Archive for the 'parenthood' Category

Identity, Babies, and Writing

Ever since I became a mother, I’ve been referring to myself in the third person. “Mommy loves you,” I tell Nesta, or “You can’t bite Mommy!” even as I think, How weird. It’s like “I” don’t exist. Only “mommy” exists. And who the hell is she?

There is a certain amount of truth to the thought that “I” ceased to exist when “Mommy” came into being. Your identity collapses for your child into one thing, and that happens a little bit for yourself as well, at least for awhile. Humans spend time with the things, events, people, and activities that define them, that make up their identity, and a new mother spends more time with her child than she does anything else. Or at least, this new mother does. (Here I go again, referring to myself in the third person.) In the past 10 1/2 months since my son was born, I’ve probably spent an average of twelve to thirteen hours a day with him. This is more time than I think I’ve spent with anybody else, ever, except my own mother. Naturally, my identity at the moment reeks of motherhood, is saturated with the daily grind of it, soaked in those juices.

Who am I now? How did I get here? And will I ever be able to get my creative life back?

My blog and my writing life have suffered the most. Bill-paying work always gets done because it has to. The writing that does get done is mostly because of deadlines and public appearances, not because it brings in a lot of money. It’s been hard to work on my next book. I feel a little lost, swimming around in this sea of nursing, diapers, and lack of sleep. Though I didn’t exactly get what many people might refer to as “mommy brain,” I have discovered that I have very little patience for some things that absorbed me in the past, and my conversation is dominated by parenting talk, a trend I hope will pass as my baby grows and I have more freedom to become the “old” Jessica again. Or, not exactly the “old” Jessica, but a new (and certainly improved) Jessica.  

I am making a commitment to try blogging here again regularly, that is, once a week. So I hope you’ll drop by and spend some time with me as I muddle my way through this new period where my identity as wife, mother, writer, teacher, and editor/publicist are being shuffled around and re-mixed. Not entirely sure what will come of the re-mix but I know it’ll be an interesting process. Thanks for being here for the ride!

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Working Moms in a Post-Feminist World

Because I am a new mother working at home with limited childcare, I have been thinking lately how I have no models for how to do this in a healthy and productive manner—healthy for my relationship with my 5-month-old son, productive for my work and my career.

 Growing up in the church, I knew very few married women who worked, period. Those who did were usually not professionals, and there was this vague sense that floated from and towards them that they had to work because their husbands didn’t make enough money. I might add that their children were not the best behaved on the block, which added to the sense that their situation was less than ideal. Among the professional women I knew, one was a physical therapist whose husband had lupus; I had the impression that, once again, she was in a situation where she needed to be the breadwinner because her husband could not and this is what made it acceptable.

 My mother is a writer, and she did write a weekly parenting column while I was growing up. But we didn’t rely on her income (I think it paid the princely sum of something like $25 a week), she was able to write her column on Thursday afternoons so she wasn’t trying to put in more than two or three hours of work a week, and her stay-at-home mom-ness contributed 100% to her ability to write the column.

 I grew up feeling rebellious—like I was a bad Christian girl—because I knew I didn’t want to be a stay-at-home mom. I wanted a career, as a writer, and I wanted it to be a successful career—with multiple books published and magazine articles and long essays and lots of short stories. For a long time, I thought I wouldn’t have children because I wasn’t sure how I would manage both.

 Though I think there are more professional and non-professional women in the church who work these days than there were when I was growing up (it is hard, sometimes impossible, to make it on one income these days), I know some of those women feel judged. My sister-in-law, for example, mentioned a melt-down she had in church one day when a man pompously informed her that God expected her to stay at home with her children. I’ve known since I was a little girl that I was supposed to be a nurse, she told him. I feel called by God to be a nurse. And I am a very good mother. So just shut up.  

 But among all the women I know, I personally know exactly one other woman doing what I’m doing: work at home with limited childcare. (I have someone come in six hours a week to babysit. This lets me make business phone calls without interruption.) The limited childcare is due to two things: one, I don’t really want to put my baby in childcare; two, we can’t afford it anyway. The working is due to two things: one, I love my job(s) as writer, teacher, and editor/publicist; two, we need my income anyway.

 I was talking with a friend of mine yesterday and she mentioned that the feminist revolution betrayed us. “It told us that we could have it all,” she said. “But what that really means is that you have to have a career, and you have to put your children in daycare. There are very few jobs that allow you to work and have your children with you.”

 That is so true. I had the fortune to jump on the online teaching bandwagon early, which means I have more experience teaching online than just about any professor I ever meet. And it allowed me flexibility for my writing career long before my baby was born. Now that I’m a mother, my dean, thankfully, doesn’t care that I have a child at home while I work—as long as I am still an excellent teacher and do what I’m supposed to do in a timely fashion.

 I am lucky, too, that my publisher welcomes both me and my baby when I go to publicity events and book signings. I had Nesta lying in a stroller or I was holding him throughout the American Library Association’s mid-winter conference. As I talked to librarians outside of Cinco Puntos Press’s booth, I gently rocked him to keep him happy. And guess what? Those librarians love babies. He is my best marketing tool, hands down. But I know I’m lucky. Not all publishers would be so welcoming or so understanding.

 But it’s hard. I need to be putting in more hours than I currently am, especially writing. It is easy to be interrupted from grading papers or writing a press release. It is not so easy to revise my current novel when I’m interrupted so often.

 Still, I would like a few models of women who manage successfully to work at home and keep their child out of daycare. I know you guys are out there. Please share your stories, your tips, your best practices! And especially for those mother writers out there—I need to hear how you’ve done it, and how you’ve balanced the appropriate time with your children and the appropriate time doing work, and how you’ve learned to write while being interrupted.

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Talking About Pooh (not Winnie-the-) at a Party

Last night, I was at a party with two sets of new parents who had babies the same age as ours. It was amazing how, in just four months, the six of us have acquired an entirely new set of vocabulary—vocabulary that, frankly, held no interest for me four months ago. When my best friend first mentioned the bumbo chair, I kept confusing that with the boppy pillow my sister-in-law was sending us. Hey, they both had strange names that started with a “b” and they were both contraptions for babies. How different could they be?

“Matthew rolled over yesterday!” Peter announced almost as soon as he saw us.

I felt a momentary pang of jealousy. Why wasn’t my baby rolling over already?

“Hannah is sleeping through the night and we just moved her to her own crib in her own room,” Josh said.

“Wow,” I marveled.  “How often does she get up during the night?”

“Once, around 4 a.m.,” Josh said.

“Lucky,” I said, feeling another momentary pang. I’m still nursing 3 or 4 times a night.

“So I’ve discovered that Matthew’s last pooh of the night is around 10 or 10:30 at night,” Becky started telling me. “And his first pooh of the day is around 4 o’clock in the morning.”

We both looked at Joseph, single, no kids, and listening to our conversation with a tiny little smile on his face.

“You’re talking about pooh at a party,” my husband Chris said.

“Sorry,” we apologized.

I used to talk books and history and politics and religion at parties. Now I’ve become that boring old parent who has nothing more interesting to talk about than how frequent and when our babies poop, how often and when they sleep, and whether their excessive slobber indicates they are on their way to teething early.

 Wow. Parenthood really does change you.

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