Curious Fledgling

Do you think fledglings face uncertainty when they peer over the edge of the nest for the first time? Do you think that they look to the sky and instinctively know that they belong there? Do you think that initial freefall into nothingness brings fear or exhilaration?

I was just wondering. Saturday, while I was at work, I watched the birds which nest in the eaves of the buildings and these questions came to mind.

I often dream of flying without benefit of wings or machines, not unlike Superman's ability. I love heights but I fear falling; fear the lack of control. I want to know I'm securely attached by gravity even as I extend beyond the edge into that nothingness. I want to know that my freefall will be halted or slowed by a tether to something. When I peer into the endless sky, I am awed and, as I look to the distant earth, I experience fear and exhilaration. There are no instinctive genes in my DNA which prepare me and keep me from wanting to remain in place even as my spirit compels me to leap.

When you rise between the layers of clouds in the atmosphere and eventually reach an apex which allows a panorama similar to what you see in depictions of Heaven, you want to step out and walk through those clouds as if there exists a firm foundation beneath them. Whether due to the imagery you've been fed or a definite sense of being closer to God, it becomes as peaceful, if not more so, as gazing toward the horizon across an endless sea. Maybe it's just because it represents a void filled with possibilities, new paths, infinite dreams. When these clouds part to reveal the patterns of earth and man below, it's a curious feeling to be separate and above them...a part of them, yet alone. It's always an incredible feeling when you're reminded of how small and insignificant you are, when you can see so far beyond yourself.

Would that small bird feel the same way as I would upon stepping out of the hatch of a plane; hoping his wings would not fail him even as I would be hoping my parachute would minimize my descent? I'm sure that is yet one more answer I'll never know.

To all you mothers...Happy Mother's Day

Motherhood... It Will Change Your Life

By Dale Hanson Bourke

from Everyday Miracles and Chicken Soup for the Woman's Soul

Time is running out for my friend.

We are sitting at lunch when she casually 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 considering the prospect of motherhood.

"We're taking a survey," she says, half jokingly. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say carefully.

"I know," she says. "No more sleeping in on Saturdays, no more spontaneous vacations..."

But that is 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 childbirth heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with 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 look at the mothers and wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think she should know that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will immediately reduce her to the primitive level. That a slightly urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop 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 successfully arrange for child care, but one day she will be waiting to go into an important business meeting, and she will think about her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure he is all right.

I want my friend to know that everyday routine decisions will no longer be routine. That a visit to Mc Donald's and a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's room will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that danger may be lurking in the rest room.

I want her to know that 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 pounds of pregnancy, but 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 so much to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish his.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or stretch marks will become badges of honor.

My friend's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the ways she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his son. I think she should know that she will fall in love with her husband again for reasons she would never have imagined.

I wish my modern friend could sense the bond she will feel with other women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving.

I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your son learn to hit a baseball. I want to capture for her the 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 that it hurts.

My friend's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes.

"You'll never regret it," I say finally.