I was playing hooky the day they handed out the mother gene. I had no idea what I was doing – or what was to be done. I spent all my time reading about being pregnant when I was pregnant, so I never got to the being a mom books till after the fact. Actually, just the one – Dr. Spock. It’s like the Betty Crocker Cookbook – as generic as it gets and indispensable. When anything went wrong, consult the index and then read the answer. Periodically I’d remember something about how some years back there had been a groundswell of antipathy for the good doctor, but I couldn’t remember if everyone had their knickers in a twist because he was too harsh or too gentle. To me, he was perfect. Well, maybe he wasn’t perfect, but the index was. If my child had an ailment, from pink toes to a spotty bum, I would look up pink toes or spotty bum in the index, and there it would be. The answers were always so simple too – whatever it called for, we either had in the cupboard already or I knew exactly what aisle to find it in at the store up the street. Just like Betty Crocker recipes – you’re bound to have all the ingredients at home, but if you don’t, she’s not going to make you drive to some little store three towns over to find fresh garam marsala. So Dr. Spock got us through the tough spots, and the rest of the time we winged it, going with whatever worked – we let our imaginations roll and went wherever they took us. (more…)