Had I read Elisa Albert’s After Birth a decade ago, I would have been fuming. Talk about an author forcing readers to put their angry pants on. And their judgmental pants. And their ‘I’m being deliberately-provocative-to-make-you-furious pants. And their let’s-judge-other-mothers pants. Instead, I found it mildly amusing. I’m far enough out of the baby-zone to know that no one really gives two shits whether you had a c-section or a natural birth; breast-fed or bottle-fed; co-slept or put the baby in a cot at the other end of the house.
“The baby’s first birthday. Surgery day, I point out, because I have trouble calling it birth. Anniversary of the great failure.” Continue reading
