When I decided to become a mother, I was very idealistic. I was studying at a University in San Francisco full of idealistic activist students. My mother had already expressed a willingness and enthusiasm to help me raise my daughter (as, regrettably, staying in Costa Rica with a father who I was completely incompatible with was not an option). My baby was conveniently due right at the end of Fall semester, so I didn’t even have to skip a semester and of course my feminist instructor was happy to let me bring my newborn to class. As an optimistic explorer, I pictured continuing my travels with daughter in tow. We would shake up the world! I took my daughter traveling with me. We went to cool radical activist events in the USA, Mexico and beyond. Later, my school was shut down by WASC, and my cohort imploded in the controversy. Everyone I know went separate ways and I moved to what I thought was a nice progressive open-minded community in Sonoma County. I started a fair trade shop with my mother in the front of our house...that failed. My daughter grew into an gifted, energetic toddler and my mother’s health deteriorated and I found she began to rely on me more than I on her. With no financial aide and my shop not working out, I found myself fighting to make a living while still having the experience of raising my child. My dreams of homeschooling started to seem unlikely. My dreams of living in a house full of people seemed unlikely. My dreams of traveling the world seemed dimmer.
So I decided to write.
