Once a wonderful mother

Back when I was a starry-eyed adolescent and hopeful young adult, I was a wonderful mother. I loved children dearly and knew everything there was to know about raising them.

The only problem was, I didn't have any. No matter. There were plenty of nieces, nephews and little friends who needed me, and quite a few dumb parents who didn't have a clue. I advised all my parent friends on what to do about a fussy baby, how to get an infant to go to sleep and stay that way, and the list goes on and on.

Aah, the joys of motherhood. How wonderful it was back then.

In my middle 20s, I married a terrific man whom I knew would make a fabulous father. In fact, that was the first important discussion we had as a courting couple. The fact that we were of different races was of no concern to either of us, but the issue of children was. Satisfied that we agreed on having children — as in more than one, but not a whole houseful, as I had done my share of raising many children — we decided we were indeed compatible and married soon thereafter.

I continued my courtship with motherhood, fantasizing about the beautiful babies I would have with my newlywed husband. What a family we would be.

Soon after our second anniversary, we decided it was time to expand our family. Right away we got our wish and set to making ready for baby. All my dreams were coming true.

I got a rude awakening about nine months after that, and life hasn't been the same since.

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