Pinky
18-04-2001, 10:01 AM
Pas lagi sibuk-sibuknya mengejar setoran (maklum non.MGB.net :D) tau-tau ada yg ngirimin gue ini. Jadi pengen ::hua:: deh....sampe-sampe gue rela membersihkan tanda >>>...hics...*sniff.com*
This is for those of you who are mothers, those yet to be mothers and for men who will never be mothers but need to understand...
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 souffl?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 gender identity will weighed against the prospect that some danger 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 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 reach across the table, squeeze my
daughter's hand and offer 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.
This is for those of you who are mothers, those yet to be mothers and for men who will never be mothers but need to understand...
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 souffl?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 gender identity will weighed against the prospect that some danger 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 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 reach across the table, squeeze my
daughter's hand and offer 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.