Motherhood Made a Man Out of Me by Karen Karbo

Author:Karen Karbo
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780997068320
Publisher: Hawthorne Books
Published: 2016-09-20T16:00:00+00:00

J. J. KNOX, who was famous around the world for his computer-animated music videos, invited Ward to a party, and Ward invited Mary Rose. I was invited because J.J. had done the opening credit sequence for Romeo’s Dagger. The party was held on the top floor of an old warehouse on Front Street. It was hideously drafty and classically chic, with a rickety freight elevator that had been condemned by the city, and a set of stairs that should have been monitored by some enterprising ambulance-chasing young lawyer. The guests were in their thirties and early forties, almost-successful people who were at the point of remaining ambivalent for so long about the question of having children that it was on the verge of deciding itself.

It was March, and Mary Rose was beginning to look like an aircraft carrier. She could part a crowd as surely as the ship parted waves at sea. On occasion you could see the He-bean kick from across the room. In stores, strangers would look at her, twinkly-eyed, and say, “Twins?”

She was at the point in her pregnancy when the oversized shirts and sweaters that have been the staple of the American woman’s wardrobe for nearly a decade would no longer suffice. The biggest size was not big enough. There was no turning back: In addition to the Jolly Green Giant ensemble, given to her by Audra at Christmas, she had a pair of fuchsia leggings that with each day got shorter and shorter, and a white mock turtleneck with some kind of yachting emblem over the pocket. This was in case the wearer wished to be mistaken for a member of the America’s Cup team.

This was what Mary Rose wore to the party, where she found herself in a conversation with a set designer who seemed interested in her to a degree that transcended politeness. Ward was off networking—do they still call it that?—and I hung with Mary Rose. I wasn’t very interested in mingling, I wasn’t very interested in being there, but I’d thought I should go out, since for some reason Lyle had agreed to watch Stella, and I didn’t want to waste his largess.

“Do you know the sex?” asked the set designer, a rail-thin redhead who wore her freckles as fashion.

“I don’t want to know. Everyone says it helps with the shopping, but please,” said Mary Rose.

“Pink and blue are out anyway,” said the set designer.

“Which brings up something I’ve always wondered about,” I said. “Why are pastels the colors of motherhood? Girls who are already too old for little floral print dresses with a ruffled Peter Pan collar in second grade suddenly see nothing wrong with Laura Ashley the instant they become pregnant. The colors of motherhood should be purple, red, and black. Purple for fortitude, red for courage, and black because, hey, why shouldn’t I feel chic?”

“Fuck the stretch marks,” said the set designer. Mary Rose and I must have looked surprised because she laughed, and added, I’ve got three.”

“You?” we said together.

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