Out of all the Sex and the City women, high-powered lawyer Miranda Hobbes (Cynthia Nixon) is the most unlikely to become a mother. Turning up at Laney Berlin's (Dana Wheeler-Nicholson) baby shower with a gift packet of condoms, Miranda's attitude toward mothers and babies is playfully prophylactic ("The Baby Shower," episode 10). Sitting on the steps, away from the fecundity inside, Miranda bemoans that the witch in Hansel and Gretel was very misunderstood: "I mean the woman builds her dream house and those brats come along and start eating it." Compare this to the finale of Miranda's story. Hunched over the tub, bathing her husband's sick mother, embracing family life in Brooklyn, and being told by her housekeeper Magda that this is love constitutes a hard ending for many viewers to accept. There is a feeling that, surely, the cynical Miranda would never compromise in these ways. And yet if we follow her story and look again at the last scenes of Miranda bathing her mother-in-law we can see that her narrative makes a plausible progression. By the end of season 6 the representation of Miranda has taught us the complexities of motherhood as a learned behavior rather than as one that is instinctual to all women.

Looking back at Sex and the City it seems that the series has deliberately worked against the myth of motherhood that, according to Susan Douglas and Meredith Michaels, has been perpetrated by the media since the 1980s. In The Mommy Myth (2004), Douglas and Michaels argue that the media works to pit woman against woman and, more importantly, mother against mother. They contend that the new momism "seeks to contain and, where possible, eradicate, all the social changes brought on by feminism," adding, "It is backlash in its most refined, pernicious form because it insinuates itself into women's psyches just where we have been rendered most vulnerable: in our love for our kids" (23). To illustrate their thesis they give examples of two media stereotypes: the ideal / Madonna / nurturing mother and the bad working mother. The media uses both of these stock stereotypes of motherhood to judge mothers while at the same time giving them impossible standards by which to judge themselves (11-12). Douglas and Meredith propose that it is now time to "exhume what feminists really hoped to change about motherhood" and, further, "to go back to a time when many women felt free to tell the truth about motherhood—e.g. that at times they felt ambivalent about it because it was so hard and yet so undervalued" (27).

Miranda's ambivalence toward motherhood is identified early on in season 4. Rather than follow the obvious narrative trajectory of Charlotte and Trey's attempt to have a child, the series gives us Miranda's surprise pregnancy ("Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda," episode 59), which further deflates the fictional ending: a single woman with a lazy ovary knocked up by a man with a missing testicle. At brunch she is forced to tell her friends the news. Charlotte, who has devoted herself to being a wife to Trey and is desperate to conceive their baby, is devastated and leaves the restaurant abruptly. A conversation about abortion ensues. If you consider that it was only in the 1950s that Lucille Ball changed the fact that pregnancy could not be alluded to on U.S. television and in 1992 that Vice President Dan Quayle berated the sitcom character Murphy Brown for having a child out of wedlock (Nelson in Akass and McCabe 87), you can see how radical and groundbreaking this discussion is. Despite telling Carrie that she can barely find time in her busy life to schedule an abortion let alone have a baby, Miranda decides, at the last moment, to keep the baby. It may, after all, be her last chance and even the cynical Miranda cannot pass up the opportunity to experience motherhood, which according to Peggy Orenstein has "supplanted marriage as the source of romantic daydreams' for childless, unmarried women in their twenties and early to mid-thirties" (Douglas and Michaels 25). It is safe to say that Miranda's decision is based on more practical concerns than romantic daydreams; if she had working ovaries (and maybe a partner) the pregnancy would possibly have a completely different outcome.

It is not only that Miranda chooses to keep her baby (much to her friends' delight), but her swelling body, with its fatigue, uncontrollable flatulence, and out-of-control sex drive, that are constant sources of amusement to the viewer and bemusement to Miranda. As she so eloquently puts it, "I don't know why they call it 'morning sickness' when it's all fucking day long" ("Just Say Yes," episode 60). Told that she is expecting a boy, Miranda finds herself "faking her sonogram" ("Change of a Dress," episode 62); the romance of pregnancy turns out to be no less fictional, Miranda discovers, than prince charming and simultaneous orgasm. Telling Carrie that "everyone else is glowing about her pregnancy," Miranda wonders whether she ever will. Magda finds the sonogram photograph of the baby and tells Miranda that a boy is good luck, compelling Miranda to perform her now ritual fake joy. She pulls a muscle in her neck as a result. If this is not a good enough example of how mothers are taught to respond to their pregnancies (in the same way women are taught to respond to engagement proposals), it is reinforced by Carrie's reluctance to marry Aidan. Asking the question "are we just programmed?" to want marriage and babies, this episode confronts the viewer with the fiction of "maternal instinct." Carrie's question is partly answered by Miranda's rant two episodes later: "The fat ass, the farting, it's ridiculous! I am unfuckable and I have never been so horny in my entire life. That's why you're supposed to be married when you're pregnant—so somebody is obligated to have sex with you" ("Ring a Ding Ding," episode 64). In this line, Miranda translates maternal instinct into social mores. Her nine-month-long abjection is eventually complete when, interrupting Carrie's last New York night with Big (Chris Noth), her waters break over Carrie's beautiful new Christian Louboutin shoes—the reality wave of motherhood washing over the fairy-tale glass slippers ("I Heart New York," episode 66).

In addition to exposing the realities of pregnancy, Sex and the City reworks existing representations of new motherhood apart from glowing Madonna-and-child imagery. Throughout season 5, Miranda struggles with the trauma of being a new mother surrounded by single childless women who seem patently unqualified to guide her through this particular maze. In "Anchors Away" (episode 67), Samantha (Kim Cattrall) bundles Miranda and baby Brady into a cab with indecent haste so that the child-free friends can go shopping. Carrie's spontaneous visit to Miranda finds her friend unable to breastfeed or concentrate on their conversation. The sight of Miranda's veiny milk-filled breasts fills Carrie with horror and, taking her leave abruptly, she kisses Miranda on the head and tells her, "Miranda, you're a mother, but it's OK, I won't tell anyone." This phrase, although offered with love, widens the newly formed gulf between the two friends, identifying Miranda's transformation from one of the girls to a mother. Considering how ambivalent all four women have been about marriage and motherhood, it is no reassurance to Miranda when Carrie tells her that nothing will affect their friendship and that she is still one of them.

"Critical Condition" (episode 72) exposes Miranda's exhaustion with Brady's constant crying, and, telling her friends that she has not slept for days, she rants: "If he was 35, this is when we would break up! This 13-pound meatloaf is pushing me over the edge. I feel disgusting." Her three friends are no help and, with Magda looking on disapprovingly, Miranda's story is a classic example of how isolating new motherhood can be. After a neighbor complains about Brady's crying, Miranda feels excluded from the community of mothers and clearly suffers from the thought of "being judged by the toughest critics out there: other mothers" (Douglas and Michaels 19). It is only the intervention of a neighbor that gives voice to the problem that has, so far, remained unspoken. Offering Miranda an oscillating chair for Brady, Kendall learns that Miranda has only childless friends and tells her, "Well then you're screwed. If they don't have kids, they don't have a clue." While such moments can seem to undermine the show's commitment to respecting single, child-free women's lives by depicting them as clueless, they also cut in the opposite direction, reminding us that child care is, like gender and romance, a matter of effective props rather than natural instinct. Obviously it is practical help with mothering that Miranda needs and the only way to tap into this discourse is through other mothers. Douglas and Meredith assert that "motherhood is a collective experience" (25), and, despite the media's emphasis on the individual achievements and failures of mothers, Kendall's words of reassurance—"Miranda, you're not a bad mother. You just didn't have the chair"—reveal the truth behind the fiction.

Miranda may have stopped Brady from crying and is gradually getting a handle on life again, but there remain two last bastions to be stormed by the single mother: sex and work. Neglecting to tell an old flame that she has become a mother, Miranda explains, "I just didn't want it to change anything" ("Plus One Is the Loneliest Number," episode 71). Painfully aware of the constraints that motherhood puts on her single life, Miranda takes her date home and, giving a whole new meaning to the phrase "mummy's coming," finally accepts her new role and the attendant responsibilities. After a female colleague formally complains about Miranda's lack of punctuality since giving birth to Brady, thereby exposing the myth of sisterhood in the workplace, Miranda eventually decides that she has to cut her working week to around 50 or 55 hours max if she is to survive parenthood ("Hop, Skip and a Week," episode 80). Miranda's narrative demonstrates not only ambivalence toward motherhood but also the difficulties of adjusting to this new life in a social context that continues to make mothering a contradiction with sex and work culture—a reality routinely ignored by the media.

The Uncomfortable Truth

However much Sex and the City explodes taboos about motherhood, the celebrity discourse surrounding the series constantly undermines this process. Nowhere is this more evident than in the magazine stories about the stars' real-life pregnancies and attitudes toward motherhood. Sarah Jessica Parker gave birth to her first child, James, in autumn 2002. Six months later Parker was back in shape. Promotional shots for the last series revealed no trace of her recent labors (Hello! 82). Compare this to Miranda's experience in seasons 5 and 6. According to the media Parker shares none of Miranda's problems: "She'll slip into motherhood as easy as she does her Manolo Blahniks" (Millea 338). If we read this against Miranda's story of lugging around a puking baby, the "blissfully wed" Parker story confirms the "have it all" discourse so neatly dismantled within the show.

It also adds rather interesting reading to what Michaels and Douglas call the "celebrity mom profile," which, in their analysis, snowballed in the 1980s and became a fixture in the 1990s. According to them the celebrity-mom profile "was probably the most influential media form to sell the new momism, and where its key features were refined, reinforced, and romanticized" (113). They add that the celebrity-mom profile has been an "absolutely crucial tool in the media construction of maternal guilt and insecurity, as well as the romanticizing of motherhood, in the 1980s and beyond" (113). Not only does it present mothers who have allegedly found a balance between working and caring for children, but there is an added pressure. If the celebrity mom is willing to give up her glittering showbiz career in order to nurture and mother her children, the suggestion is, why aren't we? Michael and Douglas argue that the celebrity-mom portraits resurrect many of the stereotypes that women had hoped were buried 30 years ago, including the notion that

Women are, by genetic composition, nurturing and maternal, love all children, and prefer motherhood to anything, especially work, so should be the main ones responsible for raising the kids (139).

They add that what is worse is that the celebrity-mom discourse exemplifies what motherhood has become in our intensified consumer culture: a competition. One that pits mother against mother and leaves the notion of sisterhood in the dust.

The argument is not then whether Sex and the City is reality or fantasy, whether the endings are believable, forced, or tacked on. The depiction of motherhood may be real to some and fantasy to others. What is radical about Sex and the City is that it gives us an alternative version of motherhood to the stereotypes that exist in the media. It depicts motherhood in all its ambivalence. Which is why, when Magda tells Miranda that she is expressing love, it reveals an uncomfortable truth. One of the roles of adulthood is potentially caring for our own parents. Miranda has been on a long journey of rejecting motherhood, being ambivalent about taking on the role and then embracing it. She faked her sonogram, let a friend's baby fall off the sofa at her baby shower, and had difficulty coping with and bonding with Brady. She has never been someone for whom mothering comes naturally.

This is not where her story ends though; she has had to move out of Manhattan to Brooklyn for the sake of her family and now must take on the next stage of her life's journey, which includes caring for Steve's mother. Despite their difficult relationship, it is Miranda who recognizes Mary's illness and shares responsibility for looking after her mother-in-law, thereby accepting the traditional mantle of "nurturer," albeit temporarily. Rescuing Mary after she wanders off in a confused mental state, Miranda is forced to care for her mother-in-law as a mother would a child. Framed in the bathroom, their red hair superficially at least suggests a connectedness, and with Brady's bath toys reinforcing Mary's child-like state, the mise-en-scène suggests that Miranda has accepted the role that she fought against for so long. After three seasons of witnessing Miranda's difficulties with motherhood this is hard to accept and is arguably why viewers found Miranda's ending unbelievable.

It should be no surprise then that when Magda tells her, "What you did—that is love—you love," Miranda immediately tells Magda "Let's not tell Steve. It would only upset him." Keeping the truth of Mary's illness from Steve is not Miranda's only motivation here. Magda may feel vindicated by Miranda's apparent acceptance of the role of mother, but we know the truth as surely as Steve will. Over the course of the final three seasons Miranda has learned that there is more to being a mother than the idyllic and often sanitised versions offered to us in the media. She may perform the role of caretaker to Mary but this does not mean that she has embraced the whole romantic fiction of the "naturalness" of motherhood. Far from being contained in the role of mother and naturalised by it, Miranda's narrative shows us that it is possible to retain independence despite the constraints of caring. By portraying the difficulties along the way, Miranda's narrative has shown us that even the most intelligent and cynical woman can be completely unprepared for a role that the media romanticizes as a smooth fit (but like Manolo Blahniks, the role of mother can be more painful than sexy). Miranda's narrative ends here for good reason. While her struggle with a young baby may be good comedy, it is difficult to see how Miranda's new relationship with Mary could be such a rich source of humor. Steve and Miranda may share their caring roles in the same way they share the parenting of their young son, but you can be sure there will not be many laughs along the way.

Works Cited

Akass, Kim and Janet McCabe. "Ms. Parker and the Vicious Circle: Female Narrative and Humour in Sex and the City." In Reading Sex and the City: Critical Approaches. By Akass and McCabe, 177–200. London: I. B. Tauris, 2004.

Douglas, Susan J. and Michaels, Meredith W. The Mommy Myth: The Idealization of Motherhood and How It Has Undermined Women. New York: Free Press, 2004.

Millea, Holly. "Oh, Baby!" Elle, September 2002, 336–45.

Nelson, Ashley, "Sister Carrie Meets Carrie Bradshaw: Exploring Progress, Politics, and the Single Woman in Sex and the City and Beyond." In Akass and McCabe, Reading Sex and the City, 83–95.

Sex and the City. Created by Darren Star. HBO. 1998–2004.