Talia Liben Yarmush is an infertile mother, a TV addict and film junkie, and an Oxford comma enthusiast. She lives in New Jersey where she leads feminist Torah study for writers and tries to write when not building Lego structures and reading Judy Moody books. You can read some more of her work on her website www.TaliaYarmush.com.
My maternity clothing hadn’t been touched since I last took them off of my body nearly six years ago. They’ve been stuffed inside a large black garbage bag, with holes and stretches from being…thrown around from one closet to another, from one house to the next. Until two months ago, that is, when I finally said goodbye. With delicate care, I removed each item, refolded it, and placed it in a new bag. I knotted the red ties in a bow, and scheduled a donation pickup. It took… >> Read More
I once spent months of my life pricking needles into my belly and plunging syringes into the fat as surges of hormones flowed into my body. I did it every morning. I did it every…night. And then I did it again. Prick. Ice. Repeat. You saw my desperation and you held my hand. You listened to my cries and you soaked up my tears. I cried a lot. I should have written: Cry. Prick. Cry. Ice. Repeat. I cried at night when the loneliness was most poignant, soaking my… >> Read More
“Do you have any kids yet?” It was an innocent enough question. The woman asking me, a middle-aged, curly-haired, redhead was the third person to ask since I arrived at the shul-sponsored Shabbat…dinner 20 minutes earlier. The “Are you married?” question which usually preceded it was bypassed due to the hat I wore for synagogue and prayer functions, signifying I am a married woman. >> Read More
I’m not going to lie, and I shouldn’t have to. I love Mother’s Day. It’s strictly selfish, and I have no problem with that.
The holiday was never widely celebrated in my house growing up…(“we should celebrate mothers every day,” “this is just another Hallmark holiday”), but ever since I became a mother for the first time, I have anticipated the day with a childlike excitement. What craft will my 2-year-old proudly bring home from preschool? I now wonder. What beautiful words will my husband put to paper, to… >> Read More
“Where’s my husband?” I asked, panicked, as the nurses rolled me into the operating room.
We had been in the hospital all day, and after being told that I was likely out of danger, my husband…had left 20 minutes earlier to go back home and check on our older son. “You need to get my husband!” I was begging them. I was still conscious when the doctor put the knife to my stomach and cut into it. I remember screaming, and she stopped cutting, for just a moment, before the… >> Read More
Ezra is asleep in his crib. His lips purse and pucker as if he's sucking on a bottle. He is peaceful, even when he is awake. Awake, he stares at everything, fascinated by his surroundings, and giving…smiles as payment for even a moment of attention. When my students ask me for examples of modern day miracles, Ezra is the obvious answer. We named our son Ezra, Hebrew for help and support, because he is the manifestation of all the help we received in our efforts to become pregnant. We were told… >> Read More