An interview with Jocey Karlan Newman
Jocey is mom to two-year-old Emory. She's currently traveling the world with Emory and her husband while she runs First Peak, a baby and toddler clothing company.
On childhood and her own mother
I grew up on the westside of LA. Both my parents are cancer surgeons, still are, and will be for many years to come. When we go out to dinner, everyone has been trained to eat within 15 minutes because growing up, a beeper could have gone off at any time. My mom’s role as a medical leader and working woman was a big part of my childhood.
She has so many stories of people who told her that “going to medical school is taking a spot away from a man.” Or, “You’re screwing up your kids or hurting your husband by working.” A lot of what she imparted on me was that motherhood is one facet of who you are, and you’re allowed to have other facets too.
She had a lot of stories like, “I had your brother, three days later I drove to my sister’s wedding, and five days later I went back to work.” It’s entirely unconscionable that we live in a society that requires you to go back to work that soon. But the human body is amazing, and you can do these things. She’s a women’s cancer surgeon and specializes in women’s health. A lot of her stories are rooted in a sense of how strong women are and a pride to be female. That was a switch for me after becoming a mom. I felt much closer to her worldview.
On pregnancy
I found out I was pregnant on March 3, 2020. My husband and I were living in San Francisco at the time. I had peed on so many sticks that all told me I wasn’t pregnant, but my period was ten days late. That felt very scary to me, so I went to the doctor and took one of their tests, and I was pregnant. The next day was the very last day I went into work before Covid. Everything started to shut down.
Coming from a medical perspective, my mom was a very staunch believer in not telling anyone you’re pregnant until you’re past fourteen weeks. You get all the genetic tests back, you don’t celebrate anything until you’re past that point. So much of her work comes into play when something goes wrong in those early days, and she wanted me to be emotionally prepared for that potential reality. I internalized that and felt very much that I should tell no one. On top of Covid closures, it was a very isolated time.
I don’t remember feeling hyper anxious about dying of Covid or miscarrying because of Covid, but I remember feeling the level of scrutiny I had to put on any activity had to be higher, and I felt frustrated by that. The BLM protests were going on. Gage, my husband, and I were going to go, and ultimately decided not to, in part because of my parents’ strong warnings and uncertain CDC data. I understood but also felt frustrated. I felt like I was being put in a plastic bubble.
Emory was born November 2020, so we were still in the thick of the pandemic. In the later stages of pregnancy, it became a fear of having to go into the hospital alone. At that time, if you tested positive, you would have to be separated from your baby for two weeks after delivery. My worst nightmare was going into the hospital by myself and coming out by myself. I think a lot of millennials were able to have their moments of, “Fuck it, I’m going to take a break from lockdown for one weekend.” There was none of that mental, emotional break that was allowed to happen for us.
On labor and delivery
I was induced at 41 weeks. I remember going in for my check up at 39 weeks, and the doctor saying, “Some women will already be showing signs of readiness, but not you. Nothing here.” 40 weeks, still definitely nothing happening. I would be really snarky when people would see me on the street and ask when I was due. I would be like, “YESTERDAY.”
At 41 weeks and one day, I went to the hospital like I was checking into a hotel. Being induced felt like forcing my body to go from zero to 60 really fast and artificially. I spent twelve hours with a balloon in my cervix that didn’t seem to do anything. And then they gave me Pitocin. I think I got to four centimeters through all that, and I begged for an epidural. I took a 45-minute nap, and then I woke up and they were like, “Hey, you’re ten centimeters dilated! Next baby, let’s do the epidural earlier!”
As I was pushing, they realized that he was too far down to do an emergency c-section, but the umbilical cord was around his neck, and so with each push you would watch his heart rate drop. There was a nurse who crawled onto my chest and physically pushed down because they couldn’t get him out. He was too far down and there was no turning back, so we had to go as quickly as possible, and had to use suction too.
When Emory came out, they had to shake all his hands and legs to get the blood flowing. Then they brought him over and I held him. They said they were going to start sewing me up and asked if I wanted to hold him longer. I remember feeling this intense guilt but saying, “Not right now. I just need a moment.” And I handed him off to my husband. I felt like that was very counter to every story I had heard. I didn’t have this instant “give me all the baby time I can get” feeling. It was like, please stitch up my busted open vagina and get me out of this room and then I’ll be ready. I wish someone had said to me that I might want to hold him more right away, or I might not.
Emory was born in the late afternoon, we stayed the night, and then I was like, get me out of here. I very much had the glory hormones for 40 hours after he was born. I felt like the queen of the world. And then we got home and everything crashed. It was some intense whiplash.
On postpartum
After I gave birth, I really did adopt this notion from my mom that the human body can get through this. My mom took off work for two weeks and stayed with us when Em was four to eighteen days old. She was so confident that everything was okay. She would say, “You don’t need to write down when you last fed him. He’s gonna wake up when he wakes up.” She was so far on that end of the confidence spectrum, and I was clawing to catch up. The hospital gave me this little notebook to write down which boob I started with for every feed, so I diligently documented. I remember wanting to be able to be more laissez faire about it, but I wasn’t there.
My OB is a close friend of my mom’s. They’re women cut from the same cloth and both staunchly in defense of women. I remember going to my six week postpartum OB appointment, and my OB asking if I was still breastfeeding. I said yes, and she said, “Do you want to breastfeed? If you don’t want to, stop. Baby’s fine. Cut it out.” All these pediatricians told me to shoot for nine or twelve months, and it was stark hearing this other opinion. There was this mindset of, “I’m here to protect you because I already know you’re going to protect this baby. You need someone to be in your court.”
On feeding
I went back to work right at four months, and pumping was when the breastfeeding journey got hard for me. I hated seeing the ounces and watching it change. It caused such anxiety in me. I remember doing these pumps that were half an ounce twenty minutes in.
I felt like no one, not my pediatrician, was talking about formula. Next baby, I feel like I will be so open and excited about supplementing with formula as needed. But I very much felt on the hook. My mindset was that my body was supposed to produce this, it was supposed to be enough, and why wasn’t it all of a sudden? I think I breastfed him until ten months, but I dropped a lot of feeds, and that whole last three months I was just kicking myself about it.
I would try to pump between meetings, and I would be so stressed. I think really early when I wasn’t working yet and I pumped on occasion, I would think, “This is badass, my fridge is filling with milk,” and the second that wasn’t the case, I detested it. I had this tease of, “Look how ample I am!” Then later on I would look at my measly ounce and be so depleted.
On her relationship with her body
My relationship with my body changed a lot initially postpartum. I remember being really grateful for it for the first five or six months especially. I remember wanting to hold onto that. Part of the reason I’m excited to be pregnant again at some point is to get back to that feeling of a lot of self love. Any mark or weight or whatever was part of the journey. Now two-and-a-half years later I’m like, “Hey, that never did go back to normal, what the fuck?” As opposed to being like, “Yeah, you did this great thing.” So maybe when I get pregnant again I’ll love it all over again.
On transition moments and work
The hardest thing I’ve had to work through is the emotion of guilt. When I was working as a product manager at a tech company, I felt resentful of work sometimes because I found myself counting the minutes it was taking away from being with Emory. It was this scoreboard in my head.
When Emory was eighteen months old, we gave up our apartment in San Francisco, Gage gave us his job, and I gave up my nine-to-five. We had had this dream of traveling since we were married. I also launched this business called First Peak and started making baby and toddler clothes intended to help people adventure and get outside together. We’re traveling and we’re hiking and we’re outside all the time, and I think Em has four total shirts because they hold up so well. He’s in First Peak clothes all day every day.
Running First Peak has also given me the opportunity to connect with other moms. A lot of them are hiking and adventure moms but a lot of them are also doing mother-owned businesses, and that all ties into this notion of being really proud to be a mom. I don’t think I thought of that before I had a kid. It’s solidified this intense pride in being a mom and doing things that are a little scary and risky but fulfilling. It’s been really satisfying to stretch my comfort zone a bit. The whole parenting journey is stretching your comfort zone. So at least it’s on theme.
There is something notably different now that I run my own business. I feel a lot of pride about taking time to do work as opposed to anguish or frustration. That feels less conflicting. I don’t know at what age he’ll think it’s cool, but I hope one day I’ll be able to tell my son he made me want to start a business, and so I went and started making stuff because I wanted to go do things with him. That feels really good.
Thank you so much to Zara Stasi from Good for the Bees for making the Mother Stories artwork!