Phyllis Chesler - With Child: A Diary of Motherhood

Also by Phyllis Chesler

Letters to a Young Feminist

Mothers on Trial: The Battle for Children and Custody

A Politically Incorrect Feminist

Women and Madness

Womans Inhumanity to Woman

Copyright 1979, 1998 by Phyllis Chesler

Published by arrangement with the author

All rights reserved

This edition published in 2018 by Lawrence Hill Books

An imprint of Chicago Review Press Incorporated

814 North Franklin Street

Chicago, Illinois 60610

ISBN 978-1-64160-032-3

Cover design: Lindsey Cleworth Schauer

Interior design: Leslie Phillips

Printed in the United States of America

I dedicate this work to my beloved and recently deceased mother, Lillian Hammer Chesler. I will miss her, always. And remember her forever, in her pastel chiffon and silk dresses, beaming.

This is a true story, but all the names have been changed except my own, my son Ariels, and the late Margaret Meads.

I thank the staff at Four Walls Eight Windows: Kathryn Belden, John G. H. Oakes, and JillEllyn Riley, both for their creative suggestions and for their publishing vision.

With Child is more than just a book to me. It is a very personal account of the beginning of my life. In 1998, when I first wrote the preface, I was a college student and a mere babe, a child without children. I was able to appreciate the poetry, bravery, and honesty of the book, and yet, parenthood provides an entirely different and deeper lens with which to read it. Now, I relate to the book personally and viscerally as a father of two children who has traveled down much of the path the book describes. Now, the book calls to me both as a parent and as my mothers son. It carries me to pasts that I could never have seen on my own and allows me to understand my mother in a much deeper way. I am able to see her not just in relation to me, but as her own person.

This diary is not fiction but a fierce reality. It charts the time of my mothers pregnancy, my own birth, and our relationship, which began long before I was conceived and will last until forever. I am the fetus, the growing clump of cells, the newborn baby in every line of this book and have been given insight into the reality of my creation and into all mothers histories. With Child makes me marvel at the capacity of my mother and all mothers to tap into a deep well of strength, hope, and optimism, and their belief in the power of new life and new generations all of which is necessary to embark on the brave, magical journey of motherhood. As a parent, I now better understand the doubt we have in ourselves, in humanity, in the future, in God. And yet, our mothers are unstoppable, each ever willing to serve as Atlas, holding up an entire world ().

). This is so witchlike, her spinning me into gold, into body. She recites her thoughts throughout this book in song, with a pulsing rhythm and a graceful melody.

Of course, my mother does not begin her tale with the beauty of children or family, or even her ideals of motherhood. She begins with the fact of her vomiting. This is her truth, the pure physical reality of pregnancy. Child: How imperiously you make yourself known. This morning I vomited. From the start, she directly addresses me. She turns to me for answers that no one has ever been able to give. Her questions are so personal, and so raw; they contain passion and flavor that make them powerful.

When I read this book, I feel my mother talking to me. I see her eyes, smell her cappuccino, and hear her voice. I can always pick this book up if I want to converse with my mother. Her questions force me to ask her questions, too. I want to ask about her childhood, about her past. I want to learn more about my childhood and how she dealt with bringing up a male child. I wonder too how she reared me in a feminist manner and why our relationship has always been so unique.

Although I found her work interesting and was proud, I was jealous of the time and attention it took away from me. I can still recall standing at her office door. It was shut, but that meant nothing to meI was her one and only son. A mother could always be taken for granted, a mother could always be counted on, I thought to myself. I knocked calmly and entered before she could reply. Her books surrounded her as usual and she was sitting with a pen in hand. Im off duty! she informed me. I did not comprehend that phrase and replied, You are not a taxi, Mom. I need to talk to you.

In With Child, my mother asks the same questions that I have asked myself as a parent, that I have asked my wife, and articulates the same fears I now know too well. Know that Im terrified of the enormous responsibility. What if I have to choose between my work and youand cant she writes (). She never took breaks, never relaxed her mind, but I guess she just couldnt (and still cant) allow it. This is because of the importance of her work as well as the time she devotes to it. In a sense, despite technically being an only child, feminism was my older sister, the more important one who got all the attention.

However, feminism has had a profound and positive effect on my life. At birth, I was thrust into a world of feminism. It nourished me in the womb and flowed into my bloodstream. I embraced its theories and made them my own. Ironically, I never truly became involved with feminism in my youth, despite my exposure to thousands of books, articles, and events. I was surrounded by feminist leaders, including my own mother, so I took the movement for granted. It was only when I ventured out on my own to college that, without my mothers encouragement, I began to take womens studies courses. I loved them instantly and discovered an affinity for my mothers work. It is often frightening for me when I compare my political views to those of my peers. Although my friends are intelligent, liberal, and even progressive, that doesnt always mean they are feminist. I have come to realize that like my mother, I, too, am a radical feminist.

Over the years, many of my friends have asked me what its like to have a book written about my birth. Is it weird? they ask. Does it cover your conception? I guess the answer to both questions is yes, but I dont usually think of it as odd. Who else has a gift like this? What better birthday gift could I have received? It is a tangible, never ending gift to celebrate my life. I feel so blessed, so lucky to have this book. I cant believe that I didnt even read it until I was about fourteen. Perhaps I wasnt ready for it until then.

In fact when I was younger, I was embarrassed by this book. I hated the attention I often got because of it. I remember being ashamed when my mother read to my fourth-grade class and described my strong bond with her as a marriage. Because of you, Ill return to Earth, transformed: no longer a virgin, but a mother, married to a child. I was so humiliated that I wrote a parody. My piece was entitled With Mother and it was hilarious, at least to a fourth-grade sense of humor. Apparently even then I was attempting to come to terms with this book in my life.

I wonder what I would be like if I didnt have this book or if my mother were a traditional mother. As a child, I wasnt aware that my experience was different from many of my friends. To me, the way I grew up was normal, although our household was different from theirs. For example, Id be more likely to cook eggs for my mother than she would be to cook anything for me. I used to make her feel guilty about that, but now I understand that she was doing so much more for me.