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others enjoy special privileges with daughters. When they are children daughters play with hand-wrought babies, emulating their mothers and looking forward to when they will be mothers themselves. Mothers observe daughters with warmth and remembrance when they too, played with such things, having such dreams. Then daughters grow up to that most curious day of all women — the first discharge of menses.
The embarrassed child held soiled garments for her mother to see. Instinctively she felt that mother already knew. When she awoke and felt the wetness, at first she thought she had wet her bed. She became frightened when she saw blood. With apprehensive eyes, she approached her mother. “Well, my precious,” said she, “you are growing up. Perhaps the time is near to tell you of men and marriage.” Her fingers touched her daughter’s brow, brushing back a dark curl. “I will pray that God will grant you many babies; fine sons and beautiful daughters. Just like you.” Mary’s apprehension comforted. She smiled wistfully, relishing her mother’s embrace.
As it is with all women, she grew accustomed to the pain and inconvenience of monthly cramps and thought of how nice it would be to be a man. Men do not trouble with such things. Her mother had taught her that. Men are so fortunate, but then, men do not have babies. And of all the wonderful things in the world that Mary wanted, as did all Hebrew women, she wanted babies. Then a few days after her sixteenth birthday, inexplicably, she missed a period. “It is nothing to worry about,” said her mother; “happens to all of us at one time or another. It will come soon my sweet.”
But it didn’t.
