To hear my mother and grandmother tell it, at the age of two I began lifting my pointer finger in the air and pontificating on whatever it is I knew at the age of two. I apparently did so with urgency and determination, so convinced I must have been of the importance of my twenty-four month wisdom and the need to share it.

Sixty years later I am often overtaken by the same compelling need to share accumulated wisdom, and nothing compels me more than having a pregnant daughter. From food choices to delivery room advice to nursery décor, there are things I know.

But I hold my tongue.

For the past nine months, my daughter has taught me. Midwifery, doulas, inoculations, wardrobe, rocking chairs, hospital policies, pacifiers, diapers, baby food . . . the list is long, and I listen and learn.

I know to make way and respect the discoveries of a soon-to-be mother. Holding my tongue forces me to listen and even re-position my ideas on pregnancy and infancy.

My daughter joins the ranks of knowing mothers because her child has already captured her mind and put it to work. Soon it will capture her heart. I know.