Reposting this — as I do every Mothers’ Day…with sincere appreciation and love in my heart for all that you do for your children.  I am extremely grateful that we get to share this precious time together.  Enjoy:

“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 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.

I attended the Reenactment of Patriots Day with Maggie on Monday, April 15th – and although I have lived here for twelve years; this was my first time to wake much before dawn and head downtown with my ladder; a cup of coffee and one of my children.  Till now, Gary had always taken the children; the boys when they were much younger.  With the promise of extra credit; Maggie was not to be deterred…and frankly I was quite happy to go;  living in Lexington all this time, it felt like the thing to do.

And so we did.  Waking early – heading to the center;  early dark black cold morning.  I was struck by our mode of transport;  trying hard to imagine what it was like hundreds of years ago – and eerily realizing that despite the very early hour; I was not alone on the roads; contrary – many like us were heading into town;  rows of headlights making their way at 4:30AM on Patriots Day.

I had woken this early two times before on a Patriots Day – readying myself for the Boston Marathon.  I ran it first in 1992 – a young grad student wanting to share this so sacred Boston tradition in my newly adopted city.  And then fifteen years later, four babies later, a lifetime later – I ran with my newest best friend – a renaissance of my life as I had discovered running and new friendship and needed to remind myself of challenge and goal and strength despite all that had changed for me in fifteen years.

The Boston Marathon is special.  I know many cities would say the same – and it is all true.  But Boston is special.  Very hard – physically crazy challenging.  But the fans, the people, the traditions – Hopkinton; Wellesley; Heartbreak Hill; Boston College.  Coolidge Corner; Fenway Park;  Comm Ave.  Hereford Street; Bolyston.  Finish.  I have such vivid memories of my my time running Boston.  Mostly positive.  A father and daughter handing out orange slices.  The women of Wellesley.  You can hear them for almost a mile.  Heartbreak Hill.  Seeing Tommy first, falling into his arms for a hug.  He had no idea how much I was hurting and didn’t understand why I was crying.  Walking with Gary up the next half mile. Telling him how much I hurt and not knowing if I could finish.  Banana.  Stomach cramps. Chafing so bad that I was bleeding.

And so on Monday afternoon – after an early morning with the true Patriots – I couldn’t understand a text from a friend alerting me to the explosions.  It was such a beautiful day.  Picture perfect day for a marathon. Hard to believe my eyes.  I knew that finish – that exact spot.  Families wait there.  Wait for their mom or their dad;  their girlfriend or boyfriend;  just wait there and take all that humanity in…

And then I was struck by the timing of it all.  Why wait until almost 3P? — the champions have been awarded;  the major media presence has subsided.  It really is only people like me still running.  Those running for charity.  Those who didn’t qualify.  These are the people who decided to run for another purpose.  Maybe like me to prove to themselves that they still could;  maybe because a child they know is dying from cancer;  maybe because they have a parent with Alzheimers.  They train and they run and they aren’t fast or pretty – and they all finish around 3 and 4PM.  So why target that time?  Not that there is ever a good time – but for some reason, this seems especially cruel.  For whatever reason, they waited.  They waited for Martin Richard’s dad.

Again – there would never have been a good time.  It would have always been tragic.

And then, like you, I have been inspired and reminded of good by reflecting and hearing all the stories of those who stepped in to help;  on-duty; off duty; visitors; runners; doctors; nurses;  first responders.  Only three people died that day because of them.  Make no mistake.  Lives were saved.  Lives that should have been lost.  Stories now still to be told by many who should have died on Monday. Babies to be born.  Weddings to attend.  Lives to live.  Hard lives now.  Lives forever changed.  Some without feet or legs.

And so I say this.  Let us run together next April.  However many of you that will join me.  We will run together and raise money for those who were hurt.  We will run for prosthetics…and chairs…and maybe lost income for those who can no longer work the way they could before.  And in this way – in this way – we will remember Marathon Monday.  Our Patriots Day.

I often reflect on what it must have taken in one’s heart to be a Minuteman.  To leave your house in the pitch black morning – to leave your farm with your family inside; knowing that without you, their survival was in doubt. But believing beyond one’s own self, that the greater purpose was more important.  Sort of like running toward a bomb instead of running away.  Sort of like ripping down a barrier to get to a victim.  Sort of like holding someone’s femoral artery in your hand.

Sort of like that kind of bravery.

Lately I have been thinking a lot about being a parent – the hard parts.

I want so much for every parent at CNS to know – that there is no such thing as the ‘perfect child’.  Whether you grapple with something now or later – you will grapple.  You will struggle.  You will be scared.  You will feel worry and fear and maybe even some embarrassment. I hope for the least of that for all of you – but it is our common experience.

I remember when I gave birth for the first time – I was still in the hospital when I had this very profound realization.  Becoming a mother – those first few hours, I felt like the “First Mother”.  And then I looked around me – taking in all the other mothers and the babies. And I realized that I had just entered a sisterhood of mothers – that what I had just become was as old as forever and so common to our human experience.  There was a comfort for me in that.  What felt so first and unique to me became a beautiful connection to all the other women there and all before.

Making that connection – that my experience giving birth was actually not all unique was profound for me.  And I think moving on, it becomes easy to forget the shared experience that we all have as parents.  It can feel isolating and alone.  But it doesn’t need to be. We can all feel pretty isolated in our struggles around dealing with either a difficult situation or the difficult, challenging temperament of a child.  There is even a certain guilt associated with when we are upset or angry at our own child – a wish for more patience, better attention, different strategies…a hustle to find that better book to read or that workshop to attend, just to get us the better tools we need to handle it all just a little better.

The interesting thing I find is that children – perhaps because they are so much of us – can trigger and ignite feelings that belie rational judgment or reaction.  Perhaps because they remind us of our own shortcomings and struggles, we see them playing out the same issues sometimes and that can be hard and challenging – especially if we haven’t accepted those issues within ourselves.

And then of course, we have our expectations of who we want them to be – what they could achieve – if just given the right environment, schools, opportunities.  Especially here in Lexington – and even I would say especially CNS parents – there is a value and treasure placed on our children.  This is our gift to them – but with it can come expectation and dreams.

I have four children – all of which have their various challenges and beautiful gifts.  They are all very different.  None of them have taken the same path.  Our first born has a speech disability.  You might not know it to meet him – but he stutters and always will have to think about speaking before actually speaking to you.  I am so proud of him. He has to be so brave; all the time.  Imagine not being able to speak without thinking about it.  And he wants to be a Captain in the army – and then a lawyer – and then who knows what. This week he opened his application to the United States Military Academy.  There comes a gulp of pride and worry with that.  I know that the end of him living here is just around the corner.  (because yes, even though right now your day to day might seem like forever; all of a sudden you will find yourself on the downslope of their childhood).

But on that same day that he opened up that application, I got a very hard email from a middle school English teacher about all the work that our third son hasn’t completed yet;  and how worried she is about him.  And on this same day, our beautiful daughter read 23 pages in 32 minutes — and probably could not tell you what she read or what the book was about.  Because she has some sort of disability that makes it really hard for her brain to work.  But because she has my stubborn streak and her father’s ability to work incredibly work hard – she gets by.  She gets by. And the worry I have for her and her future brings me to my knees.

So I ask of you all to lean in to each other.  Don’t judge or even feel all that self-satisfied with your child’s success.  Lean in to be there for each other.  When you see a child who might be struggling or challenged – realize that is your child (maybe not right now; but someday).  We are all in this together.  We all share this great road that is called parenthood.  And we don’t need to feel isolated or that everyone else expects that we have it all figured out.  I will be the first to say  –  I don’t have it figured out.  I am learning everyday.  I am no expert.  But I just know that every child needs three things – tell them that you love them; three times. Every day.  That’s my best strategy. My best advice.  My second best advice is this – never feel alone.  And if ever do, drop by and let’s have a cup of coffee.  My door is always open.