I remember going to a party in New York around that time. A couple, a pair of successful artists, had just had a baby, and the mother was celebrating a gallery opening of her new paintings. I remember watching this woman, the new mother, my friend, the artist, as she tried to be hostess to this party (which was in her loft) at the same time as taking care of herinfant and trying to discuss her work professionally. I never saw somebody look so sleep deprived in my life. I can never forget the image of her standing in her kitchen after midnight, elbows-deep in a sink full of dishes, trying to clean up after this event. Her husband (I am sorry to report it, and I fully realize this is not at all representational of every husband) was in the other room, , feet literally on the coffee table, watching TV. She finally asked him if he wiould help clean the kitchen, and he said, “Leave it, hon - we’ll clean up in the morning.” The baby started crying again. My friend was leaking breast milk through her cocktail dress. pg. 93