Baby Cakes

or Motherhood with an M

by Jess Hope Katz

When I feel uneasy with myself, my mind wanders to certain topics.

These are usually the topics that make others uncomfortable; body image, femininity, sensuality, time, mortality and more often than not-Motherhood.

And yes, I capitalized the M.

I had a lovely afternoon yesterday with a friend of mine who is re-teaching me how to crochet.

I used to know how to crochet (somewhat) because my ex-husband’s mother taught me. I say “taught me” loosely.

She sat across from me, an older woman with hair fading into a gray-blonde, wispy swirl, wearing small, nondescript glasses, and a constant pained expression on her face.

This woman had not had an “easy” life. Turns out not many of us have. But she liked to remind people of this constantly. Her voice would jump to a level that was uncomfortable to sit with. A pitch that was unbearably high and cracked. It embarrassed me just to have her as my mother-in-law.

But I try to think of the positive when possible. And she was amazing at the art of crochet. So, I asked her if she would teach me.

We sat across from each other at her dining table, in her ancient appearing apartment. She was a lefty so she said she’d just sit across from me and teach me that way. I didn’t think much of it, because I was in my twenties. I was grateful she was teaching me and that in some small way we were connecting. I wanted her to like me. After all, I was going to marry her son, which was going to be one of the biggest mistakes I make in my life, but I digress.

She explained the basics- this is what a chain is, this is single crochet, double etc. And as I moved my hook through the yarn in the repetitive motion, I felt a sense of peace creep over my body. It was soothing. I understood why this was something she enjoyed doing.

Once you knew the rules, you could create beautiful art. You had something to show for the hard work you had put in.

I sit now on the comforter of my bed, not ready to wake up officially, but with ideas buzzing around my head like uncomfortable late summer flies. I see the “cake” (that’s what it’s called) of yarn. This particular brand is called “Caron Baby Cakes”.

When I first saw it in the store, with my friend yesterday, I immediately thought to myself that this was the cutest thing to name yarn. “Baby Cakes”. It sounds like an endearing name for a person, or for a baby.

And that’s when I catch my heart in my throat, again.

Baby.

I have many friends who are mothers. These are women who chose motherhood. Maybe they weren’t ready, but I’ve heard that no one really is.

And after all of that preparation, labor, and making decisions…

This perfect, little pinkish creature appears.

And no matter how big the nose is, or small the eyes are, or any of the things we judge adults on- no matter what these features are like,

This baby is perfect.

Babies are perfect because they are untouched by the universe.

They are the purest form of humanity, of love, of innocence.

Motherhood is a club.

Whether or not women like to admit it, Motherhood (with a capital M) is a club.

My invite got lost in the mail.

Or so they say, whoever they are.

The truth is I never qualified.

I’ve been overweight my whole life, which always led conversations to be “Well, when you lose weight, you can think about having a baby” which is never something a woman wants to hear. Ever.

I remember an old neighbor turned to me once, when I was wearing a tank top and looked me dead in the eye and said, “Hey! So, when is the Bambino due?” And my face was red, and I looked at him and said, “I’m not pregnant. Thanks.” I slammed the door and went back into my home filled with shame.

Baby Cakes.

It’s a really cute name for a Yarn brand. It’s an adorable nickname for your person. Or a baby.

I look around and see accomplishments of amazing women I know. One woman created and runs a theatre company. Another woman has overcome cancer and is doing amazingly well. A woman I know has practically defeated MS through diet and exercise. Another woman I know has written multiple novels and screenplays. In fact, tonight, I am going to see a play written by another super talented woman who I know.

I admire all of these women, and many others. But is motherhood an accomplishment? Is it something you work for, like earning a degree, or setting up a business model?

I used to believe that motherhood was something people were blessed with or not. I used to believe that it took money, means, opportunity and support to be a mom.

As I’ve come to reach the ripe old age of 43, I have come to learn that mothers are people, like the rest of us. No one is perfect at it. But it indeed is an accomplishment to be a mother, and to be a good mother.

Raising a child is one of the hardest things in the world to do, because there is not a manual. Much like educational theory, books can be thrown at you about Motherhood, but nothing prepares you except the actual act of doing it.

When I make the poor life choice to go on Facebook, and look at the Teaching Groups, I often see questions along the lines of

“What is the most important thing you learned about teaching?”

Or

“How do you best prepare to be a teacher?”

Here’s the magical answer. I know you’re not ready for it. It will blow your mind. But here goes nothing…

EXPERIENCE.

That is the best damn teacher you can ever have, and it doesn’t take a degree from Harvard. It takes being in the classroom and dealing with students, firsthand. It takes being in the trenches every damn day and not giving up. That is what makes you a good teacher. Going through it, growing through it.

From what I’ve been told, Motherhood is pretty similar. You can read five bajillion books on it, but until you’re actually deep in it, you really don’t know anything.

Someone very close to me just had a child, one I am very excited to meet. I am very proud of her and her husband, and excited for them. I know it did not necessarily come easily into their lives. But I know they are well-equipped for this child. I know this, because I know who they are. They are good people, self-aware people, unfailingly kind people, and they have realistic expectations of the world and themselves. They are hardworking and want to provide the child with the best life possible. I admire the heck out of them.

So, as I sit and stare at this “Baby Cakes” cake of yarn, I wonder if I can do it.

After so many years, can I actually make a baby blanket?

If they had the baby, I can certainly attempt to make the blanket.

Will I ever have the opportunity to have a baby of my own? Or raise a child?

I don’t know.

But for now, making this blanket has to be enough.

And for now, it is.