Diana Orgain - Motherhood Is Murder

I was rewarded by the smell of chocolate wafting in from next door to Angles de la Terre. A tiny chocolatier selling only superb candy had been at the same location for ninety years. I stopped in and conducted a quality check. After all, old-time traditions need to be maintained. And who better to taste the chocolate than a San Francisco native?

Wasn’t there something about chocolate that had medicinal properties anyway?

As I roamed the aisles of Angles de la Terre, I licked what remained of the truffle off my fingers. Indeed the quality was still superb.

I pushed Laurie’s stroller down the organic cotton diapers aisle, which was flanked by signs noting MADE BY FAIR TRADE WORKERS, and felt my shoulders relax to the new age music. The next aisle held the remedies I was looking for, including cradle cap cream.

I grabbed the bottle and examined the ingredients—all natural, of course.

And ooh—aroma-therapeutic properties.

A woman, tall and slender with impeccable posture, rounded the corner of my aisle.

She stopped short of Laurie’s stroller and gazed down at her. Laurie was decked out in a frilly little pink dress with matching pink booties and hat.

“She’s beautiful,” the woman said.

I smiled. “Thank you.”

She scrutinized me. “Your first?”

I laughed. “That obvious, huh?”

“All new moms have that same look about them.”

“Clueless?”

It was her turn to laugh. “No. Sort of shocked, kinda giddy, and yet . . .”

“Clueless.”

The woman chuckled and stuck out her hand. “I’m Margaret Lipe.”

I juggled the bottle of cream to my left hand and shook hers. “Kate.”

“Magic Moments!” she said. “That’s the best product line ever. You only need a little bit and it works like a charm. Have you tried their infant massage oil?” She reached over and picked up a bottle. “It’s got lavender and I don’t know what else in it.” She flipped it over to examine the label. “Well, whatever it is, it just makes your little one snooze away.”

“Who wouldn’t want that?”

Margaret raised her eyebrows in a knowing response and handed me the bottle. “A few drops and you’re set.”

“I haven’t heard about Magic Moments.”

She looked at me like I was from Mars. “Are you local?”

I nodded.

“Don’t you belong to a mommy group?” she asked.

“No. Who has the time?”

“You have to make the time. It’s important not to lose yourself in the mothering process.”

“Yeah. It’s easy to get caught up in diapers, milk, and not much else.” I shook the bottles in my hand. “Except maybe for cradle cap remedies.”

“Well, mommy groups are really good for recommendations and keeping up with the latest scoop on everything! I run one and I’m always on the lookout for what works, what saves time, who’s the best nanny, that sort of thing. And it’s great to have the support. When I had my second baby, the other moms in the group took turns bringing me homemade dinners. Are you a stay-at-home?”

“Oh, a stay-at-home mom? Yes, I mean, I guess so . . . well, I work, too . . . sort of.”

She nodded knowingly. “You haven’t decided. Are you on maternity leave?”

“Uh. No . . . I . . . um . . .”

Why was I stuttering like a ninny?

I knew what I was doing. I had quit my job and I was staying at home with Laurie. The fact that I was trying to start my own business didn’t change my status. Did it? Was I considered a working mom? Or was I a stay-at-home mom?

“I’m at home but I also work,” I blurted. I reached into my diaper bag and proudly presented her with a homemade

PI business card I had printed.

Margaret looked at the card curiously. “Ooooh. A private investigator?”

My natural inclination was to shy away from the attention, but I recalled my best friend, Paula, scolding me. “If you want to launch a business, the first thing you have to do is tell everybody !”

I simply nodded at Margaret and stood there flat-footed.

Another woman appeared at the head of the aisle. “There you are!”

“Oh, sorry. I was chatting,” Margaret said. “This is Helene. We cofounded our mommy group, Roo amp; You.”

Helene, lean and mean, was sporting designer blue jeans and chartreuse high heels. Her tan wool jacket was open slightly, revealing a blouse in the exact same shade as her shoes. She reached out and shook my hand. Hanging from her arm was the matching chartreuse handbag.

“Is Margaret recruiting you?” Helene leaned over the stroller. “She’s darling. Pretty in pink and matchy-matchy. Just like me. I love it.”

“Next week our group is going on a dinner cruise,” Margaret said. “Why don’t you join us?”

“A dinner cruise?” I asked.

“We usually meet at my place on Thursday afternoons for a playdate, but since you’re working, you might not be able to make afternoons, huh?”

So there it was. I was working. I wasn’t a stay-at-home.

Something inside me deflated. I wanted to be a stay-at-home mommy. Why couldn’t I be? After all, I wasn’t really working. I didn’t have a current client. I was free on Thursday afternoons. I could make a playdate, whatever that was.

“Helene caught a cruising bug,” Margaret continued. “She scored us tickets for a cruise around the bay. We’re all bringing our husbands.”

“One thing that happens to new moms is that you practically forget about the dads. They need attention, too.” Helene rummaged around her handbag and pulled out a package of Nicorette gum. “Margaret wanted to include our guys. So, Roo amp; You hired a couple of babysitters to watch the wee ones.” She unwrapped a piece of gum and popped it into her mouth. “And we’re going sailing!”

A bay dinner cruise.

An evening with Jim and no baby? No nursing, no diapers, no bath time, no crying?

Hmmm. A cruise did sound a little more enticing than a playdate.

What would I wear?

Margaret dug a card out of her purse and handed it to me. It read Roo amp; You—President and had a little graphic of a kangaroo with a baby in its pouch. “You should come along and check out our group,” she said.

“It sounds like fun,” I replied.

Helene poked Margaret. “We need to go. Marcus is probably hungry by now.”

Margaret smiled at me. “He’s six months old and I’m vetting a new nanny. Unfortunately, someone stole the one I used with my two-year-old.”

A nanny. Must be nice.

Helene chomped on the gum. “This stuff doesn’t work. I still want a cigarette.”

“You should try those patches.” Margaret said, linking her arm through Helene’s. She turned to me. “Call or e-mail me. I’ll save you two tickets for the cruise.”

The boat swayed, the motion brought my mind back to the present.

I still needed to call Mom. How could I find a network? I extended my arm and did a ridiculous dance trying to coax more than two bars out of the phone.

I quickly dialed home. All I could see in my mind’s eye was Laurie’s pretty round face with her rosy cheeks and toothless grin. Thank God I’d pumped before leaving the house this evening. I only hoped they wouldn’t keep us here too much longer. I was missing Laurie like crazy.

I twisted and suddenly saw full bars. Mom answered on the third ring.

“How’s Lemon Drop?” I asked.

Samba music blared in the background, then suddenly stopped.

“She fine, dear. Sleeping.”

“What are you listening to?”

“Ricky Martin.”

“Laurie is sleeping through Ricky Martin?”

“Yes, well, she’s really still too young to enjoy the finer things in life.”

I filled Mom in on the developments.

She gasped. “Don’t worry about Laurie and me, we’re fine. Just take care of whatever you need to. We’ll be here.”