Mommys and Martinis

This happens to me all the time. You know why? ‘Cause Jesus? He’s FUNNY.

“I am telling you, La. You’d be an awesome mom.”

It is around this time that I realize that the best thing about dirty martinis is that if you hold it up to your eye and look at the person across from you, it makes their face wiggly and wavy, like the movie Fantasia.

And if you drink enough of them, your eyes will do it for you; you don’t even have to look through the liquor.

I am trying to accomplish the latter.

“Seriously, you are so good with Baby 1.” I look at Baby 1 sleeping in her stroller next to where we are having lunch. And it’s true. I am great with her. When she is sleeping.

“I don’t doubt that I could be a great mom. I just doubt that I want to. There is a significant difference between being afraid of motherhood and genuinely not being all that excited about it.”
“How is that possible?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re a woman!”
“All that means is when I don’t skip the placebo week of my birth control that I bleed once a month like the rest of you hoes. Doesn’t mean my uterus is aching with envy at the sight of your pot roast belly.”

Her hands, already parked on her protruding mid-section, as they have been all day, instinctually start to rub circles around her belly button.

“Really though, La. It is the most amazing thing.”
“I don’t doubt it. I just don’t care for it.”
“You will change your mind as you get older. I forget what a baby you are.” I give her The Rock eyebrow.
“Are you, like, trying to recruit me or something? Is this what the yoga moms do? Leave after mommy and me yoga and go forth and try to spread your doctrine? You are like a Jehovah’s Witness but instead of coming to my door, you trick me to coming to my favorite lunch spot to Scientology me into being a mom.”

We laugh at me, her laugh far too loud to not be overcompensating and mine much too hollow to be anything other than defensive. I don’t have the heart to tell her that ever since she waddled herself in here appearing to be what must be AT LEAST 11 months pregnant, pushing this far too expensive stroller with her previous excursion into failing Sex Ed strapped in tight, that all I have wanted to do is wheel her around in a stroller because her ankles must be SCREAMING.


But really, I want to ask her, what about Italy?

See, this friend used to have a thing for cooking. She was a sous-chef before she became a mommy. And she used to dream of going to Italy and studying real Italian cooking; traveling the entire country, spending a year in each major city, learning the small differences that would make her cooking authentic.

Now, the closest thing she gets to Italian cooking is probably spaghetti-o’s.

And maybe this IS what I fear about motherhood. Not necessarily the whole having the child part (though I must admit that the idea of carrying said child and giving birth to it gives me neither warm nor fuzzies). But rather the losing yourself that seems to go hand in hand with so many mothers I know. The putting aside of your own big dreams to potty train and relish first steps. Hell, even losing your name. It’s not bad enough you lost your last name when you got married, but now your first one is gone too because you are only referred to as “Mommy”?

Make no mistake, while I advocate wholeheartedly for the right of any woman to make motherhood look like whatever she wants, at what point do you get to still be a person outside of a mom? How do you reconcile the things you give up with the things that you gain?

And if you can’t answer those questions yet, should you REALLY become a mom just because you get older?

I not-so-craftily switch the subject to neutral territory; shoes.

Later, when the check comes, we are both unloading our ridiculously large bags (both Coach but one filled with bottled and diapers, the other with makeup and condoms), and I put down Travel + Leisure on the table as I dig for my wallet. She picks it up with a sigh.

“This is beautiful,” she says staring at the scenery on the front.
“Isn’t it? I picked it up because I thought it might give me some ideas of some out-of-the-way places to travel. Or info on Greece, which I am currently obsessed with.”
“It’s lovely there. Hubby and I went for our one year anniversary.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’d totally forgotten.”
“Yeah. We were supposed to go to Italy for our two year anniversary but-“ she gestures absent mindedly at the stroller. I barely know what to say.
“But you got something better, right?” She snaps right back into Stepford mommy role before I can blink.
Of course I did,” she says with so much emphasis that I sit back in my chair. “I would never trade Baby 1 for a trip to Italy.”
“I know that. I wasn’t implying-“
“I know you weren’t. I was just being defensive. I’m sorry. That was just the ‘what ifs’ talking, I suppose.”

She looks away from me, past even the shrubbery she appears to be gazing in the direction in, maybe all the way to what could have been. And it strikes me that I wish that more women had these conversations, these honest, frank conversations, rather than the conversations they are supposed to have about all these things we are supposed to do.

“And who knows,” she says turning back to me, “maybe one day I will still get to Italy.” I put my hand on hers.
“Of course you will.”

We look at each other, mirrors of the same wry smiles, and we both really want to believe it.

4 thoughts on “Mommys and Martinis

  1. I think…that a woman can very easily “lose herself” in motherhood the very same way that she might in being a wife or a girlfriend. I believe, though, that these things happen when we have not aptly defined the entirety of our being. And really, how can we? I am not yet a mother, so for now it is a part of me as much as being a Doctor, or Wife is…They are accounted for as things that I am not but not all that I am.
    I believe that those that attribute the alteration of their dreams to a new role are selling themselves short. Who says that mommys can't go to Italy? Why is it one or the other? Sure it hard, but isn't it hard anyway? *shrug* or maybe I'm just a dreamer.


  2. Being a mother is not really neccessary to be a woman nor to have a family. Please do not fall for that if you are not sure about what you want to have for your life. Too often you hear about women and their regrets. They regret the child, how many, what they missed out on etc. I helped my sister raise her 4 kids and though I love them very much, I was not in a rush to have any and at this point have decided that sans getting a hubby who desires kids soon I won't. This continous story that you are less than if you do not is, well, a lie. Women tell each other this and lower their standards and their quality of life trying to obtain this goal. You are enough and the life you choose for you is meant for you. Folks who claim otherwise for you like you can't have a hubby and have framily and enjoy a full life TOO well that is ok… For Them. Do you and enjoy yourself too. Heck, adoption is always an option if you change your mind. LIVE.


  3. That's why I advocate having children a little later in life.Get your degree,go travelling,stay up all night drinking,dancing and chatting shit with your friends,have your career…get it all out of your system and then think about a family.I don't plan to start a family until I'm in my mid thirties-I have a decade,there is a lot I plan to do but I also intend to have a family because I truly believe that a family is one of the most precious things a person can own,IMO there is nothing worse than being an old person with no family…It's almost tragic.


  4. Children are beautiful. They are wonderful. They are also challenging…and that's even when they are truly wanted and planned. Children change your life in wonderful ways you never knew possible and in unfortunate ways you never expected. I agree, I wish more women (and men) kept it real.

    I've heard far more people say that given the opportunity to do it over again, they simply WOULDN'T have children. Interesting.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s