Older mother of twins keeps sense of humor
Sunday, May 16, 2004
By Cristina Rouvalis, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Judith Newman is one very funny mother who says irreverent things most mothers don't admit to themselves, let alone blab to the world.

Maybe that comes from being an older mother, a 40-something mother who earned it the hard, high-tech way -- seven years and $70,000 worth of infertility treatments that resulted in three miscarriages and, finally, twin boys.

The successful Manhattan journalist, who has an unconventional marriage to a man in his 60s, looks at her preemie twins, Gus and Henry, for the first time and thinks, "I wonder if they would look less like space aliens if I penciled in their eyebrows."

This is real motherhood for all mothers, but it is especially funny for older mothers who throw out their backs doing strange contortions on the playground and imagine what nursing home they'll be in when their children graduate from college.

The funniest moments in the book are descriptions of the fiercely competitive Manhattan mommy scene.

Newman takes her twin boys to a pool party where the moms are looking over each other's offspring like livestock.

A mother takes one mortified look at Newman's pacifier-sucking son, gloats that her son never used one and asks Newman when she plans to pull the plug.

"It's something that keeps me up at night," Newman answers, "because I know how heartbreaking it will be when he's refused admission to college because he can't go on an interview without his binkie."

Newman disses the classic book "Good Night Moon," calls Baby Einstein tapes "crack for 8-month-olds," and goes to Botox parties, "Tupperware parties for the wrinkly."

At times she is tiresome when she carps about her disappearing act of a husband. But what does she expect from a man who had no desire to be a new father in his 60s? But most of the time, Newman is likable because she laughs at herself. Because she never lapses into syrupy mommy-speak, her moments of tenderness are moving.

Reminiscing about her former party-going socialite self, she asks, "Do I miss that life? I do. But maybe not enough. The one thing a mother can't explain to a nonmother is how her nerves can be rubbed raw with a dozen petty annoyances, yet when she crawls into bed, she is kind of happy. It's something I can't even explain to myself."