There was a time when I could spend hours, days, even entire vacations, shopping for myself. I could make lists and lists of things without which my life would be incomplete: sweaters, boots, scarves, sunglasses, CDs, coasters, cheese trays, duvet covers, coffee-table books, earrings, scented candles. And each of these items had to be exactly right: the skirt that hit the spot on my thigh to the most flattering effect, the jeans that flared to just the right proportion so I could wear them with either boots or flats.

In other words, I was self-involved and materialistic. I was single without a child.

I was reminded of those glorious days last night when I spent several hours of my post-work evening shopping online for warm-weather clothing for my two-year-old daughter for a beach vacation we’ll be taking at the end of the month. (more…)

Yesterday I was reminded, not for the first time, what a profound act of narcissism raising a child can be. After finally managing to get myself and my two-year-old daughter, Sam, dressed and ready to go outside, I noticed that we were both wearing jeans and brown turtleneck sweaters. “One of us has got to change,” I told her. I elected myself, since it takes me a fraction of the time to put clothes on my own body as it does to put them on hers.

It was not, I admit, unusual for us to leave the house in danger of looking a little too prepared to enter a mother/daughter beauty pageant. (more…)