It’s hard to imagine my life before I had children. It’s sometimes unimaginable, really, but yes, there was a time when I was solely responsible for myself, my desires, dreams, needs, passions, and food choices (seriously, I might miss that the most!). If I hadn’t found my (second) husband when I did (age 35) and didn’t get pregnant months later with my son the way I did (IUD, a 0.01% chance), to then give birth at the geriatric age of 37 and 39 (my daughter), I might not have had kids at all.
I may have still been pounding the pavement, focusing on my career as an actress. Maybe if I didn’t have kids, I’d be performing on Broadway or the West End or be a big Hollywood star. OR, perhaps I’d be unemployed, depressed, all alone, sitting at the corner bar in the middle of the afternoon talking to anyone who would listen, writing poetry at happy hour, drinking the cheap chilled house white, pontificating about the good old days when I was young and pretty. Who the heck knows? All I know is that, in retrospect, I could not have wanted my life to have unfolded any other way.
Being a mother has been the most unbelievable, challenging, exhausting, fulfilling, rewarding thing I have ever done. I am deeply grateful for this extraordinary time to experience pregnancy, childbirth (C-Section boy and VBAC girl, if you must know), breastfeeding, pumping, sleep deprivation, and all the other fun crap we mothers deal with on the daily. Most importantly, though, I’ve been able to stay at home with them. To be present and bond and nourish and help them grow up to be independent. My childhood was very different, and one that I very consciously did not want to repeat. My parents were both focused on their careers and traveled and worked all the time, so I was raised by a nanny and felt more connected to her than them. So, fittingly, when my first child was born, it took me almost a year to hire a babysitter to look after him, fearing that he would bond with her and not me. I got over that fear once my second child was born; cause bitch I was too exhausted juggling and was finally ready to embrace the fact that I needed all the help I could get! It really does take a village.
Throughout these stay-at-home mothering years, my father would ask me from time to time if I missed performing. I’d reassure him that I’ll get back to it one day and, in my opinion, all the best roles are older ones. Playing the ingénue always bored me. When I was a young actress, I always wanted to play those middle-aged women who had more depth. So, if I look at this mommy time in my late 30s away from the stage from that perspective — I am ripe and ready for many of those delicious roles now in my late 40s— with wrinkles, life experiences, and many (covered) grey hairs to boot. Also, all this newfound motherhood wisdom must go to some good theatrical use, damn it.
So, now that my kids are getting older, I have been flying the coop a bit and getting back to work. It is hard to break the bubble of motherhood at first. It’s so warm and comfortable and fizzy up in there. But when a project or an idea inspires you to get up in the wee hours of the morning to pound away at it before the kids wake up, you know you are ready to get back at it. This break has taught me many things, not least of which is that I love to tell stories. And not just any stories but stories that inspire me. Whether it be on stage, on screen, in narrative writing, writing screenplays, or playing around with this little ditty that I just stumbled upon on the cloud. I shot this for an online workshop during one of the many lockdowns. The assignment was to shoot something, a story, a subject, or an inspired idea on your iPhone. Spoiler alert: getting old sparks some humourous material too. Another reason to age gracefully and not mess with your face. I keep telling myself that anyway. We will see if I listen in my 50s!
I so love your writing; your honesty and humor.