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It's a collection of 30 essays that show motherhood isn't just about the coos and smiles. In fact, in my humble opinion, being a mommy is not for the weak - of stomach, heart or resolve.
Here's an excerpt from one of my favorite essays ...
I ushered my supervisor into the little office and eased myself
into a chair. I could barely keep the grin off my face. I took a deep breath.
“I’m pregnant!” I announced.
She looked at me without saying anything. The silence stretched out
between us. Finally, a tiny smile forced her lips apart.
“What?” I said, somewhat startled at her lack of enthusiasm. Yes,
she was my supervisor, but she also was my friend. I’d worked for her as a
reporter at this newspaper for several years. We knew each other fairly well; I
thought she’d at least be a little excited
for me. “What?”
She recovered her composure quickly. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said,
waving an arm gracefully. “It’s just …” she hesitated again.
My mouth fell open. “WHAT?!” I almost shouted.
She shrugged. “Diane,” she said finally. “It’s just that you don’t
seem very … ‘family-friendly.’”
I stared at her, dumbstruck. Of course, I would have been more
insulted if I hadn’t been getting similar messages – from friends – ever since I announced that I was with child.
Let me explain. This was my first child, yes. And I was perhaps a
little older, in my mid-thirties, to be exact, so I could be a little set in my
ways, but I didn’t think I was that
bad. I wasn’t an alcoholic, a workaholic or a raging drug addict. In fact, I
had a good job, a nice house and a great husband.
Sure, I had a few too many cats, but we could deal with that later,
I figured.
But the way my friends were talking, I was falling far short in the
mom department.
In fact, when I’d assembled a few of my good friends together a few
days earlier, my fantastic news had been met with desultory congratulations –
and more than a few words of caution.
Now, no one knows more about the troubles and travails of babies,
of course, than a group of stylish, childless career women. Especially the
women in my circle.
“Babies smell,” one friend warned me. “And remember when I made
that Reuben sandwich and you said the smell of sauerkraut almost made you throw
up? Baby poop smells worse than sauerkraut.”
I frowned. “I doubt that very much.”
My other friend shook her head. “And you like to sleep,” she said. “Babies
don’t sleep.”
I stared at her, open-mouthed. “Are you saying I’m lazy?” I asked
.
She raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows. “No,” she said. “I’m
just telling you; my sister had a baby and after three months with hardly any
sleep she started acting completely crazy.”
I shrugged. “Your sister was kind of crazy anyway,” I informed her
crisply. “Remember when she gave us a ride home from the mall in her POS car,
and she wanted everyone to think it had air conditioning so she made us keep
the windows rolled up?” I frowned. “We almost all died from heat prostration.”
She had the grace to look away, but she didn’t look terribly chagrined.
But then my best friend from work put a hand on my arm. “Diane,
what do you keep in your crisper?” she asked gently.
I was confused. “Chardonnay, of course,” I answered. What the hell
else would you keep in a crisper?
What was wrong with these people? And what did refrigerated items
have to do with being a good mom?
My friend just sighed. “Honey, crispers are actually for vegetables,” she said. “I was going to tell you when we were alone, but you might as well know now."
I sat back in my chair “Seriously?” I said. “That’s so gross.” ...
From: 'Excuse me ...Are you 'family friendly?' (From 'Mom Tales,' coming soon to Amazon and Barnes & Noble).
