Motherhood Out Loud



When Zulma and I first met, we were 10 years younger, our babies were actually still babies, and neither of us needed glasses to read a menu. We met at a local mother's group, where we bonded over being smart professional women of color, with new bosses who couldn't care less about all that.  Her little boy and my little girl teethed, giggled and toddled alongside us as we laughed and cried through our insecurities, experiencing how good it felt to come out of our little echo chambers at home and express our thoughts and feelings out loud.

Her baby is now building 3-D maps of the United States for school, playing trombone, and giving her attitude.  Can you believe that?  My baby is now studying fractions and making balloon animals for her little sister.  I can't believe that.  Where did the time go?

What better way to hit the pause button than seeing this show: Motherhood Out Loud together? 

Short scenes written by 14 prize-winning playwrights touch on themes like birth, adoption, surrogacy, the playground, step-parenting, raising teenagers, empty nest, parenting parents. Each one is a moment in time captured so honestly, as if a parent sitting next to you were to drop her defenses and tell you how she really feels.  And no matter how different her situation may be, you feel bonded anyway.  Laughter and tears ensue.

After the show, Zulma and I headed out to dinner, where we squinted at the menu, talked about old times, and hatched new plans for the future.  Ways to stay close to our kids as they grow, yes.  Ways to keep life fun and interesting for ourselves.  "It's like the piece in the show, about the kid moving off to college," Zulma said.  And she didn't need to say more.  Kids change, they grow up and out.  The mother's group, the community of friends, our own role as mother, is something that if we're lucky, lasts forever.

Shoutout to Robin Gorman Newman, an associate producer of the show, for inviting us to previews, and for being so kind as to feature me on her site Motherhood Later earlier this year.

Bye Bye Baby

Last night, R said "I'm nervous for kindergarten."  She buried her face in Penguini, her lovey.

"It's going to be fine," I said, nonchalantly.  This wasn't my first time around this block.  And this is R we're talking about, sturdy, fierce, 'I LAUGH in the face of DANGER!' lion-cub R.  She's going to love school.  I'm going to love thinking my own thoughts for three hours.  We're both ready for this.

"Remember you were nervous about camp?  And pre-K?  And nursery school?  And all those turned out ok," I said, turning out her light, tucking her in.  "In fact, I remember when you were a baby and we would push you in the stroller to the big school to see G, and you always wanted to stay."  In fact, I was now experiencing an urge to tickle her baby belly and blow a big raspberry...

"MOM!  That is TOO BABYISH," R pushed me away.  "I am NOT a baby." 

Suddenly, I had a desperate urge to go back in time.

This morning, R watched as 5th grader G got on her bus, both of them waving and calling out to the other "I love you! Good luck!  Have a great day!" and when it was R's turn she put on her backpack, wider than she is, and heavy with school supplies. 

"Are you sure you can manage that?" I asked.  "It's slippery out, the bag is heavy, I can hold it for you."

"Mo-OM. It's MY backpack."  And with that, she and her dad skipped ahead to the bus stop.  The only one looking back? Penguini, over Daddy's shoulder.  At the bus stop, R handed Penguini over, to take care of Mom.

Bye bye, baby.  Penguini and I will be waiting when you get home.