Cry When the Baby Cries
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- $14.99
Publisher Description
Born out of a viral “Shouts & Murmurs” piece in The New Yorker, this darkly humorous, charming, and brilliant graphic memoir, in the tradition of Allie Brosh and Roz Chast, brings the first few years of parenthood to life.
With the wit of a comedian and the observational skills of a sociologist surveying a new subculture, Becky Barnicoat writes about her first few years of parenthood with warmth, sharp insight, and uproarious humor in her debut graphic memoir Cry When the Baby Cries.
Barnicoat’s prose is always relatable, smart, and so funny while discussing everything from how ignoring women’s pain is baked into the practice of obstetrics to the impossibility of putting a child down drowsy but awake while you are permanently drowsy but awake, to the tyranny of gentle parenting, and more.
Barnicoat gives us permission to cry when the baby cries, and also laugh, snort, lie on the floor naked, drool, and revel in a deeply strange new world ruled by a tyrannical tiny leader, growing bigger and more cherished by the day.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
New Yorker cartoonist Barnicoat wrings hard-earned laughs from her experiences with motherhood in her wry graphic novel debut. She describes how her messy, painful pregnancy bears little resemblance to the images she sees on social media of flawless pregnant bodies, Instagrammable babies, and "aspirational" birth experiences (including "the dreamy water birth" and "the legend of the orgasmic dancing birth"). After her son is born via cesarean, she compares parenting an infant to a job where "sometimes the CEO will absolutely lose his shit and scream in my face for hours." Reentering the adult world proves difficult in a society that makes little room for strollers or breastfeeding. Though she mines her experiences for comedy, designing games like the Wheel of Parenting Insomnia (spin it to land on a "new, terrible thing to worry about" like the "microplastics time bomb") and Leaving-Your-Kid-at-Nursery Bingo (with squares like "guilt," "Eau De Nappies," and "why is the front door open?"), she's frank about being depressed, exhausted, and often reduced to tears. Her loose ink-washed art suggests the humanistic style of Roz Chast, complete with charmingly drawn babies and hilariously frazzled self-portraits (Barnicoat frequently depicts herself wandering around the house in a half-naked, feral state). Parents will find much to identify with, and expectant parents would do well to heed Barnicoat's warnings.
