Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.
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bit A DEEPER What's a Mother to Do? By Anne Marshall Illustration by Carrie Neumayer I 've picked up a habit. Every time I cradle my infant daughter, I bite the right side of my inner lip, clamping down on the tender bit of fesh, unable to let go. Perhaps it's my way of clotting the joyful, oozy love that surges when her plump, warm body nestles into mine. Tis reaction became noticeably persistent several weeks ago, around the time I returned to work after 11 weeks of spending every moment, both waking and sleeping, within reach of my girl, Maria. Perhaps this lip biting stems from anxious guilt. It's a symptom of motherhood, I hear, particularly new moms handing new babies to daycare so they can return to their old jobs. If only the sentiment's ubiquity diluted its potency. Alas, a wise 28 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 6.13 woman and mother — former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright — stated it well: "Every woman's middle name is guilt." I didn't expect to feel so bruised. For 30 years I envisioned coupling motherhood with a career, like the moms I knew growing up. But then late one January night, a nurse placed Maria, a petite, dimpled creature, on my chest. No greater before and after exists. Te self I knew shufed back and bowed. For her frst three months, Maria and I perfected a routine: nursing, napping, Netfix. I learned when her head gently cocked to the right that sleepiness had drifted in. Songs tackling hiccups and refux were invented and performed on repeat. I stifed all thoughts of work. Making it easier, over the course of my maternity leave I accepted a new job as a staf writer with Louisville Magazine, having previously worked at LEO Weekly. Te unknown of this new gig kept the future an exciting abstraction. In theory, going back to work didn't seem like that big of a deal. Tis isn't the 1950s. I'm not blazing trails here. More than half of new mothers in the United States step back into the workforce. Tree decades ago, only a third of women with children under of the age of three held a paying job. Heck, Te Feminine Mystique just turned 50. Te precedent has been set, my path well worn. As I sit trying to write this, I've decided I should read what else has been written on this confict, an exercise in sourcing my angst. First up, Anne-Marie Slaughter's popular 2012 piece in Te Atlantic, "Why Women Still Can't Have It All." In it, Slaughter, who's worked in high-profle federal government jobs, details how America's family-unfriendly work- and maternity-leave policies make it difcult for women in demanding professions to tend to their families. Tis makes me recognize my good fortunes. I have a supportive employer that allows new moms to schedule work-from-home days, easing the transition. Plus, unlike parents who struggle to fnd adequate daycare, I adore the woman caring for Maria. I skim "Te Retro Wife," a controversial March cover story in New York magazine that spotlights the rise in young, educated women choosing to return to traditional female roles, opting to stay at home. Tis inspires personal interrogation. Why didn't I have this calling? Should we downsize to a one-bedroom apartment so we can make it on one income? We could pay our bills on credit cards. I tally every woman in my family who's stayed at home. Tey outnumber the working moms. Well, damn. Am I less of a mother? I head to my bookshelf and grab Kathleen Gerson's Te Unfnished Revolution: Coming of Age in a New Era of Gender, Work, and Family. It's a study of Generation X and Y kids who've been raised during the explosion of dual-income households. I start with the index, fip to "W." Ah, yes, "work-committed mothers." Page 22: Despite the popular fear that employed mothers deprive their children of essential maternal attention, no one cited a mother's job as a source of neglect. Fantastic! I close the book. I'll stop there. I only wish I could've read that — and believed it — the Monday I returned to work. Te emotional weight of being away from Maria that frst full day crashed the moment we rocked her to sleep for the night. I dove into my husband's shoulder, crying such ferocious tears, the rest of me withered. In broken whispers, I kept repeating: "I can't, I can't, I can't.…" Of course, I have. And everyone's fne. Sure, my chest tightens when I scan through the 83 (and counting) photos on my iPhone during the day, usually twice a day. But in all honesty, toward the end of my maternity leave I craved the challenge of a 6,000-word story. I longed for silly ofce chatter. I missed the creative process. A part of me would feel stale, frustrated without it. I'm told work and home will continue to pull at each other, but not always in such a raw, dramatic way. Te guilt that punctuates now will soften. And so I strive to wear this new role with pride and grace — for myself, for my family.