Mom Ambition

March 2022

“Thanks for driving me in, you two.”

“Sunday is family day, right? Even if that means going together to work.”

Christian hits reverse and backs our RAV4 smoothly into the angle-in parking on Seattle’s 2ndAvenue extension. Historic Pioneer Square is a colorful mish-mash of street art, graffiti tags and weathered tents sheltering our unhoused neighbors.

Hero is taking it all in. He is due for a nap, but at a year old he’s very happy to be awake with both his parents, out in the world.

“You get the diaper bag, I’ll grab the boy.” As I buckle Hero into our Thule jogging stroller, my heart goes pittter-pat. We’re going to Nordo!

It’s tech weekend at my dinner theater. Our Nordo Artistic directors decided to remount our sell-out cabaret from the previous year Down the Rabbit Hole rather than invent a new show, thanks to the pandemic. It seemed like a solid plan -  our 60 person audience had shrunk to 25 masked thrill seekers with the limited capacity of 2021. Let more people see the show in the more vaccinated and boosted 2022! And avoid the costs of building a new set, costumes, props…everything required to make the magic of an immersive theatrical dining experience. So, after a three month break, the actors and crew were back together to dust off the show for new guests. That included the kitchen.

“I’m supposed to put in my order for Opening Week, and figure out craft services for the tech rehearsal.” My Virgo Chef goes down his to-do list out loud as we walk across Main street, masks off. My to-do list looks a little different.

“I’m going to stroll for his nap.” I yawn, already thinking of the Umbria almond milk latté I’ll treat myself to, coffee is this Mama’s greatest reward.   

We approach the street entrance of Nordo’s Knife Room venue and I’m suddenly shy. Should I go in and say hello. Would the interruption of a Mom with her baby be welcome? Do I want all the feelings that will come with entering my theater during tech week, not as a performer, but as an observer?

Too late! A stunning blonde exits the double doors, she’s wearing a puffy coat over her costume, but her green glitter eyelashes sparkle in the Seattle sunlight. It’s Jackie, understudy for the March Hare. She’s followed by Kate, who plays the Queen of Hearts, with bee-stung lipstick and a gigantic chiffon rose boutonniere, no jacket will disguise Kate’s stage costume.

“It’s Opal! And HERO!!!”

The chortling and fan-girling that comes with accompanying a cute baby is balm for my ego. Christian is already down the stairs into the cabaret theater kitchen and I give precious pandemic outdoor hugs to the sparkly duo.

“You look so good!” Jackie’s ruby lips part in a sweet smile. I finger the bill of my baseball cap and laugh, until I realize she’s sincere. Catching sight of my figure in the plate glass windows of the gallery above the theater, I have to admit, my fleece leggings do show off the thick thighs and butt I’ve developed over the year, squatting to pick up my 25 pound tot.

I may not be performing in Down the Rabbit Hole, but I’m still hot. Check that off the Mom to-do list.

Before I had the baby I spent $300 a month on my beauty upkeep. Aesthetician, manicure, replenishing my actor makeup, the occasional facial or massage or $120 hair trim. Now, my routine is much more simple. Every morning, I close the bathroom door and block my tiny son from lifting the toilet seat, or climbing the glass shelves that house our toiletries. I scoop him into my arms, and we gaze at each other in the mirror. I love how he makes eye contact with my reflection immediately, with the biggest smile.

“We are doing GREAT!! HIGH 5!” I tear my eyes away from his, and force myself to meet my own. I watch the thought bubbles appear… “You look so old, so tired, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE!? So puffy!” I look through these bubbles and see my soul shining back at me. We are doing great. We are awesome. High 5! 

I can’t take credit for this genius routine, It’s a Ted Talk I heard, by Mel Robbins, and it works! Christian watches us from the doorway.

“I never look in the mirror” he admits, “I think it’s because my Dad was a Marine and being interested in appearances wasn’t something he approved of.”

“It’s helping me be confident when I feel so lost, like I’m making this shit up as I go along.”

I glance at Hero in my arms. I swore. Does he pick up on it yet?

“Mama. Baba. Up.” Hero says Up for Down right now. I settle him on his feet and he drops to his butt to scoot into our hallway, looking for his red sippy water bottle.

Christian drapes his long arms over my shoulders and hangs, like a sock monkey. Hero’s molars are coming in and he spent the better part of last night screaming and thrashing in our bed.

My Chef works until 11, during show nights and it always takes him a while to wind down after Hero and I are in bed. But, no matter the sleeplessness, he always greets our little son with the same enthusiasm

“Good morning my son my moon my stars! It’s a new day!”

With me, however, he’s a sock monkey.

“Why didn’t anyone tell us about teething?” He moans into my shoulder.

My response to sleep deprivation is a little different, I run hot, my mind moving a million miles a minute. The crash to depression is inevitable, but the getting is good for the first few hours of the day.

“I think I’ve figured it all out, my Honey.”

“What, my Heart?”

“Childcare! I know how everyone else does it. We’ve been going about this all wrong.”

Christian follows Hero into his fenced-in play corral, diligently placing colored wooden blocks into an Amazon delivery box. Gifts from family and friends meets trash.  He’s very content.

“We’ve spent this whole year wondering how other families of artists do it. How do they have a baby and keep their careers moving forward?”

“Especially when we work at the same dinner theater and keep the same hours.”

Sometimes we don’t speak much in the morning, and the three of us cuddle in Hero’s play corral, keeping our coffee cups out of his reach. Me kneading Christian’s shoulders, he rubbing the arch of my foot. We are constantly massaging each other.

But today is a discussion day, in the bleary hours of 6-9am, before he leaves for work.

“Think about my Wednesday” I pace, from our galley style kitchen to the piano and back.

“I’ve been wracking my brain how to work an eight hour day of marketing, with two zoom meetings. But here’s how other people do it! I have to work while you are here and while he is asleep. I love our family time together, but it’s the only way I’m going to make the part-time thing work without just giving it all back to a sitter.  I’ll start work at 7am-9am and then 7pm-10pm. I’ll have to have the zoom meetings caring for Hero. It will be hard. But I have to learn to do it. Other people do it. We aren’t the only ones.”

Those lazy mornings with our new family bring so much joy. Enjoying our baby. Loving each other quietly. Relishing the quickly passing time.

But I’m the same person I was before the baby. Ambitious. Driven. Neurotic. Creative. And Christian is the same.

“Oh, and that extra money we’ll save cutting out our sitter on Wednesdays? We’re having a Date Night once a week.”

Check that off the Mom to-do list.

Date Night is actually Date Day. Bedtime makes me anxious with a sitter, I have a hard time leaving Hero with anyone other than family. Christian and I hire our caregiver for three hours of sunny park time for Hero, while we snuggle and watch an uninterrupted episode of Ozark. Or fold laundry. That’s what we’re doing, of course.

“Once a WEEK!!??” my best friend scoffed, when I told her about Date Day. “Oh, Peachey, it’s gotten bad for you, huh?” I just shrugged, though it stung. I had felt very proud of myself for pushing for Date Day. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t have a toddler. I’m judgmental, yes, but too tired to try and think differently.

As Christian kisses me and Hero goodbye and rushes down our block to catch the lightrail from Mount Baker Station to Nordo, I lay on my yoga mat and turn the speaker on my phone to voice memo.

“Mama is going to work on her lines. Stop. Stop. Dirty. I can’t let you do that.” 

Hero has scooted to the garbage can to pull up to standing.” I swiftly block him, while listening to my own voice reciting lines for an upcoming voiceover gig. It may be hectic, and the opposite of focused, but it’s working. I’m working.

And another item, off the list.

The months as a parent are sliding into years. I may not recognize myself in the mirror, but the mother who looks back at me is forged of stronger stuff. And her passion, heartache, joy and desperation fuels my ambition to make more vibrant, truthful art. 

Christian came into my life out of a dream and our son wasn’t far behind (read our conception journey here). 

Friends have often asked “what made you decide to get pregnant? You never talked about wanting kids before.” And as I move money between accounts to pay for our quickly growing needs, I often judge myself. “You’re a fool for not seeing this coming” for not thinking it through. How are a Chef and and Artist in Seattle supposed to DO this?!”

But what was the other option? Say no to the dream? Push against the tide? I can’t live or create in a world where my dreams aren’t possible. 

Possibility is right in front of me, through the mirror, through the screens, inside the theater and kitchen doors, in my friend’s hugs and kind, glittery smiles. I just have to use my mom ambition to pop those destructive thought bubbles and see what’s right in front of me. 

Opal and Hero, age 14 months.