“All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does, and that is his.”
— Oscar Wilde (The Importance of Being Earnest)
In October 2004, when our son Evan was 9 months old, we packed our things, and moved out of the small university town my husband Andrew and I called home for over a decade. We headed to Dublin for a year so Andrew could finish his PhD. research. While I knew this was a valuable scholarly opportunity for Andrew—he would have access to archives, libraries, and people he could never meet living in our town— I was extremely nervous about what would happen to me, a new mom, living in an unfamiliar country, in a city with more than quadruple the population of the one we’d left. I was unable to work legally, and chose not to undertake a formal course of study since I already had my MA. It was therefore decided that I would stay home to raise our son. Our extremely meager living stipend didn’t stretch far in Dublin, which meant that our days out consisted of free museums, walks in the park and around the city, and the occasional trip to the coffee shop.