【文章大意】

“母親”兩個字包含著無盡的含義，偉大無私、任勞任怨……五月的母親節(jié)是感恩的時刻，一聲我愛你，一枝康乃馨，母親失去光彩的臉頰就會重綻燦爛的笑容。本文選自《心靈雞湯》中關于母愛的一篇文章，文中講到成為母親意味著無盡的犧牲，再也不能按照慣例做出決定；原視為無比重要的生命和生活都將隨著孩子的誕生而變得不那么寶貴。為了救自己的孩子，母親愿意獻出自己的生命。但是“你永遠不會后悔”成為母親。這正是母愛的真諦所在，無聲如水，卻又沁人心田。

【關鍵詞句】

1. run out

意為“用完、耗盡；結束；流走”。

例句：The soldiers ran out of ammunition and had to withdraw.

士兵們用光了彈藥, 不得不撤退。

When does the lease of the house run out?

這房子的租約何時到期？

The water runs out of the pipe into the bucket.

水從管子流入桶里。

2. sleep in

意為“睡過頭”。

例句：I slept in and missed my bus.

我睡過了頭, 誤了公共汽車。

Don't wake me in the morning - I'd like to sleep in for a time.

早上別叫醒我, 我想多睡一會兒。

3. leave with

意為“留給……照管；留給……處理”。

例句：Mary left the children with her mother while she went on holiday.

瑪麗度假時把孩子留給母親照管。

The director leaves the chairman with the most difficult decisions.

主任把最難作的決定交主席處理。

4. reduce to

意為“使降低到、遭受；歸納、簡化；分解成”，文中指“淪落為……”。

例句：Let's reduce the passage to half the number of words.

咱們把這一段減少到一半字數(shù)。

Its people were thus reduced to slavery.

就這樣它的人民都淪為奴隸了。

Let's try and reduce it to formulas.

咱們設法把它歸納成公式吧。

Water can be reduced to oxygen and hydrogen by electrolysis.

用電解法可以把水分解為氧和氫。

5. use every ounce of

意為“用盡（全力）”，文中指“拼命克制自己”。

例如：use every ounce of one's strength

費了九牛二虎之力

use every ounce of one's energy

集中全力

6. second-guess

意為“事后批評、事后評論；預測、預言”。

例句：The boss was angry that staff were second-guessing his decisions.

老板對員工事后批評他的決策感到很生氣。

The president is upset that the press second-guessed his new policy.

總統(tǒng)對輿論界猜測他的新政策感到不悅。

【原文】

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 is ticking and has begun its final countdown.

'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 the weekend, 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 child birth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing 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 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. That an urgent call of 'Mom!' will cause her to drop a souffle or 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 arrange for child care, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think about her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my friend to know that everyday decisions 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 McDonalds 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 a child molester may be lurking in that restroom. 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 she 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 to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs. I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny 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 never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my friend could sense the bond she'll feel with women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future. I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.

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

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

Then I reach across the table, squeeze my friend's hand, and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. The blessed gift of God and that of being a Mother.