating, sleeping, playing. As a father, I know that Chris has experienced some of the same things that I have. I know that when he goes on calls involving children, the birth of new babies, and even sick old people that it means so much more to him now and he wonders, “What if that was Madeline, or Sarah, or me?” Suddenly, every action you take has consequences that effect not only you, but this precious, innocent little person who’s life revolves completely around you and what you are doing that day, what kind of mood you are in, whether you are tired, happy, or sad…

I will stop rambling now, but I really think everyone should read this story below. Whether you are a mother, a father, or soon-to-be, I promise it will touch your life forever…

We are sitting at lunch 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 the weekend, 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 childbearing heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be forever vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never read a newspaper again without asking "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every 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 child care, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think about 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 daughter 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 McDonalds 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 daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same aboutherself. 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 daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the ways she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder the baby or 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'll feel with women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and 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 regret it," I say finally. Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter'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.