Motherhood Defined

I got one of those "pass this on to all your friends" emails from a friend of mine and while I usually delete before I even read them, I read this one. I teared up at work. I think it really articulates beautifully how motherhood profoundly changes a woman.

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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 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 child-care, 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 alright.

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 rest-room. 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 carefully bathes the baby or who never hesitates to feed, change or 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 and prejudice.

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.

38

It's my birthday today and I'm officially 38 years old. It sounds so old when I type it, but I feel the same as yesterday. I think birthdays don't phase me anymore. Ask me again in 2 years...maybe I'll change my mind.

Joe and I had a beautiful dinner at Menton (Barbara Lynch's new restaurant in Boston that just got Top 10 best new restaurant in the US by Food & Wine) last Saturday with friends. We are attempting to get away this coming Saturday for a quick overnight in Maine - York, Ogunquit maybe? Other than that, I think I'll have Joe grab some take out chinese and hope he was kidding when he told the kids we were having broccoli cupcakes tonight (although honestly, I love broccoli).

I had my brother up for a quick visit this week and he and the kids had a really nice time together (Rory especially who had a Star Wars battle partner and got 2 new guys from Uncle Mike). He doesn't have kids and Joe and I were just talking about how different our perspectives on life and everyday living were pre-kids. I don't even remember...I really embrace getting older and feel wiser, more experienced, and more open to differences and change as I go.

Yeah me.

The Paradox of Motherhood

I read the following in a book that my sister-in-law gave me before Shelagh was born. It's a collection of essays about natural motherhood and attachment parenting called Loving Mama. While I do believe in breastfeeding and I do love to wear my babies around, I wouldn't call myself a full proponent of natural motherhood (drug-free/natural childbirth - yeah right!, birthing at home - ew!, co-sleeping/family bed, constant baby wearing, nursing on demand and as long as the child wants, etc). I don't know why I didn't read it before, but for some reason while I was nursing Kelly, it just stared at me from the bookshelf and I started reading it. It has not made me a convert, but it's just so interesting to read another perspective and to see how passionate so many women feel about the arrival of and parenting of babies.

This quote stuck out for me...It is originally from The Tao of Motherhood by Vimala McClure (which I did not and probably won't read).

A mother's nature is paradox.

Your strength is in gentleness.

Your authority is in receptivity.

Your power is in letting go.

Powerful stuff...I believe motherhood, for me, is an evolving force. The things that come naturally for me and those things that I have to work hard to achieve are constantly shifting. A sentiment like the one I noted above is a strong statement and one of the things I strive to embrace. I've been thinking about it since I read it a few days ago.