motherhood.

I love that I get to be a mother because it is the most precious gift you can truly receive. I love that I get to wake up to Ashers giggles and squeals in the morning even if they are at the crack of dawn. While reading a book I found something that I thought was touching and how I think motherhood is. so here you go..

Motherhood- It Will Change Your Life 

By: Dan Hanson Bourke

Found in Chicken Soup for the Woman's Soul

Time is running out for my friend. We are eating lunch when she causally mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family". What she means is that her biological clock has begun its countdown, and she being forced to consider the prospect of motherhood.


"We're taking a survey," she says half jokingly. "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 Saturdays, no more spontaneous vacations..."


But that is not what I mean at all. I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in child birth classes. I to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing heal, but that 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 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 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, bu tone day she will be going to an important business meeting and she will think about her baby's sweet smell. She will have to sue every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her child is alright.


I want my friend to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonalds will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of those 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 the that restroom. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.


Looking at my friend, 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 it up in a moment to save her offspring. She 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 friend'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 who never hesitates to play with his son or daughter. I think she should know that she will fall in love with her husband again for reasons she she would now find unromantic.


I wish my friend could sense the bond she will 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 friend the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to hit a baseball. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it hurts.


My friend's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You will never regret it." I say finally. Then I reach across the table and squeeze my friend's hand, and offer a prayer for her and me and all of the mere mortal women who stumble into this holiest of callings.