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During a visit to my grandmother when I was very pregnant with my first child, I expressed my fear of not doing a good job as a mother. I had zero experience with babies and none of my friends had babies.

My grandmother patted me on the belly and, in Yiddish, she said, "You learned college. You will learn this, too."

I couldn't trust that advice so I looked for a baby care class. At the Visiting Nurse Association, I found one. I went there and learned which end of the baby to diaper and how to do it without sticking the baby with a diaper pin. (Nobody told me that if I didn't prick the baby, I'd surely prick myself and my fingers suffered plenty. Of course, there were no disposable diapers then.)

They taught us how to bathe an infant without drowning it. The instructor explained that we must at all times hold the baby's head above water and demonstrated how to turn the child face down, support the head and still have a hand free for washing. The demo baby we used was a doll. I found out later that the whole thing never worked with a wiggling, squirming, screaming baby covered with soap. I merely lifted the baby, gave a quick swish on the bottom, and left the rest of the cleanup for later. Shampooing? I won't discuss it!

On the last day of the baby care course, the instructor beckoned to me. Dressed in my fanciest maternity outfit and red, high-heeled, T-strap sandals, I strutted to the front of the room. "Please put your foot on this chair, miss," she said. I did as I was told. "Class, this is NOT the way to dress when you're pregnant. This woman is going to break her neck." My face red with shame, I thought of my grandmother. If only she could see me now! What a terrific start on motherhood.

When the class ended, I visited a cousin with an infant -- just to observe. She invited me to stay for dinner. In fascination, I watched as she took multi-colored freezer cubes of Jell-O and placed them on the high chair tray in front of a frantic baby. He stopped crying and played at grabbing the slithering cubes for about 15 minutes, during which time we ate the fastest dinner on record. "Do this every night," she instructed, "or you won't eat dinner for two years." I blinked. No more candlelight and music?

When my child was born, I bragged about how beautiful he was and told everyone that he never cried in the hospital. Never would we have a child with a pacifier plugging up his mouth. I should have bitten my tongue before saying that. At home, he cried, always and forever. We did not know how to make him happy. Some nights we drove around with him in the car because the motion seemed to soothe him into sleep but the minute we hit a red light, he woke up.

At last, in the middle of one terrible night, we gave up. My husband and his friend drove around until they found an all-night pharmacy. They came back with a pile of pacifiers. I was never without one for a long time to come.

I was lonely, I was overtired but I gained some confidence. One day when I had decided to do nothing more than feed and diaper the baby, I let everything go for the day. No bathing the baby, diapers unwashed, laundry everywhere, dishes in the sink and I in my robe, unshowered and without makeup, the doorbell rang. A cousin and an aunt just happened to be in the neighborhood and wanted to see the new baby. At 2 in the afternoon, the time was reasonable but I wished then that the floor would open up and swallow me. However, I learned afterward that they expected nothing more and were delighted with their visit and the opportunity to be with me and the baby alone, in any condition.

The confidence grew. I had another child, this time a girl, born surprisingly on Mother's Day. If anyone were to ask me "What was the happiest day of your life?" I'd probably say the day she was born. I had a husband I loved, a son, a new home being built and then, a daughter. What a wonderful Mother's Day gift she was. Does life get any better than that? Five years later, I had another son born astonishingly on Father's Day!

As the years passed, I learned how to handle all manner of good and bad events and raised my family with the help of my husband and Dr. Spock, whose manual never left my side. If my grandmother were here, she'd say, "I said you'd be a good mameleh."

Whether or not I was a good mother, only my children can say. All we can say is it's been a road full of ups and downs and peak experiences we could never have foreseen. One of them stands out in my mind. Standing under the chuppah when my last child was married, listening to his vows, I heard him say how much he would like to have a marriage like ours!

As Mother's Day approaches this year, I'd like to wish a Happy Mother's Day to my daughter, herself a mother. She is still the best Mother's Day present in the world.

Toby Rosenstrauch, an award-winning columnist, lives in Boynton Beach, Fla.