Fall 2010 Contents
The Fall issue of get born features an astonishing lineup of authentic moms who do beautiful justice to the whole notion of how we see ourselves as we continue to mother, who we are as reflected through our children, and through their unique and irreplaceable view of life through the mothering lens.
We’ve provided you with just three of the full essays for your pleasured reading. We hope it whets your whistle to indulge in the rest of our issue: guilt-free motherhood at it’s most articulate. We really are the antidote to the perfectionist parenting machine, and if it’s your first time here, we welcome you with our laughter, our hope, and our signature snark.
Cover photography and internal art, unless noted otherwise, provided by the gifted G. Mark Lewis. Please visit more of his breathtaking art at http://silentgstudio.com/
5 Editor’s Note | Heather Janssen
Who am I? Who are you? Multiplicity abounds. I am someone to my children, often multiple
someones during the course of a day, week, or month. I then morph, super-hero like, into yet
another manifestation when I play “wife.” At book club with the girls, I’m yet another person;
wacky, fun and loose.
6 My Therapist Moved to Cleveland | Amy Rodriguez
8 Coming Clean to My Son | Allison Johnson
12 Why Motherhood is Not For Me | Angeline Grenz
I am 34 (right on the cusp of my reproductive expiration date) and can honestly say those urges to bear child, procreate, pass on the gene—they just don’t happen to me. I can’t say if it is nature or nurture. A little of both, maybe. I sometimes think that motherhood is such a privilege that I have no business doing it.
13 Poem by April Schmidt
Your shadow mother
says her calling:
stares out windshields,
steps in cities,
keys
turning.
You rock, turn.
14 So, Babies | April Schmidt (editor’s note: To miss this Virginia Woolf-esque piece of prose that reads like poetry would be truly tragic.)
So, babies. Small bundles of skin and brain cells wrapped in microfleece and polyester satin—softer fabrics than you knew existed. Tiny human beings that somehow make barn animals attractive and astoundingly convert gag reflexes over embroidered puns—“Cute as can bee!”—into adoring little throat vibrations. I myself have been conquered and submitted to the throat hum by a bib—a bib!—covered with just such vocabulary.
15 Poem & Art by Laurie White
The map of my soul looks like this-
Creased, dog-eared torn and re-taped, abridged with notes
References,
Coffee-stains, cigarette burns, sun-faded and worn
16 The Day the Pets Died: the un-hallmark, practical side of loss | Laura Pritchett
At my son’s eleventh birthday party, the guinea pigs died. My husband, who was grilling bratwursts, looked over and noticed one of our guest’s dogs running by with Frizzy in his mouth. With the quick reflexes he’s known for, he grabbed the guinea and tucked it under his shirt to hide it from the children, who were just then rounding the corner of the house with their water pistols in hand.
18 The Girl She Means To Be | Patricia Zaballos
24 Mom Envy | Sarah Boccoluci
Most days I’m lucky just to shower or manage a trip to the bathroom alone. Finally, I’ve realized that all those clichés I heard about raising kids are actually true – some days I never find an opportunity to get dressed or to even dress my kids.
How did I end up being that mom?
25 Working Mom | Jen Johnson
When my maternity leave ended, marking the beginning of my new life as a working mom, my first task was signage for my office door: “Milking in Progress: Enter at Your Own Risk.”
26 It’s a Class Issue | Katie Datko
At first, it was a money issue. It wasn’t realistic to pack off our barely cognizant little one to a twenty-minute class that cost more than the yoga I once took at an upscale studio. At play dates I felt left out of the discussion, not being able to join in about what had happened in the pool or at the baby gym. But over time, I realized that there was something more to this than money. What began as a financial struggle materialized into something deeper – I simply didn’t believe that my tot’s time should be so structured.
28 Liability of Being a First Born | Kyndra Wilson
There’s so much of my daughter’s early life that I either don’t remember or remember only as stress and pressure. I distinctly recall it taking me several weeks to realize that if I wanted to kiss the nape of her little neck, I could do so. I remember closing the door to the house and crying on the back step to escape. I needed to cry without having to look anyone in the eye or be reminded of my new and many duties.
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