We could turn our attention and our resources toward all children, he reasoned, not just our own. He liked our freedom, the ease of escaping to the Sierras to backpack and to the Alabama Hills to climb, the unfettered time for activism, for work that might make a difference. I was the “trailing spouse,” language that reminded me of the signs along some California highways that show an adult holding the hand of a small child who appears to float in the wind, feet not touching the ground.Įric liked our life as it was. Eric had been hired for his first tenure-track faculty position in a graduate school of education, preparing teachers for public school classrooms. We moved to Southern California in 2007 and lived in a townhouse subsidized by the university where we both taught.
When Eric and I married in 2004 we agreed we’d eventually have a child, but we were busy doing other things-writing dissertations, writing books, chasing academic jobs around the country-and by the time we started talking in earnest about becoming parents, I was in my midthirties, and Eric was close to forty. I’d absorbed the messages in the cultural ether that framed motherhood as both holy work and trap. I kept a list of possible names for my future children, pictured myself pregnant and listening to fast fetal heartbeats, looking in wonder at the image on the screen. Sarah was kind enough to give us an excerpt, so if you are like me and can’t wait for the release of the book on Tuesday, here is a taste of what the buzz is about.Įxcerpt from Stranger Care, by Sarah Sentilles
Read more about how to join us in a generative writing workshop here. A couple of weeks ago we told you about an incredible writing opportunity available if you preorder Sarah Sentilles Stranger Care.
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