Anna Prushinskaya paints a beautiful and bitingly honest portrait of motherhood, the before and after. The book draws on the writing of Alice Walker and Anne Carson, advice from her own Russian grandmothers, and lessons with her doula to show the range of ideas about how a child comes into the world and the ways in which it changes a woman. Does the discomfort stop at birth or continue with sleep deprivation and pumping breastmilk in a supply closet at the office? Does she become more compassionate, more attuned to the pain of another human being? How can she not?
For Prushinskaya, though, being a writer complicates the matter. The day-to-day experiences become “material,” which either enriches or cheapens her relationship with her son. A peaceful afternoon listening to music with her son feels “so stock” she’d rather leave it out. “I judge myself for wanting to omit this life from an imprint of life, this essay," she writes. "Then, I judge myself for that, because I am a writer and I require honesty first and editing second.”
Either way, the prose is clear, flowing, and economical, each sentence saying something big with no extraneous words (e.g. “The author needn’t author the reader’s imagination”). The book also considers the decision not to have children, and the “public and unwelcome probing” it elicits. Discussing the book Selfish, Shallow, and Self-Absorbed: Sixteen Writers on the Decision Not to Have Kids, the author explores the choice (sometimes, other times accident, and still other times incredible struggle) to have a child. “It is funny to think about this careful, logical thinking in light of my current situation, standing next to the freezer and eating chocolate chips by the handful because I cannot stand to hear the baby cry," writes Prushinskaya. "Did I choose this particular situation?”