As some of you know, at the beginning of January I’ll post my annual list of books that I read in the past year, complete with ratings and brief reviews. Get excited.
But as I was updating the list and reviewing
Baby Love by Rebecca Walker, the three or so sentences I typically devote to rating a book were not doing it justice. I wanted to blab and blab about this spectacular book. Fortunately, I have a forum such as a blog. So here I shall blab.
First, a wee bit about Rebecca Walker. She’s arguably the most well-known “third-wave” feminist. (First wavers were those feisty suffragists, second wavers were our moms in the sixties and seventies who are now menopausal, and third wavers are the current generation of young women.) I read Walker’s first book,
Black, White and Jewish, early in college and loved it. Then during my junior year, a book club on campus was formed to read and discuss the book, which I joined. Walker came to speak on campus, which of course I attended, and then we book club dorks got to have lunch with her. And It. Was. Awesome.
When
Baby Love was released, my instinct was to go buy it and read it. Immediately. But then I realized the topic was “choosing motherhood after a lifetime of ambivalence” and I forced myself to hold off until I had a baby on the way so as to fully appreciate the book.
It was a smart move. In October I finally let myself read the book and oh, how I loved it. Walker honestly portrays her decision to become a mom, takes us through the pregnancy and birth, and reflects on her decision afterwards. In some circles, it’s taboo to say, “I am a feminist! And more than anything, I WANT TO BE A MOMMY!” But Walker puts this secret thought right out in the open: “I had the usual questions: When, with whom, and how the hell was I going to afford [having a baby]? But there was something else, too, a question common—if not always conscious—to women of my generation, women raised to view motherhood with more than a little suspicion. Can I survive having a baby? Will I lose myself—my body, my mind, my opinions—and be left trapped, resentful, and irretrievably overwhelmed? If I have a baby, we wonder silently to ourselves, will I die?” (p. 5–6)
I’m not going to tell you I wrestled mightily with the question of whether or not I wanted to have a baby. It’s something I’ve always wanted, always assumed I’d do, via my own uterus or adopting. Still, ever since I was quite young, I most certainly wrestled with HOW I would pull off motherhood in a way that didn’t leave me, well, trapped and resentful. And irretrievably overwhelmed.
For this reason,
Baby Love resonated with me. Sure, when I became pregnant I had not just come out of a long-term relationship with another woman, nor did I consult organic nutritionists throughout my pregnancy. I did, however, wonder how I could merge my desire (and decision) to become a mom with, well, my terror of being exploited and taken advantage of, what with martyrdom and motherhood being damn near synonymous for the majority of human history.
Figuring out how to get what I wanted without getting trapped has consumed my brain for years, which I’m sure contributed to my decision to major in women’s studies in college. I honed my “feminist view” on how to avoid death-by-marriage-and-motherhood, which boiled down to a not-so-revolutionary idea of simply PICKING THE RIGHT MATE. The partner who would haul his own weight with running the household. The partner who would raise his own kid just as eagerly as me. The partner who would never stymie his mate’s aspirations or goals just because she had the womb. The partner who would take smug joy in his wife’s wit or intelligence, should he be so lucky to marry a witty, intelligent woman. The partner who was a true, genuine
partner. To me, it seemed you could avoid a lot of the patriarchal, chauvinistic mess by simply not settling down with an ape. (We’ll save abortion, the ERA, female genital mutilation, and burkas in Afghanistan—all of which I have obnoxiously strong opinions on—for another day. For now, I focus only on the question of whether or not a girl can be both feminist and mom.)
So Walker finds her soul mate who, conveniently enough, is male and thus able to provide the necessary sperm to make her a mommy in nine months. And despite being a super duper Buddhist vegetarian, she has to eat loads of red meat to combat a severe iron deficiency; her conversations with women descend (or rise?) to whether or not she should get the car seat-plus-stroller travel system; she must weigh her desire for a spiritual home birth against the psychological comfort that a hospital provides (and her son IS born in a hospital and DOES require a NICU); and, of course, despite hopes for a natural, pain medicine–free birth, she eventually opts for the epidural, insisting to her disapproving midwife that it saved her life, thank you very much.
All of these “compromises” drive home the point that deciding to have a baby (or marry, for that matter) is an intensely personal process and your views can shift. Third wavers are far more flexible and open to shifting views than the second wavers, I think, and I truly believe that decent, increasingly evolved young men deserve MUCH credit for this privilege of flexibility we third wavers now have. These boys have met us halfway—cooking, cleaning, adjusting their work schedules to better accommodate kids, fully engaging in raising their children. The idea of a glass ceiling is laughable to (many of) them because they see how competent and successful their female colleagues are. In other words, perhaps it truly
is possible to have it all. Walker reflects on the sacrifices and compromises she has made after her son’s birth, such as writing less, sleeping less, and essentially putting somebody else first. She writes, “I am not saying a girl can’t have it all, because I am all for making life expand to meet your limitless vision, but I am saying that, first, said girl has to know what ‘all’ is” (p. 217).
I’m not exactly certain what “all” is, but I’m quite confident that it involves a guy named Chris and a baby named Charlotte. For now, that’s enough information for me to go on.
Here are Walker’s final thoughts on her decision to choose motherhood: “It’s hard, this making a healthy family, probably the hardest work I’ve ever done. But every day, when I look at this little being I have the extreme good fortune to call my son, I thank the part of me that had the wherewithal, despite all the doubt and fear, to go ahead and embrace motherhood, to get on the ride and let it take me away. I have no regrets” (p. 221).
As some of you know, at the beginning of January I’ll post my annual list of books that I read in the past year, complete with ratings and brief reviews. Get excited.
But as I was updating the list and reviewing Baby Love by Rebecca Walker, the three or so sentences I typically devote to rating a book were not doing it justice. I wanted to blab and blab about this spectacular book. Fortunately, I have a forum such as a blog. So here I shall blab.
First, a wee bit about Rebecca Walker. She’s arguably the most well-known “third-wave” feminist. (First wavers were those feisty suffragists, second wavers were our moms in the sixties and seventies who are now menopausal, and third wavers are the current generation of young women.) I read Walker’s first book, Black, White and Jewish, early in college and loved it. Then during my junior year, a book club on campus was formed to read and discuss the book, which I joined. Walker came to speak on campus, which of course I attended, and then we book club dorks got to have lunch with her. And It. Was. Awesome.
When Baby Love was released, my instinct was to go buy it and read it. Immediately. But then I realized the topic was “choosing motherhood after a lifetime of ambivalence” and I forced myself to hold off until I had a baby on the way so as to fully appreciate the book.
It was a smart move. In October I finally let myself read the book and oh, how I loved it. Walker honestly portrays her decision to become a mom, takes us through the pregnancy and birth, and reflects on her decision afterwards. In some circles, it’s taboo to say, “I am a feminist! And more than anything, I WANT TO BE A MOMMY!” But Walker puts this secret thought right out in the open: “I had the usual questions: When, with whom, and how the hell was I going to afford [having a baby]? But there was something else, too, a question common—if not always conscious—to women of my generation, women raised to view motherhood with more than a little suspicion. Can I survive having a baby? Will I lose myself—my body, my mind, my opinions—and be left trapped, resentful, and irretrievably overwhelmed? If I have a baby, we wonder silently to ourselves, will I die?” (p. 5–6)
I’m not going to tell you I wrestled mightily with the question of whether or not I wanted to have a baby. It’s something I’ve always wanted, always assumed I’d do, via my own uterus or adopting. Still, ever since I was quite young, I most certainly wrestled with HOW I would pull off motherhood in a way that didn’t leave me, well, trapped and resentful. And irretrievably overwhelmed.
For this reason, Baby Love resonated with me. Sure, when I became pregnant I had not just come out of a long-term relationship with another woman, nor did I consult organic nutritionists throughout my pregnancy. I did, however, wonder how I could merge my desire (and decision) to become a mom with, well, my terror of being exploited and taken advantage of, what with martyrdom and motherhood being damn near synonymous for the majority of human history.
Figuring out how to get what I wanted without getting trapped has consumed my brain for years, which I’m sure contributed to my decision to major in women’s studies in college. I honed my “feminist view” on how to avoid death-by-marriage-and-motherhood, which boiled down to a not-so-revolutionary idea of simply PICKING THE RIGHT MATE. The partner who would haul his own weight with running the household. The partner who would raise his own kid just as eagerly as me. The partner who would never stymie his mate’s aspirations or goals just because she had the womb. The partner who would take smug joy in his wife’s wit or intelligence, should he be so lucky to marry a witty, intelligent woman. The partner who was a true, genuine partner. To me, it seemed you could avoid a lot of the patriarchal, chauvinistic mess by simply not settling down with an ape. (We’ll save abortion, the ERA, female genital mutilation, and burkas in Afghanistan—all of which I have obnoxiously strong opinions on—for another day. For now, I focus only on the question of whether or not a girl can be both feminist and mom.)
So Walker finds her soul mate who, conveniently enough, is male and thus able to provide the necessary sperm to make her a mommy in nine months. And despite being a super duper Buddhist vegetarian, she has to eat loads of red meat to combat a severe iron deficiency; her conversations with women descend (or rise?) to whether or not she should get the car seat-plus-stroller travel system; she must weigh her desire for a spiritual home birth against the psychological comfort that a hospital provides (and her son IS born in a hospital and DOES require a NICU); and, of course, despite hopes for a natural, pain medicine–free birth, she eventually opts for the epidural, insisting to her disapproving midwife that it saved her life, thank you very much.
All of these “compromises” drive home the point that deciding to have a baby (or marry, for that matter) is an intensely personal process and your views can shift. Third wavers are far more flexible and open to shifting views than the second wavers, I think, and I truly believe that decent, increasingly evolved young men deserve MUCH credit for this privilege of flexibility we third wavers now have. These boys have met us halfway—cooking, cleaning, adjusting their work schedules to better accommodate kids, fully engaging in raising their children. The idea of a glass ceiling is laughable to (many of) them because they see how competent and successful their female colleagues are. In other words, perhaps it truly is possible to have it all. Walker reflects on the sacrifices and compromises she has made after her son’s birth, such as writing less, sleeping less, and essentially putting somebody else first. She writes, “I am not saying a girl can’t have it all, because I am all for making life expand to meet your limitless vision, but I am saying that, first, said girl has to know what ‘all’ is” (p. 217).
I’m not exactly certain what “all” is, but I’m quite confident that it involves a guy named Chris and a baby named Charlotte. For now, that’s enough information for me to go on.
Here are Walker’s final thoughts on her decision to choose motherhood: “It’s hard, this making a healthy family, probably the hardest work I’ve ever done. But every day, when I look at this little being I have the extreme good fortune to call my son, I thank the part of me that had the wherewithal, despite all the doubt and fear, to go ahead and embrace motherhood, to get on the ride and let it take me away. I have no regrets” (p. 221).
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