Editor's note: The following is an excerpt from Cecile Richard's new book, "Make Trouble."

When I discovered I was pregnant with Lily, I worried how on earth I was going to work as a union organizer and also be a mom.

My husband, Kirk Adams, and I were living in California, both working 18-hour days. We had planned on having kids, but just not then. Like so many people, I was using birth control, but it wasn't always reliable, nor was I.

When I told Kirk I was pregnant, we both just sort of sat there, excited and stunned. How could we make this work? Was I going to drive across Los Angeles visiting janitors and walking picket lines with a baby strapped to my back? (The answer, as it turned out, was yes.)

In the end we came to the same conclusion millions of people do: there was never going to be a "perfect" time to have kids, but just like everything else, we'd figure it out.

We didn't even have a goldfish or a guinea pig. We barely owned a potted plant. For the first time we had to think about something other than a union meeting or staying at the office until the wee hours of the morning. When the twins came along three years later, we had three somethings to think about.

Parenting isn't for everyone, and I will fight to my last breath to protect every person's right to decide whether to have children. But raising our three kids — Lily, Hannah and Daniel — is, bar none, the absolute best thing I've ever done.

I didn't know — and never quite figured out — how to get my kids to make good grades, keep their rooms clean, or stick with piano lessons. These are the lessons I learned while trying to give them self-confidence and encourage them to chart their own paths and stand up for what they believe.

1. Child-rearing is a team sport.

Nothing could have prepared me for how humbling the experience of parenting would be. The biggest lesson I've learned from raising three kids is that you never do it on your own.

I was slightly jealous of folks who had grandparents who would take the kids for a week — or even for a night! My mom often reminded us, "I'm not the baking-cookies kind of grandma."

Fortunately we had other options. Lily grew up at the campaign office, surrounded by a clan of staff and volunteers. Our three kids, like most, were raised by a community that influenced them at least as much as their parents did.

Cecile Richards, president of Planned Parenthood, waves to the crowd during the "Yes We Plan" rally at the 2012 Democratic National Convention in Charlotte, N.C. (2012 File Photo / Staff)

2. Pick your battles, and your kids will learn to pick theirs.

You know that feeling, like you have no idea what you're doing? In my experience, it never goes away. Half the time you realize you are falling back on some deeply ingrained, often bizarre and inexplicable memories from your own childhood.

It was easy to repeat verbatim things my mother said to me. "You look so pretty when I can see your eyes!" Meaning: If you don't get your hair out of your face, I'm going to go nuts.

My mom had a lot of rules to obey when she was a child. After a hardscrabble beginning, my grandmother was determined to make sure Mom fit in with the rich kids at her school. Which included wearing the "right clothes." My grandmother had taken in sewing during the Depression, and she made much of what Mom wore, making sure that the seams matched and that everything fit just so. Mom carried on this tradition with me, making sure I always had the right outfit.

Once, when I was in fifth grade, she relented and agreed to take me shopping to get something that looked more like what other girls my age wore for an upcoming slumber party. The red bell-bottom jeans with white polka dots and a robin's-egg-blue jumpsuit I picked out were my first expressions of liberation.

But special occasions still were her purview, and many of those outfits are permanently etched into my brain, including a truly hideous orange Christmas jacket-and-skirt combo in junior high made of what can only be described as faux Naugahyde.

In keeping with her family tradition, on holidays Mom was hell-bent on ensuring that all three of my kids would be decked out in perfectly coordinated matching outfits, from their hats to their socks. When she was governor, it was hard to object when she wanted every child in a denim jumper with a matching red cowboy hat for the photos with the pony.

For my family, beyond some basic standards, it was live and let live when it came to wardrobe decisions. I like to think it freed up some mental space for us all to focus on other things.

Texas state Treasurer Ann Richards, keynote speaker for the Democratic National Convention, takes her 16-month-old granddaughter, Lilly, from daughter Cecile Adams following a news conference July 15, 1988 in Atlanta. (1988 File Photo / The Associated Press)

3. Raising kids is the ultimate serenity prayer.

One lesson I learned immediately was how little impact parenting can have. You can do everything right, provide love and encouragement, and yet still raise a child who becomes a right-wing fanatic just to spite you — every progressive parent's nightmare.

4. Gender roles are alive and well, and they start early.

My mother grew up in a time when most women didn't have many options; you could be a teacher, a secretary, a domestic worker or a nurse, and that was pretty much it.

My kids, though, grew up seeing women in charge. Our life was such a matriarchy that when Daniel was 3 he said, "When I grow up, I want to be a woman." This was less gender confusion than gender envy. The women he knew were in power, doing important and cool things.

While I grew up playing half-court basketball, the twins were 9 months old and in a Snugli when they began going to see the University of Texas Lady Longhorns basketball team. At the time, the longest-serving women's basketball coach, Jody Conradt, had the winningest record for a college women's team. We were season ticket holders, as was everyone we knew. In those days, if they had dropped a bomb on the Erwin Center during a Lady Longhorns game, every lesbian and progressive in Austin would have perished.

Mom and her friend Barbara Jordan, then in a wheelchair, would sit courtside and cheer like teenagers.

It wasn't until they were much older that the twins learned men played basketball too.

Still, as far as we had come, the stereotyping of boys and girls from the earliest age was heartbreaking. The teacher in Hannah and Daniel's kindergarten class gave out "awards" at the end of the year. For the girls? "Most helpful to the teacher" and "Friendliest student." The boys' diplomas were very different: "Most likely to invent something" and "Best in math."

5. Get comfortable making others uncomfortable.

I know all three kids secretly wished that at least once, on career day at Lafayette Elementary School, one of their parents was a firefighter or librarian or something they knew how to explain to their friends.

We were always going up against some tough adversary, and the dinner table conversation was usually about some injustice somewhere or our overwhelming frustration with the political scene in Washington.

One day Daniel came home and announced that his third-grade classroom had been talking about what they wanted to be when they grew up. He had decided he wanted to be a potter. Daniel had not shown the slightest talent or interest in anything artistic. "That's great, Daniel!" I said. "What a fascinating thing to do. How did you decide that?" "Because, Mom, nobody doesn't like a potter."

A little bit of my heart broke that night, and I realized how much he and his sisters had internalized some of the toughest parts of life as an activist. That's the life Kirk and I chose. As a result, the kids learned that not everyone is going to love you, and that's okay.

6. Work-life balance is a myth.

My life as a mom did not break neatly into "work" and "parenting." For many years it was just one big blur. Like so many parents, I put my kids in day care the minute it was a possibility.

I had three months of unpaid leave. As soon as my leave ended, I had to go back to work. I wasn't ready. In fact, driving away after dropping Lily off at the sitter that first morning, I wept uncontrollably. And I was one of the lucky ones. It is unconscionable that this country still has no paid parental leave.

Kirk and I moved to Washington in 1998 because we both agreed it was time to see something other than Texas. There wasn't an obvious job for me in D.C. One day I sat all three kids down and asked, "What do you guys think about me maybe not going back to work? I could be here in the afternoon when you got off from school. We could do stuff together!"

They looked horrified. They had been raised to be independent and take care of each other, and they weren't interested in giving up their freedom.

Besides, I think they knew, even at that young age, that it was in nobody's best interest for me to have extra time on my hands.

Still, until I found a job, it was hard to be an organizer with nothing to organize. So I volunteered to make the costumes for the sixth-grade play, The Wiz. Every sixth grader had to be in it — it was not optional.

Just a week before the performance, I got a call from former senator Tim Wirth of Colorado, asking if I could meet with him and a couple of people about a possible job. I didn't know him and had no idea how he'd gotten my number, but as they say, the show must go on. "Sure, that would be great," I replied, "but it would need to be Thursday, because today I'm getting ready for dress rehearsal, and the munchkin costumes aren't finished." There was silence on the other end of the line. "Well, I guess we can wait. We'll see you tomorrow then," said the senator.

I rushed downtown Thursday right after a less-than-perfect dress rehearsal. There was still glitter all over my hands from last-minute touch-up work, and I realized too late that I didn't have a pair of panty hose without a run in them.

Looking pretty much the worse for wear, I walked into Wirth's office. Sitting in the room with him were Ted Turner and Jane Fonda. They were looking for an organizer to work on reproductive rights for their foundation.

I'm not certain whether the organizing skills I'd demonstrated by corralling all those sixth graders into costumes clinched it, but that couldn't have hurt, because they hired me on the spot.

That crazy day confirmed one of my mom's favorite admonishments: Never turn down a new opportunity. And for every parent who has organized a PTA meeting or coordinated volunteer shifts for the silent auction, know this: Those skills will serve you well.

7. Someone always has to be the mom.

I know even as I write this that some people aren't going to like it. But this is the truth: No matter how evolved you are, no matter your family makeup or the gender roles in your home, in any family with kids, someone has to remember birthdays, make lunches, keep track of doctor's appointments, give pep talks, and coordinate after-school activities and holidays.

For most of history, and often to this day, the default expectation has been that those responsibilities are women's work. There are all kinds of families. Sometimes "the mom" isn't a mom at all. Sometimes it's a dad or a grandparent, an uncle, an older brother, or a sister. The point is, someone has to keep the wheels on the whole operation.

8. Everything you need to know in life you can learn on a campaign.

Lily never had a choice. At age 3 she went straight from janitors' picket lines in Los Angeles to the middle of Mom's campaign for governor. Our life was at work with her grandmother, or Mammy, as she called her.

Letters to the Tooth Fairy were written on a typewriter in the campaign office, and she was probably the only preschooler who entertained herself by signing "Ann Richards" over and over again with the autopen. Though Hannah and Daniel didn't arrive until after Mom's election, they made up for lost time, as everyone around them either worked for the governor or on an issue she was embroiled in.

Campaign offices are chaotic places. There were always volunteers dropping by, mailings to be sent out, or lists of people to call. When you think about it, a campaign is a great place to pick up new skills.

Lily still says it was Mom's first campaign that taught her anything is possible if you're willing to step up and give it a shot.

9. Nothing is more motivating than seeing generational progress through your kids' eyes.

Having a mom who worked for Planned Parenthood came in handy for my kids more than once. At the very least, by the time they were in high school, our apartment was where one could always find condoms.

It was also Planned Parenthood that provided the twins their first organizing opportunities. In 2011, when Congress turned on us and the efforts to shut down Planned Parenthood really took off in Washington (with a little help from Congressman Mike Pence, who will always have a special place in my heart), both Hannah and Daniel were in college.

Hannah called me, agitated. "Everyone at school is really upset about this defunding of Planned Parenthood, but I don't really know what to do. We just have to do something."

"How about you organize something on campus?" I suggested. The next week I got a notice that the students at Wesleyan were holding a rally of support for Planned Parenthood. I knew right away: That was Hannah.

Daniel knew what was happening from the news, but that was about all I was sure of. One Saturday I was racing downtown in New York to speak at a Planned Parenthood rally when I got a text.

"Hey Mom, I'm in a car with some kids from Allegheny. We're driving to Ohio to a rally for Planned Parenthood. I love you." It was from Daniel.

Today Daniel is a chemist, but also a lifelong political activist, and proud of it.

Hannah decided to become a full-time organizer, working on environmental justice and common-sense gun reform, among other causes.

And Lily? Well, she picked up where her grandmother left off.

Mom was eager to pass on all the important life skills she had spent years learning: If you can't remember someone's name, you can always call them "honey." Never wear patterns on TV. And for heaven's sake, before you name your kid, think about how it will look on a bumper sticker or billboard.

Lily remembers those Ann Richards lessons like nobody I know.

10. There are some basic life skills every kid needs, whether or not they're an activist.

At the end of the day, all we can do is make sure that once our kids are launched, they have the basic life skills that are necessary for survival and joy. Most of all, I hope my kids, and all kids, have the confidence and opportunity to follow their own paths in life — to take risks and do what makes them happy. And if, in the meantime, they change the world along the way, so much the better.

Cecile Richards is the president of Planned Parenthood and the daughter of former Texas Gov. Ann Richards. This column is an edited expert from her new book, "Make Trouble," and reprinted by The Dallas Morning News by permission of Touchstone, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Inc.

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