When you think of it, it’s a cruel joke. Motherhood starts with nine months of nausea, backaches, and bladder problems, and terminates with excruciating pain. That’s followed by two decades of emotional stress and servitude, culminating in sadness when the child, not needing you anymore, leaves home.

What in the world are people talking about when they speak of the joys of motherhood?

They’re talking about the awe you feel looking at your growing belly and realizing you’re nurturing a human life into existence with your own body or the thrill of holding a newborn and touching its tiny fingers.

They’re talking about ending an exhausting day of cleaning up, doing laundry, running errands, and mediating endless bickering by tucking your child into bed and feeling your heart fill as he transforms into a sleeping angel.

They’re talking about the pleasure of hearing your child squeal with delight at her first circus or of helping her get dressed for her senior prom.

They’re talking about how much fun it is to wrestle with your kid, teach him chess, or make him run as you squirt him with a hose on a hot day.

They’re talking about the pride you experience when she gives you the first present she bought with her own money or when you see her score a goal, win an award, or graduate.

But I’m sure about the joys of motherhood when your child says, “I love you Mommy.”

This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.