Special Guest Writer: Ophira Edut is one-half of the identical twin astrology team The AstroTwins. Their columns and predictions reach millions each month on Elle.com, myLifetime.com and their website Astrostyle.com. Ophira is the author of Love Zodiac, an astrological guide to the men of every sign, and the editor of Body Outlaws, a body image anthology (www.loveyourbody.org). She lives in New York City with her husband, two daughters and two dachshunds.
As an identical twin, I’m used to being compared. People are forever scanning my face (and body) when I stand beside my sister Tali, searching for distinguishing traits. In our 39 years, we’ve heard it all—I’m an inch taller with narrower features; Tali has a rounder face and bigger eyes. (I’ve taken to saying “she’s Ernie, and I’m Bert” to make it simpler.) In high school, Tali had a perm (remember those?), and when our weight fluctuates, we’ve both been labeled “the heavier twin,” which used to induce a cringe. My sister and I work together as astrologers, under the fun moniker The AstroTwins. We even joke that we were born married.
But it wasn’t until I became a mom in 2010 that the comparisons got a little more…personal. “Oh, now Tali HAS to get pregnant,” or “Tali must be getting baby fever.” People would jostle her and say things like, “Come on, Tali, it’s your turn now.” People wondered if she was jealous, and assumed (aloud) that she and her husband were busy making babies so they could “catch up.”
Only…they weren’t. And they might never be.
Tali met her husband Cory (an Aries) at Burning Man, a week-long camping festival/utopian society in the desert, in 2008. A year later, they got married there in a sandy geodesic dome built to resemble the inside of an egg. They’ve been living a creative life since—one that might be a lot less fun with the demands and distractions of a child.
Yet, when Tali tells some folks that she and Cory probably won’t be having kids, it’s like the air leaves the room. How could she not spawn a little cousin for my daughter Cybele? How could she elect such a different path than mine, and won’t she regret it? (Never mind that none of these people have volunteered to quit their day jobs and take on full-time child-rearing duties.)
It’s fair enough to ask whether she wants to have kids. But the judgment that follows isn’t.
My journey has been different. I met my husband Jeffrey (an earthy, somewhat traditional Taurus) in 2006, when we both went to lunch alone at a French restaurant in New York City’s West Village. On our first date a week later, he lit up talking about his six-year-old daughter Clementine. His love and pride were so palpable, I knew he was a keeper.
I got to ease my way into motherhood, first as daddy’s girlfriend, then as a step-mom. Clementine even picked out my wedding dress, and because we were making our family “official,” we had a more traditional ceremony in a New York City loft, led by my rabbi mother. Lucky for Tali, I did all the parent-pleasing stuff! When I found out I was pregnant, a built-in older sister and an experienced dad were there to light the way.
One of the wildest things that happened during my pregnancy was a twin “psychic connection.” I had absolutely ZERO symptoms. Tali, in Seattle, had all of them—even though she wasn’t pregnant! She got bloated, nauseous, had strange cravings. I would read her the malaise-of-the-week from WhattoExpect.com, and sure enough, she was having it. Tali had regular dreams of swimming with Cybele and talking to her, and was with me in the delivery room.
Tali has been a fantastic aunt to both Clementine and Cybele. I’m secretly happy that she doesn’t have kids (though I’d naturally support her if she did), because it leaves her with attention to lavish, special gifts to select, and time to teach Clementine jewelry-making, or to schlep her to the garment district to bedazzle T-shirts with glitter, fringe and sequined trim.
While it’s mildly irritating to deal with sibling preggo-pressure, what’s more troublesome is the underlying subtext: that mothers and non-mothers are SO different, they might as well be different species. Why, how can they possibly coexist? Motherhood is a lightning rod for dividing women—and we women participate in it, too. As twins taking different paths, this seems to trigger that discomfort even more.
I’ve been fascinated by recent media on the Kardashian sisters. Kourtney is pregnant again, while Khloe, according to the tabloids, is struggling to conceive. (I chalk this up to restrictive Saturn in Khloe’s fourth house of motherhood. Try again in October, Auntie KoKo!) Kim dove right into the baby pressure early in her 72-day marriage. Watching the episodes on E!, I can see how it contributed to her unraveling relationship. There was this “standard” she had to live up to—as though babies would complete the fairy tale. It’s a seductive fantasy, and with all the cultural approval pregnancy buys us, no woman is immune.
Yet, there are endless stereotypes foisted on women for either choice. If you’re a mother, suddenly you only care about preschool applications, breast-versus-bottle debates and maybe starting a “mommy blog.” If you choose not to have kids, you’re cast as sad and desperate, or as a career-obsessed shrew whose biological clock is on permanent “snooze.”
Yet, I know so many mothers who have quiet regrets, and aunties galore with more “maternal instinct” in their pinkies than I have in my entire body. For an incredible chapter of my life, I was mentored by Gloria Steinem, founder of the feminist movement, and a loving, generous person. She once introduced me as a “spiritual daughter,” and at age 77, continues to “mother” a movement to liberate women worldwide. Yet, Gloria has been cast as an unfeeling man-hater simply because she poured her creative (i.e., maternal) energy into her convictions and didn’t have a baby.
Not that you can’t do both, mind you, but I’ll be the first to admit: it ain’t easy.
The mommy-versus-non-mommy split is a painful chasm that I do everything to mitigate, not just with Tali but with my childless friends. I don’t want motherhood to interrupt the cherished bonds I have with anyone. That’s why I love the concept of Savvy Auntie—it gives my beloved crew a title of honor and respect so they don’t feel left out. At the same time, I have friends who aren’t “baby people,” and that’s okay, too. I wasn’t really one for most of my life, either. While I admittedly no longer meet them for 11 p.m. drinks and karaoke, I respect their choices and some nights, I even envy them.
Meantime, Tali and I continue to navigate the comparisons and keep our focus on giving love to Clementine and Cybele. Sure, I would enjoy imparting my mama experience to Tali if she ever needed it. I keep a little bag of Cybele’s old stuff in case Tali needs it (she hasn’t written off the idea entirely, and I’m nothing if not thrifty). Still, I won’t hang onto the baby stash forever, and I’ve donated most of it to other friends. Much like our weddings, my advice (and hand-me-downs) might be useless. As a mom, Tali would probably take a totally different path, one that reflected her and Cory’s ideals, lifestyle and values.
In the big picture, when will this mama drama end? As soon as we put conscious effort into it, sisters. It seems the desire to belong is hard-wired into our biology. Humans are social creatures, and we’ve survived as a species by detecting threats. This includes monitoring our environments for the possibility of exclusion or rejection. I believe that women are especially sensitive to this fear, since we’re so relationship-driven.
If society makes motherhood the currency for being included in a group (or excluded from a sleek, chic Sex and the City club, Charlotte be damned), we’re doing ourselves a disservice. So let’s take a page from neuroscience here, and remember that it takes a village—in other words, all of us—to raise a happy child.
One of my proudest roles is being “Auntie Ha-Ha” to my best friend Amanda’s daughter Marigold for the past five years. It meant the world to Amanda when I was around, with attention span and energy to spare, so she could putter, nest and have a cup of tea while I played make-believe with Marigold or drilled her on her ABC’s. My own aunt Carolyn (nicknamed “Oon”), who never had kids of her own, is my second mom—so much so that Cybele’s middle name is Carolyn in her honor. Some say that I look more like Oon than my own mother, and I followed in her creative footsteps by attending art school. She’s been as big an influence on my life as my mom has, and I can’t imagine who I’d be without her.
It just goes to show that every woman, whether we admit or not, IS an aunt at all times. There’s always a child observing us, checking us out for cues and clues to navigate this confusing world. Imagine if we lived our lives that way—as though everything we did was altering the world for the next generation. The labels and divisions wouldn’t matter at all. In truth, we ARE all connected this way; we’ve just forgotten. And memory will serve us well now. So let’s ditch these “aunt-iquated” divisions already and come together again.
Published: December 20, 2011
Photo by Scott Morgan: From left to right: Ophira, Cybele, Tali