time is running out for my friend. while we are sitting at lunch she casually mentions 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 holidays..."

but that's 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 childbirth classes. i want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be vulnerable forever.

i consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without thinking: "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.

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 child care, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting, and she will think her baby's sweet smell. she will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her child is all right.

i want my friend to know that every decision 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 a restaurant will become a major dilemma. the issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in the lavatory. however decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

looking at my attractive friend, i want to assure her that eventually she will shed the added weight of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. that her own life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. 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 children accomplish theirs.

i want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to hit a ball. 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 look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "you'll never regret it," i say finally. then, squeezing my friend's hand, i offer a prayer for her and me and all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this holiest of callings.

時光任苒，朋友已經老大不小了。我們坐在一起吃飯的時候，她漫不經心地提到她和她的丈夫正考慮要小孩?！拔覀冋谧鲆豁椪{查，”她半開玩笑地說?！澳阌X得我應該要個小孩嗎？”

“他將改變你的生活?！蔽倚⌒囊硪淼卣f道，盡量使語氣保持客觀?！斑@我知道?！彼鸬溃爸苣┧怀蓱杏X，再也不能隨心所欲休假了……”

但我說的絕非這些。我注視著朋友，試圖整理一下自己的思緒。我想讓她知道她永遠不可能在分娩課上學到的東西。我想讓她知道：分娩的有形傷疤可以愈合，但是做母親的情感傷痕卻永遠如新，她會因此變得十分脆弱。

我想告誡她：做了母親后，每當她看報紙時就會情不自禁地聯想：“如果那件事情發生在我的孩子身上將會怎樣啊！”每一次飛機失事、每一場住宅火災都會讓她提心吊膽。看到那些忍饑挨餓的孩子們的照片時，她會思索：世界上還有什么比眼睜睜地看著自己的孩子餓死更慘的事情呢？我打量著她精修細剪的指甲和時尚前衛的衣服，心里想到：不管她打扮多么考究，做了母親后，她會變得像護崽的母熊那樣原始而不修邊幅。

我覺得自己應該提醒她，不管她在工作上投入了多少年，一旦做了母親，工作就會脫離常規。她自然可以安排他人照顧孩子，但說不定哪天她要去參加一個非常重要的商務會議，卻忍不住想起寶寶身上散發的甜甜乳香。她不得不拼命克制自己，才不致于為了看看孩子是否安然無羔而中途回家。