Guest Blog Post: Review of MOTHERHOOD the Movie -- by PTA Mom

Synopsis: Eliza Welch (Uma Thurman) is a former fiction writer-turned-mom-blogger with her own site, “The Bjorn Identity.” Eliza lives and works in two rent-stabilized apartments in a walk-up tenement building smack in the middle of an otherwise upscale Greenwich Village. Starting at dawn, her to-do list is daunting: prepare for and throw her daughter’s 6th birthday party, mind her toddler son, battle for a parking space during an epic alternate side parking showdown, navigate playground politics with overbearing moms, and mend a rift after posting her best friend’s confession on her blog. On top of it all, Eliza decides to enter a contest run by an upscale parenting magazine. All she has to do is write 500 words answering the deceptively simple question, “What Does Motherhood Mean to Me?”

I had the opportunity to interview Katherine Dieckmann- the Director, Anthony Edwards, who plays the husband, and Uma. The movie background is interesting: 1) the movie was made almost entirely by women, 2) they shot it with a modest budget, mostly in the West Village in 25 days, and 3) Minnie Driver, who plays Eliza’s best friend, was actually pregnant in her third trimester, so they worked the pregnancy into the role. By working with mostly women on set, they tend to have been in your position before and / or have an understanding of what you’ve gone through because they’ve been there. So when one of the producer’s kids was sick, she brought him to the set so she could keep an eye on him. Kids were always welcome. How wonderful! That wouldn’t happen in most places of work. That’s why you see sick children being dropped off late to school with running noses or holding brown bags in case they get sick because their parents couldn’t find someone to watch them while they worked.
Besides supporting women in film, $1 from every ticket sold to Motherhood via website Fandango.com – during the film’s first two weeks – will go to benefit Susan G. Komen for the Cure. Additionally, Anthony Edwards seems like a genuinely super nice guy in real-life (they all were, but heck, they are actors) and is taking part in the New York Marathon on November 1 for Shoe4Africa – an organization for which he sits on the Board of Directors – which aims for empowerment through sports & education, creating unique health initiatives, and promoting Aids awareness. 


Dieckmann based the script somewhat loosely on her own life experiences of raising children in NYC. And both Edwards and Thurman have children in the city- Edwards has 4, and Thurman 2, so they do understand the demands of being a “City Mama/ Dada.”

Although I thought it was a cute movie, and enjoyable enough, I didn’t feel a connection to the main character. Just because we are Moms and are connected by the shear fact that someone calls us that, doesn’t mean we are all the same. Yes, there is the mundane-- like picking up socks and shopping for goody bag items--which no one likes. Yes, we feel as if we may have “lost” a little piece of ourselves, and long for the days when your husband looks at you like you’re the sexy mama that you are and sometimes you may want to run away from it all, but do you really run away? Come on? Would you ever really get into a car on your daughters 6th birthday and drive to New Jersey? Go have a glass of wine, take a bath or whatever else it is that helps you calm down.

I guess I’m judgmental of her. Yes, I’m calling it out—I’m one of those. I’ve never taken my child to school in my nightgown, although I have put my child into the car and almost forgot to buckle him in, but I would never knowingly drive around the block after someone told me he wasn’t strapped in. I do not smoke, and don’t judge Eliza for needing to light up after a particularly harrowing traffic showdown for a parking space. I get it- she’s stressed- everyone needs a relief. The husband doesn’t help. She used to have a career, comb her hair, be someone…Whaaaaaa,Whaaaaa. I can hear the violins now.

Minnie Driver, who plays the best friend, steals the movie (well, and a very cute messenger boy). She and her husband, who were splitting up—had “make up” sex and she got pregnant. So now, she’s pregnant and left to raise the baby and her other child alone. The funniest scene was while they were shopping at a sample sale, which Eliza surprisingly fits into her busy day rather than recognizing the fact that she had other priorities, and Minnie Driver’s character reveals an encounter with a motorized toy boat. Need I say more? Very funny.

I think some Moms who see this will relate to the struggles that Eliza is coping with. We are all excellent multi-taskers, or at least, many of us are. After all, we wouldn’t be able to do any of the things we do without that ability. And that task oriented, get the job done attitude whether you work out-of-the-house or not, is one thing we all have in common.

PTA Mom is a writer for http://www.thethreetomatoes.com/, a lifestyle guide for women over 40. You can also follow her updates on Twitter @PTA_Mom.

The Loveliness of "Only" -- by Cara

I recently saw a posting on a mothering website. A question was posed to those who had “only” children. The author of the post wanted to know whether the children were well adjusted and whether the Moms felt “complete” with only one child. The woman who posed this query recently found out that she would be unable to have any more children and was worried that her daughter would grow up feeling “deprived” of the experience of having siblings and whether only child families felt “complete.”

The reason I homed in on this post is because not only do I have an “only” child, I am one. I also pondered and am self-predicting that there are many “older” Moms out there who also have “onlies” and feel perfectly “complete” with this choice. In fact, all of the weekly bloggers for Motherhood Later ...Than Sooner have “only” children!

So why is it that society puts a label and needs an explanation for only children families? In fact, I cannot tell you how many times my own Mother-in-Law has made comments about my son, ending with the phrase, “Well, after all, he’s an only child, so he’s spoiled.” The word “spoiled” refers to food, not children. And it certainly is not a type of behavior, as my Mother-in-Law repeatedly implies. What is so wrong about being an “only?” And conversely, what are the attributes of having an only child?

I would like to start with my own wonderful scenario, which occurred last week. My son lost his first tooth! When I found out, I quickly went to a website that had male as well as female Tooth Fairy selections. I downloaded and printed out the page of Tooth Fairies and showed them to my son so that he could chose which Tooth Fairy he wanted to come and take his tooth. Then we e-mailed this Tooth Fairy (ie. Daddy) because my son had quite a few questions to ask his Tooth Fairy. I also downloaded a certificate that I printed on our color printer, on cardstock, which was waiting for him when he woke up. Throughout all of this, I kept thinking, how wonderful for both of us to totally immerse ourselves in this milestone event and make it as magical and as wonderful as it should be! If I had more than one child, I never would have been able to embrace this event in the same way! And it has nothing to do about money, just time. Incidentally, my best friend's little girl lost her first tooth the same day as my son. She posted something on Facebook that said, "The baby is screaming and I'm out of singles so the Tooth Fairy is bringing glitter glue tonight." When I read that, I thought to myself, how fortunate....how fortunate for us that my son is an only child.

I could list a hundred other examples of how fortunate only children are. And a hundred famous people who were only children, throughout history. I think what it boils down to, though, is the type of parenting a child gets, whether in a ten child household or a household with one, what types of individual temperaments each of the children has and how theirs “fit” within the household “mix.” And also for a child to feel loved, whether number ten or an only.
I anticipate that along with the growing numbers of “older” parents that arise, as time progresses, the number of only child families will grow in number as well. I welcome seeing this societal change as the years pass. Then maybe the labels such as “spoiled” will not only be a misnomer, they will be a thing of the past.

I came upon this fable written by Lokman, an ancient Ethiopian sage:

A hare, upon meeting a lioness one day, said reproachfully: “I have always a great number of children while you have only one now and then.”

The lioness replied, “That is true, but my one child is a lion.”

And, in fact, so is mine.

Won't You Be My Baby? by Jamie Levine

Although I’m almost 40 years old, I will always be my mother’s “baby.” So, of course, I often look at my 28-month-old toddler, and still think of her as the helpless little infant she once was. But, as Jayda constantly reminds me, herself—when she pees in the potty or swings from monkey bars—“Jayda, big girl now!” In fact, she’s so ”grown up” that when she sees a smaller child in a stroller (a vehicle she, herself, shunned long before the age of two), she calls him or her “a baby”—even if she’s only mere months older. And the smaller the child, the more enamored she becomes, and the more she wants to help take care of the “baby.”

I know all the babies at Jayda’s day care by name—from the infants to the 18-month-olds—because Jayda insists on visiting them all in the morning before she goes to her classroom, and, again, in the afternoon, before we go home. When we visit my friend who has a daughter Jayda’s age, as well as an almost-one-year-old, Jayda generally shows more interest in the baby than in her contemporary. And, when we go to the playground, Jayda always stops her climbing and jumping and swinging as soon as she sees a stroller glide by. She’ll run over and peer inside, and refuse to do anything else but stand and watch the baby.

At home, it’s the same story; Jayda has an arsenal of toy babies whom she dotes on, night and day. There’s “little baby,” her very first doll, which I let her pick out from a shelf full of options at a toy store (and who happens to be African American), and “big baby,” a giggling, bottle-sucking doll that was a birthday present from a friend. There are also countless other dolls and stuffed animals whom she calls her babies, all of whom get fed and cuddled and dressed by Jayda with care.

Both friends, as well as strangers who have observed Jayda’s behavior, have joked that I “need to give Jayda a baby sister or brother.” And, I do believe Jayda would be a wonderful big sis. But I don’t have the desire—or the resources—to have another child. Being Jayda’s mom is the best thing I’ve ever done in my life…but I don’t feel the urge to do it again. No other child could be a more perfect match for me than Jayda. But, as someone who grew up with siblings, I sometimes wonder if Jayda is missing out on anything by being an only child. And when I ponder this, I try to find comfort in something a wise friend once told me: Just because a child has a sibling doesn’t mean he or she will be close to that sibling. I have two siblings…a sister whom I adore and a brother whom I dislike. Sure, I love my brother because he’s my family, but has having him as a sibling enhanced my life? Definitely not. Would I be ok without him? Absolutely. So, there are no guarantees that giving Jayda a baby brother or sister would also mean providing her with a lifelong friend.

Lifelong friends aren’t born…they’re made. And so, I try to surround Jayda with people who love her…people whom she can count on when she needs help and support. People who will do all the things for her a good sibling can do. And, of course, I also try to befriend people who have babies of their own: babies we can visit—but whom I don’t have to take care of, too.

Dedication to My Son Turning 6 - by Cara Meyers

It all began 6 years ago, on a Tuesday evening at exactly 9:20 pm - according to my watch next to my bedside. I was reading a book, a Harry Potter book in fact, thinking, “It’s okay if I start this book now, I’ll have plenty of time during maternity leave to read the rest of it while the baby sleeps.” Well, my baby had other plans. And Harry’s story was left unread.

I had a relatively uneventful pregnancy. Especially considering that I was an “older” maternity patient at 39 with my first pregnancy. I saw my high risk doctors regularly. I never developed gestational diabetes, which they all thought I was doomed to get. They also thought I was headed for pre-eclampsia (dangerously high blood pressure in a pregnant woman) since my blood pressure was slightly elevated at the start of my pregnancy. Never happened. In fact, about the only significant thing about my pregnancy (except for periodic night legs cramps which make you want to scream bloody murder at the top of your lungs as you massage the cramp out), was that I had real, but random, contractions, starting at 34 weeks gestation. The doctors wanted me to reach 37 weeks gestation so that the baby’s lungs would be fully mature, so I was placed on “modified bed rest” and went to the doctor’s office every other day to undergo fetal monitoring.

I met their goal of 37 weeks, but I wanted my son to be born closer to 40 weeks. See, his due date was 2 days before my 40th birthday. I wanted him to be my 40th birthday present. I would never need another present again for my birthday for the rest of my life! I wanted him to be IT! However, I also didn’t want him to be born ON my birthday. I wanted his birthday to be his and his alone. I didn’t want him to feel that he had to “share” his special day, even with his mother. I prayed that he was not born after me, because then the excitement of celebrating Mommy’s birthday may overshadow his own, especially at the age he is now - the grade school years. When birthdays are magical and completely eventful and young children want it to be THEIRS, and theirs alone!

My daily prayers were finally going to be answered that fateful Tuesday evening, August 5th, 2003. My own 40th birthday was 2 days away. At 9:20pm, the first of many contractions began. I didn’t wake my husband because I knew he needed the rest for the long day ahead. So I monitored, and practiced my labor breathing techniques all night long. Finally, around 5:30 am, the contractions were 5 minutes apart and I needed my husband to call the doctor. Our son was ready to be born! Oh how I prayed he would be born that day, Wednesday, August 6th!
After 23 hours of labor, 3:45 minutes before my 40th birthday, at 8:15 pm, my gift arrived! A gift like no other I have ever had or ever will have! And he came on the best day possible, the day before MY birthday!

Every year since, when I celebrate my son’s birthday, it is as if I am celebrating my own! The planning of his parties, the invitations, the party favors, the balloons!! I have not one ounce of resentment nor care that my own birthday is the one overshadowed or overlooked! This is EXACTLY what I wanted! So…to my son who will be celebrating his 6th birthday this Thursday, Happy Birthday, my precious, beautiful, amazing boy!! I love you with all my heart, and then some! My gift!

GUEST BLOG: A "LATER" DAD'S PERSPECTIVE (in time for Father's Day)

STAY-AT-HOME DAD
By Grigoriy Lerman
(husband to Amy Wall Lerman, Northern NJ Motherhood Later Chapter Head)

“Would you write a little something about being a stay-at-home dad?”

I was loading baby bottles into the dishwasher at the time and looked up in confusion for a few seconds and asked her to repeat the question.

“Would you write a little something about being a stay-at-home dad?”

My wife was clearly talking to me.

A stay-at-home dad? But I never thought that term applied to me. Am I a stay-at-home dad? Wait! I'm 40 years old. I've already had one career and am working on another.

I guess I thought I was at home studying for my CPA exams and running a small (very small) business on the side. And oh yes, there’s this baby boy I take care of as well. I do all that from home and she commutes to New York City every day. I guess the term does apply to me. It was not a conscious decision for me to stay home with our 6 months old son; it just kind of worked out that way.

What can I write about? What about the frustration I feel when I’m desperately trying to finish something before Evan starts crying and I have to drop everything and go feed him? Or the pain I feel when he is crying and no matter what I do I just cannot seem to make him feel better? Every parent has had those moments so what’s so unique about my situation?

I was thinking about this as I strapped Evan into his car seat one sweltering afternoon. He was cranky and refusing to take his afternoon nap and I had a home project to complete. We had just bought a home theater system and I wanted to find some small wooden shelves to place the speakers on in order to get that full surround sound effect. Nothing like a little father-and-son adventure as a means of distraction.

Before she ran out for her bus to work that morning, my wife suggested I check out Michael’s, “they have shelves there – I’ve seen them.”

The dreaded Michael’s: with its racks of Styrofoam balls, reams of ribbon and aisles of plastic orchids. She’d dragged me in there before. This does not sound like quite the adventure I had in mind. Oh, but if you are a man with a “Baby Bjorn” strapped to your chest, venturing into this kind of place very much can be. As soon as I walked into the store I noticed that we were not only adventurers - we were pioneers. My 6 month old son and I were the only 2 “men” in the place. Women of all ages were browsing through aisles of “stuff” - but there was not a man in sight.

Move forth and conquer, I thought, and a few minutes later I was engrossed with some small pieces of wood I found in the paint-it-yourself bird house section. That’s when I saw him. Another man had just walked into the store, but he was not alone and was clearly not there by his own will. He was trailing two women who had become quite involved with a selection of buttons and the guy was clearly bored. For a brief moment our eyes met and then he turned away. I could swear I saw a smirk. “What kind of a self-respecting man goes into Michael’s by his own choice?” he seemed to be asking. A wave of self-consciousness hit me like a truck.

In the next aisle Evan cooed and reached for a jar of bright red paint and I regained my self-control. So what if I am at home during the day with my son and shopping at Michaels? If I am a stay-at-home dad I will be the best stay-at-home dad I can be and I will be proud of it. By the time I found exactly what I needed, I had completely regained my confidence. After paying the store clerk I asked for a copy of their latest promotional flyer she had lying by her register. I will be back.

Baby in the Car Seat

I'm typing this on my laptop as I sit in a chair on the driveway with baby in the car seat asleep. I just didn't have the heart to wake her - she needed a nap - and when we got home from running an errand, I decided to leave her in the car seat with the car doors open to let her sleep.

Of course, my husband will be home soon, and we'll see how he reacts to this. Another crazy move by his crazy wife?

Am I the only one who knowingly leaves baby in the car seat in the driveway at home to let the baby sleep?

Actually, I know I'm not because I learned that this move may not be a one-way ticket to Mommy Hell when I witnessed a girlfriend of mine doing the same thing - only her car was parked in her garage. She said that both she and her husband did it often rather than risking disturbing their baby's naptime.

Okay, are we the only two crazy moms doing this?

Baby's First...Second Bruise

I know that the more mobile she is getting, the more likely she'll get banged up and bruised. Baby's first bruise happened when she opened the bottom drawer on a heavy cabinet and her leg got trapped under it. The bruise was already coloring her thigh when I was able to extricate her leg.

This week, she was crawling around the fireplace, stood at the hearth and pow! She stumbled, tumbled and slammed the side of her face on the hard tiles. She did that breath-holding, red-faced grimace before she finally exhaled with a loud wail. I felt terrible because I was doing something in the kitchen and wasn't watching her when she was playing by the un-baby-proofed hearth.

She stopped crying in within a minute but still has a little shiner.

Baby also ate rocks and dirt this past weekend. Were that the only thing I was going to have to worry about with her...

She Walks!

Okay, I'm getting all excited because baby took a few steps while holding onto her little pushcart. But I counted nine consecutive steps on her own, unassisted by us, across the living room floor.

I'm excited about her walking. So many women say it is a mixed blessing when their children start to walk. They also say that about crawling, but I found that once baby crawled, she became more interactive and fun.

Sure she got into things. Okay, she is still getting into things like my cooking magazines (ripping the covers off them) and the carbon monoxide detector (removing it from the wall). But all in all, I'm enjoying her mobility.

Now we'll have to do the babyproofing a little higher up than before. Gone are the days of leaving things on a chair because they are out of her reach. I know I'll be chasing her around even more than before. But I look forward to her toddling.

A friend of mine keeps lamenting each stage of her baby's development and growth. Oh, she is no longer a baby. Oh, I can't believe she won't be a toddler for long. I'm not feeling a sadness or missing the previous stages.

Is it because I'm a constant overachiever myself and always striving for more more more that I am content with my kid's development. I'm just not missing the earlier stages as much. I'm trying to cherish each one as it comes and welcome the next one.

Sneaking in Some Work

It is Sunday, I should be doing things around the house (laundry, dishes, going through piles of old magazines) because baby is napping. But instead, I am compelled to get work done even though I am trying to only work on weekday mornings when the babysitter is here. There is either not enough time during the week or I can't get motivated during the week to focus entirely on work.

I end up blogging (hmmm, what am I doing right now?) or Twittering or doing some virtual window shopping. I'm trying to keep my workload manageable but am still trying to squeeze in a new client and a new column. Who do I think I am? The Pre-Baby Me?

Pre-baby, I was incredibly motivated, focused and productive. All of those words seem foreign to me now. I can remember that they used to apply to me but can't remember what they felt like. I keep making To Do lists then losing them, or I'm staring at them crosseyed hoping things will magically get checked off the list.

I've started feeling guilty about wanting to work all the time. I like working. I like getting things done. I'm still adjusting to the fact that taking care of baby means a different kind of productivity. I'm enjoying the milestones met and more bonding with baby, but I keep looking for "assignments" with a beginning, middle and end to check off a motherhood list. Probably not a healthy way to look at parenting.

So as I do mental and emotional gymnastics to learn what it means to be a mom instead of a workaholic overachiever, I find myself sneaking a moment to do things on my computer on the weekend as if I were sneaking chocolates. A momentary high of accomplishment. And the leftover feeling of guilt. Because there is still stuff to do around the house and baby will wake up any minute now.