NOTE: In honor of Mother’s Day, here’s a blast from the past. (Originally published in my weekly column, Champaign-Urbana News Gazette, 1992)
With ten kids, my mother was pregnant for 7 1/2 years of her life. But she never made the cover of Vanity Fair—with or without her maternity clothes. Maybe that’s because in her day, pregnant women only appeared in maternity dresses made by Omar the Tentmaker out of 75 yards of black polyester with a contrasting bow at the neck.
My own views of pregnancy have changed over the years:
Age 5—With an Irish-Catholic mother, I think natural childbirth is what happens when you use the rhythm method of birth control.
Me: “Where’s Mommy?”
My Father: “Well, naturally, she’s in the hospital having another baby.”
Me: “You don’t mean…”
My Father: “Yes, I’ll be doing the cooking for the next few weeks.”
Me: “Eeeuuu. Yuck.”
Age 12—Flower children get tie-dyed clothes and love beads. Omar’s clients get polyester maternity pants with stretch tummy panels. At Our Lady of Plaid School for Unwed Girls, we get the facts of life:
Sister Mary Sex-Ed: “Remember girls: teenage boys are raging masses of single-minded hormones. And they smell bad.”
Class: “Eeeuuu. Yuck.”
Age 23—Girls are supposed to be doctors, astronauts, construction workers, anything but mothers. Omar opens a chain of Quiche Shops out on the West Coast.Prince Charming: “Marry me and bear my children.”
US:”Eeeuuu. Yuck.”
Age 33—We ask not for whom the biological clock tolls; but we would like to know how it got attached to that time bomb. Suddenly, our professional jobs, apartments, cars, size 7 wardrobes are meaningless. The only status symbol that counts is stretch marks. Omar starts a catalog of maternity tents for professional women (made out of 75 yards of black polyester with contrasting neckties and boxy jackets).
Best Friend: “Trevor and I have something wonderful to show you.”
Me: “What is that strip you’re waving at me?”
Best Friend: “Our home pregnancy test. I’m so happy. I’m also going to throw up.”
Me: “Eeeuuu. Yuck.”
Age 35—I’ve bought stock in Omar. Thanks to the glow of pregnancy, people assure me that even though I look like a Volkswagen in a black tent with a contrasting bow at the windshield, I have never been more beautiful.
Natural Childbirth Class Teacher: “Welcome to the Miracle of Birth. I’m going to stand up here with a perfectly straight face and tell you some real whoppers. Childbirth Whopper #1–To have a natural childbirth, all you need to know is how to breathe. Our mothers didn’t know how to breathe, so they had to have their babies with…DRUGS!”
Class:”Eeeuuu. Yuck.”
[Reality: Five minutes into Stage 1 of the Miracle, and I’m breathing like a Mack Truck and yelling, “If I don’t see someone in surgical scrubs giving me some serious drugs RIGHT NOW, I’m outta here.]
Natural Childbirth Class Teacher: Childbirth Whopper #2– If you do all of these incredibly obscene exercises, you might not need an episiotomy.
Class: “Episi-what-omy? We thought all we had to do was breathe. We want to see that contract again. Eeeuuu. Yuck.”
[Reality: 2 1/2 months of exercises and you still spend weeks on an inflatable donut.]
Natural Childbirth Class Teacher: “Next we’ll go over the Nursing Whoppers. Nursing Whopper #1– Nursing passes along all of the mother’s immunities.
[Reality: Welcome to the world of pediatric antibiotics which cost more per ounce than your engagement ring.]
Natural Childbirth Class Teacher: “Nursing Whopper #2– Nursing burns up calories, so you lose weight as you nurse your baby.”
[Reality: kiss those size 7s goodbye.]
Natural Childbirth Class Teacher: “Nursing Whopper #3– Nursing helps your baby’s jaw develop perfectly, so your child will never need braces.”
Age 47: I sat in the orthodontist’s consulting room. In front of me was a case full of plastic casts of his patients’ problem mouths, starting from one that was absolutely perfect and progressing down from there. I picked up the last one, which looked like it came from a cross between a chipmunk and the Missing Link. On the back was the name of my nursed-for-twelve-months daughter. But what could I do? Our Declaration of Independence guarantees every American child the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of perfect teeth.
Orthodontist: “Here’s my bill.”
Me: “Eeeuuu. Yuck.”
Sue Vincent said:
Hilarious… but I recognise almost every word 🙂
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barbtaub said:
Been there, done that?
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Sue Vincent said:
Exactly 😀
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Cathy said:
What Sue said 😀 😀
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LD Masterson said:
You missed the joys of changing diapers. Now there’s some serious “Ew. Yuck.”
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barbtaub said:
“Hooray! We get to change dirty diapers!” said nobody ever. But I can’t pretend that we didn’t all know those diapers were coming our way. The episiotomy though? No clue.
Personally, I blame my mother. She made the whole thing look too easy. I remember her standing in the kitchen, dealing out bread to make our PBJs and every now and then putting her hand on her back and looking thoughtful. Then she called my dad, popped off to the hospital, and showed up a week later with another sibling. It never occurred to any of us that there was anything more involved there than her going off for a week’s vacation.
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sknicholls said:
My granddaughter’s father just delivered her. Mama birthed her into his hands while waiting on the midwife. Ew. Yuck!
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barbtaub said:
Mazel tov Grandma! Sounds like the proud papa is very resourceful. Hope all are well?
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sknicholls said:
All are well. Papa was calling my name as he reached for his daughter, but I was out the door with the other two and did not hear him. He did just fine on his own. Mama did n most of he work.
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barbtaub said:
Still…yay dad, and a great family story to hand down.
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Jaya said:
Loved it, Barb. Sounded very familiar..
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barbtaub said:
So glad you liked it. And I was just thinking…this is where wearing sari makes so much more sense. It’s just a matter of where you tuck those pleats, right?
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Kassandra Lamb said:
Loved this! Can relate to all of them, especially the DRUG ME NOW!
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A Woman's Wisdom said:
Still giggling, great post! I had five children and by the fourth was giving the midwife advice haha
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barbtaub said:
Us too! We sailed in with #4, convinced we would show them how it’s done. Apparently #4 had her own opinions, though, and it was a case of pride goeth before a c-section.
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Georgia Rose said:
Fabulous Barb. I remember sobbing when I went to get some maternity clothes only to be faced with tents with weird bows and I had to walk out. Nowadays the clothes can be really cool.
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barbtaub said:
I was looking for a present in a maternity store recently (okay, it was in Paris, so chic was practically required) and I was just so jealous of how much fun the maternity clothes now are. And don’t get me started on the great stuff they have for babies…
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Georgia Rose said:
I know! If I ever have grand children I will be absolutely hopeless – I’m not really much of a maternal person but I love all that cute stuff…and as you say the maternity clothes are just so great now when I spent all that time just looking frumpy – several times I went to things, one particularly memorable wedding where I refused to take my coat off I felt so terrible. Shocking really…
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barbtaub said:
Actually, when I was pregnant with #4, I had a friend who had just given in to her husband’s desire for another child on the condition that she could go to Paris and New York to buy her maternity clothes. Then she lent me the whole wardrobe. It is seriously possible that those nine months were the best-dressed of my life.
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Georgia Rose said:
Now that is the way to do it 🙂
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