Time is running out for my friend. While we are sitting at lunch, she casually1 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 is being forced to consider the prospect2 of motherhood.
"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 Saturdays, no more spontaneous vacations......"
But that is not what I mean at all. I try to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes: that the physical wounds of childbearing heal, but that becoming a mother will leave an emotional wound so raw that she will be forever 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 manicured nails and stylish3 suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive4 level of a bear protecting her cub5. That an urgent call of "Mommy!" will cause her to drop her best crystal without a moment's hesitation6.
