Only one person said, “You’ll quit next year.” It was some girl I had gym class with who keeps posting bikini selfies of her new boobs. Delete and unfriend.
I read the encouraging comments again. I hope they’re right. I hope I made the right choice.
170 Days Old
I talked to Sam’s doctor today. Even though he is a few weeks shy of six months, she okayed him starting on solids. I wanted to be the one to give him his first taste of rice cereal before I go back to work. I’m afraid of missing out on firsts: first words, first crawling, first steps … Zach made the argument that when I experience them, they’ll still be firsts for me, but that’s not the same thing. Zach doesn’t get it. I think there is something very inherently different between the way men and women deal with children. Or maybe it’s just me and Zach. But things don’t seem as big of a deal to him—the good or the bad. Earlier, Zach didn’t understand how I could feel hatred toward Sam. Now, he can’t comprehend why I don’t want to miss the milestones. Is it different in a house with two Mimis? Am I being overly sentimental?
As I place Sam in his high chair for the first time, a gift from my mom when he was born, I stifle tears at the sight of my big boy sitting up, waiting to be fed. The cereal is liquid mush and doesn’t smell very good, but I bought the organic, brown rice kind to start Sam on a road to healthy eating. Maybe the white rice smells better.
I take the tiniest spoonful and place it to Sam’s lips, lips that undeniably look like miniature versions of mine: the same small bow on top and full, round bottom lip. He rumples his brow as though trying to make a decision on this new sensation. The food goes in, the food dribbles out, and we repeat for the next ten minutes until Sam gets cranky.
I remove him from his high chair, fumbling with the lock on the sliding tray. “Don’t worry, Sammy!” I tell him. “I’ll get you out.” Eventually I manage to disengage the mechanism, and I lift Sam into my arms. He’s too big now to dangle over my shoulder, but he clings to my shirt. I never imagined anything could feel so good.
Today is our last day home together, so I strap him into the Moby Wrap and set out for a long walk. It’s a glorious day, with scant humidity, a blue sky freckled with animal-shaped clouds, and a breeze to wick away my hormonal sweat.
Several blocks in, we meet the Walking Man, Irving, and we stop to chat.
“Maureen tells me she’s got a new friend.” He twiddles Sam’s toes.
“Thank you so much for introducing me to her. I think it’s going to work out really well.”
“Count on it,” the retired accountant quips. “Onward!” he announces, finger in the air, and he’s off again.
I do enjoy running into the Walking Man, but I’m a tad disappointed that he wasn’t some friendly apparition brought to earth to lead me to day care.
I walk and walk until I reach the coffee shop. I’m prepared with an arsenal of witty comebacks for the stay-at-home-mom pusher, but she and her brood are nowhere to be seen. Probably for the better. I wouldn’t want to get arrested the day before I go back to work. The judge would side with me, right?
I order an iced coffee, and the woman behind the counter gushes, “He is so adorable. Oh, my gosh! Jenna, look.” She draws over the barista. “Isn’t he the cutest little guy you’ve ever seen?” The two perky coffee purveyors ooh and ahh over the baby boy strapped to my chest. “He looks just like her, doesn’t he?” Jenna asks her coworker. “He looks just like you,” she repeats to me.
A customer lines up behind me, and I move aside to wait for my drink. When my name is called, I gather the cool beverage in my hands like a warm drink on a brisk fall day. My body is filled with a new kind of warmth. And I owe it all to this boy I wear over my heart, my son, the one who looks just like me.
Acknowledgments
This book wouldn’t exist without the brilliant idea from Jean Feiwel that reawakened my writing joy. Thank you to Liz Szabla, my friend and editor for six (!) novels, and my agent, Rosemary Stimola, for making this happen and riding along for the sleep-deprived journey. Thank you to Brendan Deneen and Nicole Sohl at Macmillan Entertainment, and to everyone at Macmillan, old and new, as we grow up together.
To my mom friends, Lillian Johnston, Tracy Heins Lehman, Ali Kafcas, Emily Keeter, Nina Hess, and Jen Perlis-Glassman, thanks for your invaluable sanity support; and to my non-mom friends, Katie Nelson, Beth Rubin, and Liz Mason, thank you for taking me away from the kids occasionally. And special thanks to my D&D friends—Andrew, Brian, Jake, John, and Mike—for bringing magic and mayhem to my suburban mom existence.
Thank you to all of my Facebook friends, many of whom I barely knew in high school but who offer so much insight and camaraderie in parenthood. To Jim Klise, my writing friend and bagel partner. To Gabrielle Zevin and Mary Hogan, for the excellent advice. To Joyce Buckley, for the best nursing cover ever. To my sister, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents, and in-laws, for the unconditional support.
Thank you to the Warren Newport Public Library and the Round Lake Area Public Library, for providing free and comfortable writing spaces for a mom who needed to get out of the house. Thank you to our veterinarians, Dr. Kathy Berman, who took care of our cat long ago, and Dr. Katie Dymek, for bringing his life to such a humane end. To the Kalinowskis, for being the best neighbors ever. To Laura, Maria, Marta, and Cheli, for the advice and ears and being the only people on the planet who make me feel at all glamorous.
Special thanks to all of the health-care professionals who helped me on my long and complicated road to becoming a mom: Debi Lesnick, Gaye Koconis, and Dr. Pamela Goodwin for the births of my two children, and Dr. Ouyang and Dr. Horton for your unbelievable kindness, compassion, and care. To Dr. Marilyn Zwirn, our most trusted pediatrician. And to Jeanne Cygnus, who changed my life and the lives of my children with her immeasurable and invaluable knowledge of breastfeeding.
And, most important, thank you to Matt, Romy, and Dean. Without you three, I would not hold the most important title on my CV: Mom. I love you more than Battlestar Galactica, Buffy, and Disney World combined.
About the Author
JULIE HALPERN is the author of five young adult novels and one picture book for young readers. Maternity Leave is her first novel for adults. Prior to her life as full-time mom and author, Julie was a school librarian. In her imaginary spare time, she enjoys traveling, watching television for grown-ups, and eating baked goods. Julie lives in the Chicago suburbs with her husband, author and illustrator Matthew Cordell, and their two children. You can sign up for email updates here.
ALSO BY JULIE HALPERN
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Begin Reading
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Julie Halpern
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.
MATERNITY LEAVE. Copyright © 2015 by St. Martin’s Press LLC. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Olga Grlic and Emily Mahon
Cover and title page illustration © Ma
ry Lynn Blasutta
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The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-06502-5 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-7153-3 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466871533
First Edition: September 2015
Julie Halpern, Maternity Leave (9781466871533)
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