When Caylee Anthony disappeared in 2008, I followed the news coverage with a sick heart. I hugged my then-6-year-old daughter a little tighter and whispered multiple prayers of thanksgiving for her safety. Caylee’s story made me imagine what it would be like to have a child disappear, and those thoughts terrified me on a level I didn’t know existed.
As it became clear that Caylee probably wouldn’t come home safely, the nation learned more about her mother, Casey. A young, single mom with an irresponsible streak, it was obvious that she wasn’t ready to be a parent. And as I held my own child, it wasn’t only Caylee’s story that scared me, it was Casey’s. Just as Caylee brought to mind my daughter, Casey reminded me of myself when she was first born. Keep reading »
A few days ago, I learned that a childhood friend of mine was pregnant and found myself unexpectedly exuberant over the idea of buying mini-things for a mini (and quite possibly bald) person who is to arrive in Arizona sometime around the ides of March. I thought this tiny soul should own my mini “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” shirt that I once dressed my cat Moskow in and an outfit that made him look like a panda, and my heart started racing in a new unfamiliar way. Lately, I feel like that female caricature that walks around with a cartoon clock ticking over her head and thinks her ovaries are a worthy dinner topic. I see a baby and I involuntarily gurgle, or at the very least talk in the same intonation I use for my cats (pitched perfectly high for their tiny little ears). In order to combat what can only be described as a genealogical disorder (i.e., the desire to have a baby before you have a mortgage), I have taken to interviewing women I know who have children. Keep reading »