{"product_id":"expecting-adam-isbn-9780307719645","title":"Expecting Adam","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNEW YORK TIMES\u003c\/i\u003e BESTSELLER • A candid and moving memoir of how one woman’s pregnancy forced her to confront her definition of how to live a successful life \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Slyly ironic, frequently hilarious, [Martha] Beck’s memoir charts the journey from being smart to becoming wise.”—\u003ci\u003eTime\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThis edition includes a new afterword about Adam.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eFrom the moment Martha and her husband, John, accidentally conceived their second child, all hell broke loose. They were a couple obsessed with success. After years of matching IQs and test scores with less driven peers, they had two Harvard degrees apiece and were gunning for more. They’d plotted out a future in the most vaunted ivory tower of academe. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eBut when their unborn son, Adam, was diagnosed with Down syndrome, doctors, advisers, and friends in the Harvard community warned them that if they decided to keep the baby, they would lose all hope of achieving their carefully crafted goals. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eFortunately, that’s exactly what happened. By the time Adam was born, Martha and John were propelled into a world in which they were forced to redefine everything of value to them, put all their faith in miracles, and trust that they could fly without a net. And it worked.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eExpecting Adam\u003c\/i\u003e captures the abject terror and exhilarating freedom of facing impending parenthood, being forced to question one’s deepest beliefs, and rewriting life’s rules.“A wonderful book, funny, unbelievably tender, and smart. It shimmers.”\u003cb\u003e—Anne Lamott\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Immensely appealing . . . hooked me on the first page and propelled me right through visions and out-of-body experiences I would normally scoff at.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eDetroit Free Press\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“I challenge any reader not to be moved by it.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eNewsday\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A rueful, riveting, piercingly funny, thoroughly modern, and deeply old-fashioned memoir. In short, a book to be reckoned with.”\u003cb\u003e—Julia Cameron, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Artist’s Way\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I can't believe I almost didn't read this book. The thing is, I thought it was about a lady who had a baby with Down Syndrome. This is like saying \u003ci\u003eAnna Karenina\u003c\/i\u003e is a book about a lady who commits suicide. In fact, this book is about matters so important and yet so totally way-out that I would accept no one but a comic genius with seven years at Harvard under her belt telling me about them. That’s Martha Beck: funny, companionable, razor-sharp, down-to-earth, and onto the Big Secrets of Life Itself. Anyone considering having a child should have to read this book. It has changed some of my thinking about pregnancy and about children with disabilities, and I don’t think it’s too much to say it could change my life.”\u003cb\u003e—Marion Winik, author of \u003ci\u003eFirst Comes Love\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Lunchbox Chronicles\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Expecting Adam  is not one of those grit-your-teeth, lemons-into-lemonade sagas that leave the reader feeling more besieged and guilty than the writer. It is a long hymn, from a practical woman caught flatfooted by amazing grace. Martha Beck is a celebrant skeptics can trust.”\u003cb\u003e—Jacquelyn Mitchard, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Most Wanted\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Deep End of the Ocean\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I laughed. I cried. I couldn't put it down. I didn't want it to end. I wish I knew Adam and his family—and of course I do. A brave, uplifting, life-transforming book.”\u003cb\u003e—Sophy Burnham, author of \u003ci\u003eA Book of Angels\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With uncommon sense and dependable wit, Martha Beck unravels every assumption about the meaning of life, choice, love--and the wisdom of pursuing happiness through any of the usual routes. If \u003ci\u003eExpecting Adam\u003c\/i\u003e raises suspicions among more rational readers that Martha Beck is slightly crazy, it raised my hopes that I’d catch it from her.”\u003cb\u003e—Mary Kay Blakely, author of \u003ci\u003eAmerican Mom\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cp\u003eMARTHA BECK is a writer, life coach, and columnist for \u003ci\u003eO, the Oprah  Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e. She has a B.A., an M.A., and a Ph.D. in sociology from Harvard.  Beck's other books include the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller \u003ci\u003eFinding Your  Own North Star\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eLeaving the Saints\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Four Day Win\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe  Joy Diet\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eSteering by Starlight\u003c\/i\u003e. Dr. Beck lives in Phoenix,  Arizona, with her family.\u003c\/p\u003eThis happened when Adam was about three years old.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI was sitting in a small apartment with a woman I had barely met, talking to her about her life. I'll call her Mrs. Ross, because it isn't her name. I had been doing similar interviews for months, collecting data for my Ph.D. dissertation. Mrs. Ross was a scrawny forty-five-year-old with a master's degree in art history and a job as an elementary school janitor. I was taking notes, considering what this woman's experience had to teach about the real-world value of the more refined academic fields, when she suddenly stopped talking.\u003cbr\u003eThere was a moment of silence, and then I looked up and said, \"Yes?\" in a helpful voice, which was normally enough to keep an interview rolling. But Mrs. Ross wasn't acting normal. She had been sitting on a straight-backed wooden chair, both feet set firmly on the floor and her hands resting primly on her knees. Now she was curled into an almost fetal position, forearms crushed between the tops of her thighs and her chest, her eyes tightly closed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI became alarmed. \"Are you all right?\" I said, trying to sound politely but not overly curious.\u003cbr\u003eMrs. Ross waved a hand at me. \"I can't . . . quite . . . make it out,\" she said.\u003cbr\u003eI just stared at her.\u003cbr\u003e\"Usually,\" she gasped, her eyelids clamping down tighter, \"usually I can tell which side of the veil it's coming from . . . that's usually the first thing I can tell . . . but this time I . . . can't.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Uh-huh,\" I said cautiously, glancing toward the door, wondering if I could get to it before Mrs. Ross leapt upon me like a mad dog.\u003cbr\u003e\"It's like . . . he's not really on one side of the veil or the other . . . maybe he's on both.\" She shook her head, troubled. \"At least I know it's a he.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Uh, Mrs. Ross,\" I said, gathering my notes together for a quick exit.\u003cbr\u003eAt this point Mrs. Ross's eyes flew open wide, fixing me with a bloodshot stare.\u003cbr\u003e\"You know who it is!\" she said in a low, accusing voice. \"You know who it is, but you're blocking!\"\u003cbr\u003eAt this point my curiosity began to get the better of me. \"I know who?\" I said.\u003cbr\u003e\"That's right!\" Mrs. Ross uncurled a little. \"You see, I have this . . . well, it's a gift.\" She sounded as though she wasn't quite sure Santa had gotten her letters.\u003cbr\u003e\"Gift?\" I repeated.\u003cbr\u003eShe nodded. \"I get messages for people.\" She sighed and sat up. \"There was a point in my life when I stopped talking about it, you know, because it's very embarrassing.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh,\" I said.\u003cbr\u003e\"And then, you know,\" Mrs. Ross continued, \"I began to lose it. It was getting fainter, and sometimes the spirits would be angry at me, because I wouldn't help them get through to people.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt this moment, I swear to God, a large green parrot walked out of Mrs. Ross's small kitchen and into the living room. It paced slowly across the carpet, peered at me suspiciously with one flinty eye, then proceeded on foot up the leg of Mrs. Ross's chair and onto her shoulder. She's a witch, I thought. I'm sitting here talking to a genuine witch. The parrot was obviously a familiar. I would have been willing to bet it was her husband.\u003cbr\u003eMrs. Ross kept talking, stroking the bird absentmindedly. \"So I promised God that I would always deliver the messages as soon as I got them. No matter what.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No kidding.\" I said this without any sarcasm. That's how much I had changed. Four years earlier I would have dismissed Mrs. Ross and her \"gift\" immediately. Back then I had known exactly how the world worked. Back then I had been sure of my own intellect, sure of the primacy of Reason, sure that, given enough time and training, I could control my destiny. That was before Adam. But now it was four years later, and Adam was at home with the baby-sitter, and I had learned a lot about how much I had to learn. So I sat still and waited for Mrs. Ross to go on. She did.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The messages are usually from the other side of the veil--I mean, from the spirit world,\" she said. \"Sometimes they're from living people who are far away and need to get a message through immediately. But that's always the first thing I can tell--which side of the veil the message is coming from.\" Her brow furrowed. \"And this time, I can't tell.\"\u003cbr\u003eBy now, I admit it, I was hooked. I wanted my message.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Just relax,\" I suggested helpfully.\u003cbr\u003eMrs. Ross shot me a glance that would have pierced steel, a glance designed to shove me off her turf.\u003cbr\u003e\"Or not,\" I said.\u003cbr\u003e\"We should pray,\" whispered Mrs. Ross.\u003cbr\u003e\"Uh, okeydokey,\" I responded. I mean, what would you have done?\u003cbr\u003eSo Mrs. Ross and I bowed our heads, and I drew a deep breath and relaxed for just a second, and then her head snapped up like a Pez dispenser and she said, \"All right, you stopped blocking. It's your son.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"My son?\" Even after everything that had already happened, this surprised me. I had been hoping the message would be from my guardian angel, or perhaps a stray ancestor with an interest in my career.\u003cbr\u003e\"You have a son who's halfway between worlds,\" stated Mrs. Ross.\u003cbr\u003eI felt the hair go up on my arms. You see, no matter how much evidence you have, over time you tend to block out the experiences that aren't \"normal.\" Who wants to turn into a Mrs. Ross, blurting out gibberish about spirits and veils? How much of that sort of conversation are you allowed before people stop inviting you to parties, and you end up pushing a mop in an elementary school?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Well,\" I said to Mrs. Ross, \"maybe I do have a son . . . uh . . . like that.\"\u003cbr\u003eShe gave me a withering look. \"You do,\" she said flatly. \"And he wants me to give you a message.\" The parrot nibbled tenderly on her ear.\u003cbr\u003eBy now my whole body was bristling with a strange electricity. The sensation had become familiar to me over the past few years, yet it was always a surprise. At least I kept my mouth shut.\u003cbr\u003eMrs. Ross closed her eyes again, gently this time. \"He says that he's been watching you very closely from both sides of the veil.\"\u003cbr\u003eThe veil again.\u003cbr\u003e\"He says that you shouldn't be so worried. He says you'll never be hurt as much by being open as you have been hurt by remaining closed.\"\u003cbr\u003eShe opened her eyes, scratched the parrot's head, and smiled. She didn't look like a witch at all anymore.\u003cbr\u003e\"That's it?\" I said.\u003cbr\u003eMrs. Ross nodded, smiling.\u003cbr\u003eI didn't return the smile. \"What the heck is that supposed to mean?\"\u003cbr\u003eShe shrugged. \"Beats me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, come on,\" I pleaded. \"There's got to be more. Ask him.\" This is not the way I was taught to behave at Harvard.\u003cbr\u003e\"I don't ask questions,\" she said. \"I just deliver messages. Like Western Union. What the messages mean is none of my business.\"\u003cbr\u003eAnd that was all she had to say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter a pathetic attempt to pretend I was still conducting an interview, I raced home to confront Adam. He was in his crib, asleep. He was about half the size of a normal three-year-old, had barely learned to walk, and had never spoken an intelligible word. I reached down and poked him in the tummy, and he woke up with his usual jolly grin on his face.\u003cbr\u003eI looked into his small, slanted eyes. \"Adam,\" I said seriously. \"You've got to tell me. Are you sending me messages through Mrs. Ross?\"\u003cbr\u003eHis smile broadened. That was all. And he hasn't said a thing about it since.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo here I am, still wondering what the hell happened that day, wondering whether Mrs. Ross was really channeling my three-year-old, wondering what he meant. I wonder a lot of things, since Adam came along. I wonder about all the strange and beautiful and terrible things that accompanied him into my life. My husband, John, knows about my wondering--shares it, in fact, since his life, too, was changed when we were expecting Adam. But when I wasn't talking to John, I learned to keep it all to myself. I learned to ignore the miraculous in my life, to pretend it didn't exist, to tell lies in order to be believed. In short, I kept myself closed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis has not been easy. It is difficult not to tell people when one of your interview subjects turns out to be Parrot Woman. The strangeness, the curiosity, the wonder keeps pushing outward, begging to be communicated, needing air and company. On many occasions, I have tried to talk about Adam without letting on that I actually believed in everything that happened to me. I have written this book twice already, both times as a novel, to wit: \"This is the story of two driven Harvard academics who found out in midpregnancy that their unborn son would be retarded. To their own surprise and the horrified dismay of the university community, the couple ignored the abundant means, motive, and opportunity to obtain a therapeutic abortion. They decided to allow their baby to be born. What they did not realize is that they themselves were the ones who would be 'born,' infants in a new world where magic is commonplace, Harvard professors are the slow learners, and retarded babies are the master teachers.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou see, by calling it a novel, I could tell the story without putting myself in danger from skeptics, scientists, and intellectuals. \"Fiction!\" I would assure them. \"Made it all up! Not a word of truth in it!\" Then they would all go away and leave me alone, and perhaps a few sturdy souls would be willing to believe me, and I could open up in safety to them.\u003cbr\u003eIt hasn't worked out that way. The editors and agents and writers I respect most have always come back, after reading my \"novel,\" with the same question: \"Excuse me, but how much of this is fiction?\" And I would hem and haw a bit before admitting that aside from making John and myself sound much better-looking than we are, I didn't fictionalize anything. It's all true, I would say. Then I would sink into my chair five or six inches and wait for them to call security.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo far, that hasn't happened. It has been five years since Mrs. Ross reared back against her parrot and delivered Adam's message, and in all that time my favorite people have continually repeated his advice. Open up, they say. It will feel better than remaining closed.\u003cbr\u003eI am none too sure about this. I am very much afraid of being caught in the firestorms of controversy over abortion, genetic engineering, medical ethics. It worries me to think that I will be lumped together with the right-to-lifers, not to mention every New Age crystal kisser who ever claimed to see an angel in the clouds over Sedona. I am reluctant to wave good-bye to my rationalist credibility. Nevertheless, the story will not stop unfolding, and it will not stop asking me to tell it. I have resisted it for what feels like a very long time, hoping it would back off and disappear. But it hasn't.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo, Mrs. Ross, wherever you are, thank you for delivering my son's message. After all these years, I've finally decided to listen.National Bestseller","brand":"Harmony","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304942686437,"sku":"NP9780307719645","price":17.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780307719645.jpg?v=1767726533","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/expecting-adam-isbn-9780307719645","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}