Today I woke up to find that its another mother’s day and I was surprised, another mother’s day? We just celebrated the last one weeks ago right? That brings me to my question, How many mother’s day do we have? Because I am sure another is around the corner. Well, no matter how many we have, mothers are worth celebrating all the time(men don’t get jealous).
I saw a piece on Facebook that really captured a lot about motherhood , I could relate to almost everything. It is absolutely brilliant…Read and enjoy! Happy mother’s day y’all!
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 amother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever bevulnerable.
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 bearprotecting her cub. That an urgent call of “Mum!” will cause her to drop a soufflé or herbest 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 fromrunning 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’swill 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 thepounds 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 accomplishtheirs.I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges ofhonor.
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 powderthe 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 ridea 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 realise 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.Writer: Unknown