The phantom baby  When I was pregnant with Zoe, I stared
incessantly at pregnant women and moms on the street. It
suddenly seemed they were everywhere. I hid behind my sunglasses
and studied their every move. How did hugely pregnant women
navigate in narrow store aisles? Did they ever knock anything
over?  Mostly I was fascinated with moms. How did they do it?
How did they carry their groceries while juggling a baby on
their hip? How did they handle it when they were mid-bite at a
restaurant and their baby started to fuss in the high chair? How
would I do it, if I had a baby right now on MY hip, in MY lap,
in MY backseat? Most importantly, how did the moms look? Happy?
Stressed? Deeply content? Filled with regret about how their
fun-filled weekends were now shot to hell in a pastel handbasket
with leaky bottles stuck in the side pockets?  I find myself
studying moms again, this time the ones who juggle more than one
kid. I like to watch the happy ones the best, of course. Like
the one who was crossing the str