The day I went into labor the owners of the paper I was the editor of called to tell me we were bankrupt. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, I explained to one of the owners, “but I am in labor. “I know, she answered, “it’s really exciting, but could you email all of the writers and tell them we aren’t going to print the December issue? I was a bit preoccupied, and busy, on that day, so I didn’t fully comprehend the enormity of the situation. But about a week later I sat in a rocking chair nursing my son and thought, “In one day I became a mother and unemployed. What the hell do I do now?

Although I thought a lot about finding another job as an editor, actually applying for a job was another matter. Fatigue, a depressed economy, and lack of motivation were only a few of the barriers in my way. I considered it a productive day if I managed to take a shower and brush my teeth before three p.m., so I wasn’t sure how valuable of an employee I was going to be. Not to mention, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be an employee. My previous job as an editor allowed me to work from home so I had, perhaps falsely, assumed I could continue working and be the primary care giver of my son. My visions of motherhood had always included working and being a mother, but day-care was never part of that vision. I was starting to realize that I might not be able to have my cake and eat it too.

Jessica Mills is a partnered mother of two children, ages 7 and 1. She is also an activist, artist, a touring musician (who plays saxophone with Citizen Fish), and a first time book author. I've been reading her column of the same name in Maximumrocknroll (MRR) for years. We've traded zines, emails, and crossed virtual paths as "mama-writers" (although not in person yet, but will soon!). In 2007, both of us came out with our first books on independent, small presses.

Colleen Couch-Smith, 30, is an artist, restaurateur, mother of three (Brendan-13, Ian-5, and Ayden-2), and newest member of Memphis Roller Derby’s Legion of Zoom. I was really excited to meet her and thought you might be too.

I am sitting in our guest room, which is next to Toby's room, trying to bulldoze past a mean case of writer's block. Long hours at the office, a few late nights, and a new round of colds at the house this week has taken a toll on everything here, including my mind, which I'm not convinced was ever that sharp to begin with. About writer's block, one of my college professors suggested writing "I can't think of anything to write" over and over and over again until, by magic I guess, some actual writing appeared on the page. It never worked for me; pages and pages of "I can't think…" filled my notebook that semester. So, rather than a page full of drivel, my computer screen is blank.

To begin with, you hate this piece of shit computer. Your husband bitches about it on a daily basis, but because you’re supposed to be the conscience of your home you smile pleasantly and say that the computer is fine and we’ll make due. Meanwhile, in your brain giant calculators begin to assemble budgets of when and how you’ll buy a new one. Perhaps this summer, if the car doesn’t break down or the cat doesn’t catch leukemia or the electric company forgets about you.

Why does writing about motherhood have to be either funny or about postpartum depression? A friend of mine asked this very fine question, and I had to think about my own slide into humor when discussing the ups and downs of the married- and mothering-life. Why, indeed? Men manage to write about all sorts of ridiculous things very, very seriously, whereas women, writing during their children’s naps, tend to either make light of parenting difficulties or else draw them out to the point of depressing and alienating readers. Naomi Wolf’s diatribe on motherhood, which I bought while pregnant, made me anxious and unhappy, as I worried first about the way my pregnancy and birth process were going to be managed and appropriated by people who had their next golf date and not my or my unborn child’s best interests at heart; and also about the dire effect a child would have on my perfectly equal relationship with my husband. It made me so blue that my husband wisely advised me to put it away, which I did with a sigh of relief. That bit of advice, well-intentioned and exactly what I needed, would probably set Wolfe off. Pregnancy and motherhood are very, very serious; their impact on your life is very, very serious; and life in general is very, very serious. Looking the other way won’t help. And no man should dictate your reading matter.

It’s a pretty safe bet that Jane Austen never, at any point, used the word “yummy”—but it’s in regular usage here. I don’t want to know what Jane would have to say about that.

Adele Ngoy pauses while hemming a pair of slacks in the workroom of her boutique, Fladel Couture in Portland, Maine, and considers what it means to be a woman. She is dressed for the fashion business, in black slacks and tasteful gold jewelry, wearing a blouse which adorned a shop mannequin a week earlier. Adele speaks in measured English, the fifth of a five language fluency, her words heavily accented by her Congolese heritage. "For me... I am happy to be a woman, and I love it. Because, there [is] something special in being a woman. Being a mother. Caring for people, for your children, and [having] that... féminité. I like to be a woman, I’m happy to be a woman... caring, giving."

Our condolences to Katie Allison Granju and her family this memorial day for the loss of her beautiful son to a drug overdose and brutal assault. Henry Louis Granju 1991-2010. http://bit.ly/a3uBHc

Katie -- I am so sorry for your loss.
--Susan

Sixteen dancers come on stage carrying gold canes and arrayed in reds, blues, purples and pinks with jingling coin hip scarfs. They are all races, shapes and sizes, but they are not all ages: the oldest is eleven and the youngest is four. This is Happy Hips Youth Oriental Dance Troupe, veteran belly dancers who have performed at benefits, museums and festivals as well as local and regional haflas, the term for belly dance parties or shows.

Happy Hips founder, Terri Allred did not set out to become Sadiya, professional belly dancer and instructor. At Vanderbilt University, she completed a theological studies masters in feminist theology with a focus on how people who experience trauma interpret it and give it meaning. Terri ran rape crisis centers and lectured internationally on the relationship between sexual violence and belief systems.