Motherhood, The Second OldestProfession by Erma Bombeck Read Free Book Online Page A

from,” said Estelle.
    So it was in September, 1980, both Louise and Estelle became “career mothers” . . . for minimum-wage scale.
    They both wiped noses, changed diapers, rocked babies, hummed lullabies, and made bloody fingers well again with the touch of their lips.
    Neither could explain why being paid for it made such a difference.

Unknown
    13
     
    How I Spent My Summer
    by Laura Parsons. Age 11
    I spent my summer the same way I spent my winter. I’m a mini-mom. When my mom is away at work, I take care of my younger brother and three sisters.
    A mini-mom’s job is boring.
    I take my brother and sisters to the bathroom when they don’t want to go.
    I wash their faces when they jerk their heads away.
    I wipe their runny noses when they don’t want them wiped.
    I put them to bed when the’re not sleepy.
    And when they follow their “real mother”, I grab them around the neck and hold on tight until they turn purple.
    There is a lot of hittig and spitting with the job.
    I wish I had never been born first. I thought it would be neat, but that’s before I found out that I would be the first to reach the top shelf and have to get glasses down . . . the first to know how to butter, tie and zip . . . the first one to be old.
    Sitters get neat snacks and tips if the house isn’t wrecked. They get treated lik a sister.
    Mini-moms get blamed if someone turns the garden hose on in the living room and punished fi someone eatsthe bnaban mom was saving. We’re treated like mothers.
    Being a mother really grosses me out. I hate wiping someone after they go to the toilet. I hate it when I call a thousand times and they pretend they don’t heat me. I hate not having any time to be by myself.
    They like their real mom better than they like me. I don’t care.
    I wanted to run away from home, but my mother would kill me if I went out on the highway before they put a traffic light in.
    I don’t want to be a mother, ever.
     
     

Unknown
    14
    The five Greater American Ficton Writers of All Time
    (Who Just Happen to Be Mothers)
    EILEEN WHORF
    (Author of the Poetry Club Letters)
    September 16, 1978
    Mrs. Loretta Flake
    Bramblebush Acres
    Norman, Oklahoma
    My Dear Mrs. Flake:
    I cannot tell you how surprised and shocked I -was to learn that I had been nominated to succeed you as president of the Walt Whitman Poetry Club.
    Especially since I attended only one of your meetings as a guest.
    Although I am honored to be considered, it is with great regret that I must decline to serve as your president next year.
    I know you will understand when I tell you I am terrified to get up before anyone to speak. It's a congenital shyness that I have learned to live with, but it certainly would not serve the best interests of the Walt Whitman Poetry Club.
    Gratefully,
    Eileen Whorf
    September 21, 1978
    Dear Loretta:
    Thank you for your letter of insistence. I do agree that the more one speaks, the more comfortable one becomes. However, there is still another reason why I cannot serve as your president. I haven't told anyone (even my husband) about a small cyst on my right toe. It is probably benign, but we never know and I would not have your membership suffer because of my infirmity. I know you will keep my little secret.
    Trustingly,
    Eileen Whorf
    September 86, 1978
    Dear Loretta:
    If perseverance were little drops of rain, you would have drowned weeks ago. I know I could count on the understanding and support of your membership, and thank you for reminding me of the Cyst Leave of Absence in the by-laws. However, there is a possibility that Mr. Whorf is being transferred to another country, in which case it would be impossible for me to commute to the monthly meetings of the Walt Whitman Poetry Club. Surely there is someone in your membership worthy of the honor you have tried to bestow on me with such force.
    Regards,
    Eileen Whorf
    October 1, 1978
    Dear Loretta:
    You and your membership astound me with your generosity, and although I know