 Why is it that when women who have children are in a room with
childless women, we want to impart every horror we have ever
encountered in child-rearing to the unsuspecting, wide-eyed novice?
Most times it doesn't take anything more than a simple polite query
to set us off:
"How are the kids?"
"Oh, they're fine, now, but I nearly had a heart attack when I
found them on the roof preparing to see if our cat, who was tied to
a plastic garbage bag, would survive a free-fall of two stories."
Now, my childless friends, this is where you must not even raise
an eyebrow. No evidence of shock on your face, no gaping mouths --
nothing. Because if you show the slightest sign of interest, you
will undoubtedly hear the rest of the story, whether you like it or
not. One quirk of your lips is all it takes.
"Yeah, they thought they'd try the cat first, and if it survived,
they were going to try it with the smallest of them because she
weighed the least. Good thing I caught them when I did."
Invariably, there will be another mom who joins the conversation.
"You know my little Johnny weighs the least now, but when he was
born he was 9 pounds, 2 ounces!"
The floodgates have now been opened and you will now hear about
enormous baby weights, maternity room horrors of 30-hour labors,
cesarean sections, water breaking in the grocery store, Lamaze and
all its subsequent lies, and needles in your spinal cord to
alleviate the pain (which sounds counterintuitive, doesn't it?).
Good heavens, ladies! Do we really want to so shell-shock the
younger generation into never having children? Do you ever want
grandchildren? What is wrong with us?
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 The truth is, our stretch marks and cesarean scars are badges of
honor. Our storytelling has the same therapeutic effect for us as
the stories of a war veteran.
We have been through the sleepless nights, the endless worry, the
terrible 2s, potty training and the countless boxes of Band-Aids,
cases of Lysol, 409 and Kleenex. This is what we do because we love
a child. The pain and fear of childbirth is just the beginning, but
it prepares us for what is to come like nothing else could. If we
can get through that -- we know we can get through anything!
What I don't understand, though, is why we never mention all the
good stuff to these potential new moms. Are we really being kind to
prepare them for the worst, without mentioning what they would miss
if they never went through with it?
Why don't we talk about the sweet good-night kisses? Or the way
it feels when a toddler takes his first steps? Or how soft their
hair is after a bath? What about the pride in our hearts the first
time he recites the ABCs flawlessly? Or catches a football? Why
don't we tell them about the spontaneous hugs or the Kool-Aid smiles
or the way she dances when the "Sesame Street" song comes on?
What about the times they crawl into bed with you in the morning
for a quiet half-hour of snuggling? And all the homemade Mother's
Day gifts that we save forever?
Did I ever mention how lonely we would be without our children
and how empty life would be without them?
No? ... I'm so sorry.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist,
author and speaker. You can reach her at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more info.
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