motherhood

i got married at 31, and way before that, i have accepted staying single for the rest of my life (if that was God's will then so be it). that means not having any children. my mama and i actually talked about it and she told me, "go get married. have children. no one will take care of you if you stay single. everyone have their own lives to live to ever bother with you, no matter how close your relationship is."

when she passed, i haven't found "the one" yet. so i lived out the single life, but what she said always stuck at the back of my mind. and i'd always reason with her inside my head - ma, having children is difficult. i'm not sure if i can even handle raising one. childbirth scares the s*** out of me. and not to mention the financial implications, can i afford one??

and then came k. we never really talked about children before we got married, but i remember him telling me that he wanted kids right away. the more, the merrier. i still had my apprehensions about having kids, but made him a deal anyway - let's have one after a year. i felt that was enough time to convince myself that i can do this. but i was actually just putting it off. i mean, if i get pregnant now, our activities will be limited. can't travel. can't go out partying all night. can't drink. we don't need the added expense since we were saving up for a house. i'll get fat. excuses, excuses.

and then a year passed. we celebrated our anniversary and k reminds me, so, how about that deal? :) and i never thought i'd get pregnant right away! we conceived exactly a year after. and things have never been the same since we brought her home. :)



let me share with you this story i received in my email way before i got married. somehow it struck a cord and i saved it in my inbox. now, when i read it all over again, i understand every word. every line. because i have become a mom. and i won't have it any other way. :)



MOTHERHOOD
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 moment's 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 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 k now 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.

TRY NOT TO CRY....

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.