The Mommy Wars Inside My Head

I gave birth to my first child, Jade, when I was 21. I had dropped out of college and, at the time I became pregnant, Jade's father and I were hitchhiking around Florida, sleeping on beaches and camping in abandoned lots. I learned I was pregnant that winter while working as a waitress at Rick's Cafe on Duval St. in Key West. (That sounds more romantic than it was.)

That spring, Jade's dad and I gradually made our way West in a 1971 VW Bug that we purchased in Florida for $400. We slept in the back, along with our puppy, as my belly grew. Eventually, we landed in a mountain cabin in Mendocino County, California. It was summer, and temperatures were in the low 100s. Our cabin's well was dry. I peed in a bucket in the loft at night and I cooled off in an irrigation ditch during the day.

After Jade was born, we moved to Eugene, Oregon, a college town. During her toddler years, now a single-mom, I returned to college. I ended up earning three degrees from the University of Oregon (a triple Duck). Throughout Jade's childhood, I constantly strove to better myself and develop my career, actually multiple careers -- from environmental activist, to journalist, to lawyer.

As Jade got older, I guess I began to put my career before being a mom. I started law school during her senior year and remained somewhat willfully ignorant of the mischief she engaged in. The summer, after her first year in college, I chose to do an internship in Washington, DC. I had rented out the Oregon home she grew up in. Jade returned to Eugene that summer and had to get a job and live in a house with friends. There was no safety cushion for her. I was building the new life that would sustain me in my empty nest. I had pushed my chick out, hoping she would fly. (In my defense, Jade claims this was a good thing for her, and fly she did.)

So belatedly, in my late 30s and early 40s, I experienced many things I had missed in my 20s. I went to law school, got a job as a public defender, moved across country, partied heavily, dated freely, hung out with kids younger than me. It was a good midlife crisis. Finally, I also achieved success in my career. Then I met my husband and achieved a personal happiness that had thus far eluded me. Life was good.

My husband and I talked about having kids. He's a few years younger than me and is the type who everyone assumes will be a good father. At parties, he can often be found out back, throwing a baseball with the kids. But we were unsure, a bit loathe to give up our precious freedom. I went off birth control pills after our marriage; but we had no concern about an accidental pregnancy. I was 45 and had been told my fertility experts that I would need professional help to get pregnant. That seemed like too much work and money -- especially since we weren't sure about parenthood at our age. We talked about adopting and even (for a minute) surrogacy. But during our first year of married life, we were happy with our life the way it was.

Apparently, I was more fertile than everyone thought. Or maybe my eggs were partying too, after years of being suppressed by birth control pills. When I saw the blue line in my pregnancy test strip, I was happy. So was my husband. The fear came later. But we both felt that a miracle had occurred, a gift had been given to us. As my belly grew to a ridiculously huge mound, my husband and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Was this really happening?

Jericho is a blessing and a gift. We are joyful, but not always smiling. This article from New York magazine explains this apparent contradiction well. Parenting is work! Fulfilling work, but work just the same. And sometimes work is no fun. In fact, good parents are often party poopers. They have to be.

I also find it interesting and contradictory that, after spending Jade's childhood trying to build my career, and after having finally achieved a measure of professional success, I am ready to give this up so I can spend more time with Jericho. Because he's such a gift, I feel I must cherish him all the more. I am trying to arrange a job share at my workplace so I can work half-time. If we could afford it, I would take a leave of absence.

Part-time work though may be just the ticket. Studies say mothers who work outside the home part-time are the happiest moms. (I can't find a link for this, but I've heard it's true.) I also was cautioned by reading Ayelet Waldman's somewhat interesting memoir, Bad Mother. In it she describes giving up her career as a public defender to stay at home with her children and the depression that ensued.

I am finding, now in my fourth month of maternity leave, that I'm beginning to miss adult conversation more and more. As exhibited in the reprinted blogs from the New York magazine article, I also am finding that I have very little to converse about with friends. Not many people, aside from my husband and mother, are interested in Jericho's poop schedule. It's difficult to overcome the isolation of stay-at-home motherhood when you live in a lefty hipster modern culture and not within the domain of Traditional Family Values (where I assume stay-at-home moms get more support and company).

Perhaps, like Ayelet Waldman, I'll use this tension -- between wanting to be with my precious miracle baby and wanting to reap the fruits of my career labor -- to find yet another career. But I'm too tired to think about that right now.