{"product_id":"the-7-stages-of-motherhood-isbn-9780375706356","title":"The 7 Stages of Motherhood","description":"This refreshingly candid parenting book puts mothers—not children—center stage. Ann Pleshette Murphy provides a reassuring, wise, and often wildly funny mix of anecdotes and advice as she describes the seismic shifts in women’s lives and identities from pregnancy through a child’s graduation. She draws on countless conversations with mothers and with child development experts she has met as the parenting contributor to \u003ci\u003eGood Morning America\u003c\/i\u003e and as the former editor-in-chief of \u003ci\u003eParents\u003c\/i\u003e magazine. The mother of two, Murphy freely shares her own trials and errors in stories that will have readers laughing in relief and recognition. Written with wit, warmth, and unfailing empathy, \u003ci\u003eThe 7 Stages of Motherhood \u003c\/i\u003eis an exuberant and indispensable guide to making the most of motherhood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eWords of Wisdom for Every Stage of Motherhood\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e_ Forget\u003c\/b\u003e  \u003cb\u003ethe “mothering comes naturally” myth:\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003eAnd don’t be afraid to ask for help\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e_ Avoid keeping up with the Joneses:\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eGive your kids what they need, not everything they want.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e_\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cb\u003eKnow when\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cb\u003eyou’re in the wrong movie:\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003eDon’t try to cast your kids in a remake of your childhood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e_\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cb\u003eGive yourself credit for finding Lego Man’s hair: \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003eLittle acts of caring matter more to your kids than getting through your to-do list\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e_ Be a mother, not Mother Teresa:   \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e When you neglect your own needs, you shortchange your kids\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Refreshingly honest, often hilarious.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Sun\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An emotional lifeline to mothers everywhere.” —William Pollack, author of \u003ci\u003eReal Boys\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Ann Pleshette Murphy is one of my heroes.”\u003cbr\u003e–T. Berry Brazelton, M.D.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“No one is in a better position to support and inform parents than Ann Pleshette Murphy, whom every parent can look to with extreme confidence because her years of personal experience as a mother, unlimited access to experts and perhaps most important, the special warmth and honesty with which she approaches the joys and challenges of parenthood. As the extraordinarily successful and highly respected editor-in-chief of \u003ci\u003eParents\u003c\/i\u003e for more than ten years, she has been able to bring a unique perspective to supporting, advising, and best of all understanding child-rearing issues–always going beyond the obvious and reaching out with depth and empathy. Any parent who reads this book will gain insight and increased confidence.”\u003cbr\u003e–Nancy Samalin, director of Parent Guidance Workshops, NYC \u0026amp; bestselling parenting author whose newest book is \u003ci\u003eLoving Without Spoiling \u0026amp; 100 Other Timeless Tips for Raising Terrific Kids\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Ann Pleshette Murphy is every Mom’s–and Dad’s–best friend. She has captured the complexities, joys, and sorrows of parenting and presented them in ways that help us manage the usual and unusual crises of caring for children in the midst of a busy life. She is like a good parent to her readers: she lends a helping hand, she is a supportive voice in your ear, but her greatest joy is seeing you go off on your own, confident and competent.”\u003cbr\u003e–Samuel J. Meisels, President, Erikson Institute, author of \u003ci\u003eWinning Ways to Learn\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Ann Pleshette Murphy knows what to expect \u003ci\u003eafter\u003c\/i\u003e you’re expecting. Her stories and insights about mothering do more than teach the facts of children’s development. This is a book about adult development–about how running the emotional gauntlet of parenting changes us forever.”\u003cbr\u003e–Justin Richardson, M.D., co-author of \u003ci\u003eEverything You Never Wanted Your Kids to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid They’d Ask)\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Heartwarming, witty, and wise . . . Let Ann Pleshette Murphy be your guide on this charming tour through motherhood.”\u003cbr\u003e–Harvey Karp, M.D., author of \u003ci\u003eThe Happiest Baby on the Block\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Annie Murphy has told us rare and liberating truths about parenting. A skilled journalist, she is incredibly observant of herself and her children without being self-serving or narcissistic in the rendering. Her respect for her kids, and ours, sets a standard for parenting books.”\u003cbr\u003e–Kyle Pruett, M.D., author of \u003ci\u003eFatherneed: Why Father Care is as Essential as Mother Care for Your Child\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eAnn Pleshette Murphy has been Good Morning America’s on-air parenting expert since 1998. A highly sought-after speaker, she was for ten years the editor-in-chief of Parents magazine. She writes a parenting column \u003ci\u003efor USA Weekend\u003c\/i\u003e and serves on the board of Zero to Three, the leading national organization dedicated to the well-being of infants and toddlers. She resides in New York City with her husband and two children.Stage 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Altered States\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Pregnancy, Birth, and the Fourth Trimester\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI was thirty-one when I became pregnant with our first child. From  the moment my obstetrician gave us the good news, I began to  fantasize about our baby, to picture myself as a mother. The hazy  sonogram image I carried in my wallet, the fetal heartbeat, those  first fluttery kicks changed my sense of who I was and who I was  becoming. Long before my husband, Steven, and I settled on our baby's  name, Molly, I had turned a dramatic corner. Just how sharp that  corner really was I would discover in an agonizing way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMolly died two days after her birth, tearing a hole in our lives.  Even though I knew that I could have done nothing to prevent her  death, which was due to a highly rare form of intrauterine growth  retardation, I suffered profound feelings of worthlessness and guilt.  During the succeeding weeks, Steve and I held on to each other,  sharing our sadness and loss. Then Steve returned to work and I  recuperated at home. As the news spread, a love tide of condolence  notes poured in from family and friends, colleagues, acquaintances,  people we saw often and others we hardly knew. I found myself reading  and rereading every word--whether a multipage letter or a treacly  Hallmark card. I hoarded the notes, counted them, organized and  sorted them. Opening the mail became a kind of obsession, the one  pastime I craved during an otherwise desolate period.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOnly when I was pregnant with Maddie the following year did I  understand why the letters had meant so much. Having planned for  months to be a mother, redefining myself in terms of our baby and our  new life as a family, I suddenly felt as though I had no purpose, no  handle on where to go from there. I had lost not only a chance to  hold and love our baby, I was deprived of my new identity. For the  better part of a year, I had carried a vision of myself and of Molly  that informed every minute of my day and affected my dreams at night.  Losing her meant losing me--or at least an experience of myself I  wanted desperately to embrace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI hoarded the letters not because of what they said but because they  reminded me that I was also a friend, cousin, employee, colleague,  daughter, sister, aunt. The more letters I received, the more I was  connected to these other roles and the easier it became to retrace my  steps. I slowly reclaimed my old self, began to feel on solid ground  again, but I never really stepped back completely from the place I  had entered eight months before. Even if I had never conceived  another child, I would have forever defined myself as a mother.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMost of us become mothers in our minds the minute that second pink  line blooms in the plastic window or the call to the doctor's office  confirms the news. We breathe a little differently, see a different  reflection in the mirror long before our contours actually change. I  doubt the Dalai Lama could clear his mind of thoughts of the future  were he lucky enough to experience pregnancy, because being pregnant  is all about the future. We may go about the mundane business of our  lives--having supper with our spouse, catching a movie with friends,  going to work, taking a walk in the park--but we're already acutely  aware that nothing will ever be the same, that our own personal  history, and that of our baby-to-be, is about to change in ways that  are thrilling and terrifying. The psychologist Daphne de Marneffe  aptly describes this sense of \"history in the making\" as all the more  awe-inspiring in the context of our day-to-day lives: \"We are both  part of the cycle of life and the march of history. This is an  incarnation, and even as we stroll to the drugstore to pick up some  toothbrushes, or maybe even partly because of the strange contrast  between them, it can inspire awe. That sense of awe is often one  adoptive parents express as well, in evoking the experience of  joining destinies with their child.\"[1]\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn many ways, your fantasies about the future are as important as the  little cluster of cells floating inside you. Pregnancy is a  three-in-one deal: There's the physical baby you're carrying, the  imagined one in your dreams, and your picture of yourself as a  mother. They're all important, all part of what makes pregnancy the  seminal journey of any woman's life. From the minute you find out  you're pregnant, you feel as though you've wandered into a totally  new neighborhood. You daydream about running behind your towheaded  toddler on the beach or reading Charlotte's Web to your rapt  first-grader or shopping with your preteen, and you begin to reshape  a sense of who you are.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMost of us don't take the time to indulge in these fantasies or to  give voice to them, especially if they tip precariously toward the  dark side. Heavyhearted visions of loneliness, fatigue, and unwanted  fat get pushed aside whenever someone asks, \"Are you excited?\" or  \"How are you feeling?\" It's far easier to assume that we can  accommodate a small earthquake than to contemplate the sidewalk  splitting open or giant boulders tumbling from the sky.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The New Macho Mom\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When I found out I was pregnant the second time, my anxiety was  understandably high, but once everything seemed normal, I hurtled  ahead, adjusting my frenetic routine as little as possible. One  morning I was running late to the office, and in my frantic sprint  into the subway car I slipped, slamming my head against the edge of  the door. By the time the train arrived at the next stop, I looked as  though my unborn baby was about to spring Athena-like from my  swelling forehead and several of my fellow straphangers were advising  me to \"get the hell off and put some ice on that thing.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI wound up at my parents' apartment a few blocks away, where my  father, an obstetrician-gynecologist, ministered to my sore head and  bruised ego. \"You have to slow down, darling,\" he admonished, placing  an ice pack on my throbbing brow. \"You're pregnant.\" I realized later  that he had stated the obvious because I was ignoring the obvious,  racing through my days with a ferocious determination to prove I  could still do it all, that nothing had changed. I'm sure I was  running as fast as I could out of fear--fear that if I indulged in  fantasies about this baby, in images of myself as a mom, of Steve as  a dad--I might suffer the same loss and disappointment we had our  first time. But even after an amniocentesis reassured us that  everything was fine, I kept a tight rein on my fantasies and a tight  schedule at work.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAlthough I'm sure there are women who adopt an eighteenth-century  approach to their pregnancies, fainting onto chaises or taking to  their beds, most of the moms I spoke to copped a decidedly macho  attitude toward their nine months. Morning sickness was slightly  embarrassing but not paralyzing; fatigue was just something they'd  work around; hemorrhoids, heartburn, varicose veins--not so bad. Even  today's maternity wardrobes seem designed with a \"what's the big deal  with big\" attitude. Evidently, there's a lot of pressure on today's  moms to treat pregnancy as a minor inconvenience and to barrel ahead  with the confidence of Seabiscuit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn many ways this shift in perspective is positive; we've come a long  way from the days when anything having to do with a woman's  reproductive tract was considered X-rated and childbirth itself akin  to a medical problem. In the 1700s, pregnant women were \"confined\"  and expected to wear clothing that made burnooses look revealing.  Before World War II pregnancy was rarely described as such. Women  were \"with child\" or \"in the family way\" or \"had a bun in the oven.\"  And no nineteenth-century man in his right mind ever announced,  \"We're pregnant!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot only has the language of pregnancy changed in the past few  decades, but the acceptance of expectant mothers in the workplace, in  the media, in bikinis has made it possible to strut your stuff and  maintain the status quo for as long as you want. And it's wonderful  if your pregnancy goes so smoothly that you can continue to work and  play with Energizer Bunny stamina. When Nick's beloved third-grade  teacher became pregnant for the first time, her ebullience made  Kathie Lee Gifford look lethargic. In addition to teaching full-time,  she kept up a rigorous workout routine, practically jogging into the  delivery room. And her happy-mom motor was clearly revved up the day  I ran into her on the street. (She was running; I was not.) \"I feel  really, really good,\" she said, panting as she jogged in place. \"Only  three weeks to go!\" I wished her luck and told her I would call her  after the baby arrived. But as she trotted away I worried that she  might be setting herself up for disappointment--not in terms of the  experience of being a mom but in entertaining the fantasy that even  after the baby arrived she would just jog through life at the same  self-determined pace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere are plenty of evolutionary explanations as to why we carry our  babies for nine long months, but I'm convinced that those last few  weeks, when our bodily changes (and quite a few functions) seem  totally out of control, are an apt metaphor for motherhood. \"If you  think you look and feel completely different now,\" Mother Nature  laughs, \"then just wait.\" Long before you can't see your feet, you  should be putting them up--literally and psychologically. As you'll  learn, the shock of the new (baby, that is) can knock you sideways,  especially if you've harbored the fantasy that becoming a mom  represents a little bump in the road. Accepting that you're looking  at a Mount Fuji-sized change and giving yourself the time and space  to plan for your new life and, more important, for your new sense of  yourself makes a lot more sense than investing in a chic maternity  wardrobe you hope will double as back-to-work wear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I realize now that I just wasn't facing the fact that our lives  would be totally different,\" Emily admitted a few months after her  daughter was born. \"It happened so quickly--we weren't really trying  to conceive--I guess I didn't really admit to being pregnant. Like we  didn't assemble the crib until about a week before Isabella was born.  I kept putting it off; on one level, I just couldn't believe it was  happening.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFew can believe it. How is it possible to fully imagine what and how  you'll feel when the fluttering inside you is a miraculous fact of  your life, when there's an actual baby in that room you're  wallpapering with cute little ducks. Shelly, a twenty-six-year-old  saleswoman who was expecting her first baby when I interviewed her,  never really stopped to think about why she wanted to be a mom. In  fact, as she admitted during the course of our conversation, the  pregnancy had not been planned: \"I'm still having a hard time  believing that I'm going to be a mom. Even my coworkers were really  surprised when I told them I was pregnant, because I have a low  tolerance for typical kid behavior. I work in retail, and when a baby  has a tantrum in the store, basically I have to leave. I'm so  frustrated by what I see parents doing or not doing in those  situations. So I guess I'm worried that I might be just like them.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eActually, most of us assume we won't be \"just like them,\" that we'll  manage to soothe an inconsolable infant or prevent a preschooler's  supermarket meltdown or negotiate a successful peace treaty with an  angry adolescent. The novelist Fay Weldon once commented that \"the  greatest advantage of not having children must be that you can go on  believing that you are a nice person: once you have children, you  realize how wars start.\"[2]\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWeldon's cynicism notwithstanding, there's no reason to believe you  won't be a nice person once you're a mom; you just won't be the same  person. Ever. And for many of us, that sense of change, of evolution,  is exactly why pregnancy is so fiercely exciting. As the psychologist  Harriet Lerner aptly says, \"Any woman who doesn't fear for her own  future when she becomes a mother is sleepwalking or perhaps in a  coma.\"[3]\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Good-bye to All That\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Most moms-to-be experience moments of panic, when the irreversibility  of pregnancy feels very scary. Even if you desperately want to be a  mom, there's always ambivalence about saying good-bye to your old  self. Among the women I spoke to who had postponed motherhood, a  significant proportion had experienced the paradoxical conflict  between embracing their excitement about becoming moms and  sacrificing the image of themselves they had worked long and hard to  craft. For Leslie, an accomplished, beautiful business executive, the  anticipated changes of motherhood induced what felt, at times, like  mourning. \"As excited as I was to be pregnant, the first trimester  was really rough emotionally. I think I felt two things: this huge  lack of control, and loss. I just kept thinking about how I was  giving up my career and losing my body and making lots of sacrifices.  I had no morning sickness or cravings; I didn't put on a lot of  weight. But I definitely found the emotional adjustment to losing a  chapter in my life very hard to take.\" In what she described as a  slightly defiant act, Leslie continued to indulge in a glass of wine  when she wanted one and to play down the myriad health warnings that  bombarded her. She seemed to be saying, \"Hey, I know this baby is  going to change my life, but I don't want to give up who I am.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn \"Soliloquy,\" from the musical Carousel, expectant dad Billy  Bigelow goes from swaggering tough guy to insecure \"bum with no  money\" as he imagines fathering a boy, then a girl. His poignant  transformation makes the song one of the most lyrical explorations of  how impending parenthood forces us to see ourselves in a whole new  light. There's no question that ruminating over the kind of person  you want to be for your baby can keep you up all night. \"I'm already  thinking about how she will see me, what kind of a person I am now  and what I want to change about myself,\" Elise told me when she was  about five months pregnant. As she fantasized about hanging out with  her baby, going places and interacting, she found herself consciously  deciding to change the way she presented herself. \"Getting pregnant  has forced me to clean up my act. To be more poised, more grown-up, I  suppose. Even though I realize the baby can't hear me, I find that  I'm not swearing as much as I used to. Maybe that's silly, but it's  part of imagining how I want our child to see me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e NOTES\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 1. Daphne de Marneffe, Maternal Desire: On Children, Love, and the  Inner Life (Boston: Little, Brown, 2004), p. 98.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e2. Fay Weldon, from personal interview in Rozsika Parker, Torn in  Two: The Experience of Maternal Ambivalence (London: Virago Books,  1995), p. 5.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e3. Harriet Lerner, The Mother Dance: How Children Change Your Life  (New York: HarperCollins, 1998), p. 57.","brand":"Anchor","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304033013989,"sku":"NP9780375706356","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375706356.jpg?v=1767737981","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-7-stages-of-motherhood-isbn-9780375706356","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}