I thought this was beautiful and wanted to share it. A little late for our discussion on women giving birth but... Get your hankies ready.

Yvonne



To Mothers, Daughters, Aunts, Grandmothers,Girlfriends...
>
>
>  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 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 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 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 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 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 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 McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right
>there, in the  midst of clattering trays and screaming children,
issues of
>independence and  ender 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 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, 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 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 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 a 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 of the mere mortal
women
>who stumble their way into this most wonderful of  callings.
>
>This blessed gift from God
>
>  .....that of being a Mother.
>
>
>   "Author Unknown"