Rosemary’s Baby Is My Favorite Book About Being A Mom

I love a good holiday tradition, especially when it involves some kind of entertainment. You know, like always watching the claymation Rudolph in December or making sure to catch whichever cable network is showing The Ten Commandments on Easter Sunday. But this time of year, my favorite tradition — aside from watching It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! with my girls — is re-reading Ira Levin’s 1967 novel Rosemary’s Baby. It makes sense, right? What better time to read the horror novel that inspired tons of other scary books during this time period of American fiction? But this time of year also makes me deeply nostalgic for the motherhood era I’m already in, and I can honestly feel that with Rosemary and her baby.

If you haven’t read Rosemary’s Baby yet (I promise, it’s way better than the movie, and the movie is phenomenal) or need a refresher, the premise is pretty simple. A young couple, Guy and Rosemary Woodhouse, move into The Bramford, a historical gothic-style apartment building in New York City, where a lot of spooky things have happened. They become friendly with some super weird neighbors, some other creepy events happen, and then Rosemary is pregnant — but incredibly ill.

Through her own detective work, she discovers that maybe her husband Guy, a struggling actor who is suddenly having lots of lucky breaks, isn’t quite as lovely as she thought, and she worries that he’s teamed up with her overbearing and possibly Satanic neighbors (who are super into the baby in a boundary-pressing way) to sacrifice her newborn.

It’s a lot. And it’s not exactly a funny, lighthearted read either. It’s nerve-wracking in a way that sticks with you; the last time I went to the city in October, I read Rosemary’s Baby on the plane and felt like I had the eyes of the Castevets on me as I walked down the street. The novel takes you to an unbelievable place of belief — you are fully invested in Rosemary’s thoughts and fears.

But as deeply as you believe Rosemary’s stress and worry, you also feel her love for her newborn baby, even when he’s not exactly what she had planned.

[Spoiler alert for this 57-year-old book]

This time of year always makes me ache for my babies and yearn for more time with the little people they are now. Holidays are just like that: a constant wave after wave of sentimentality until you’re thoroughly exhausted. You might think that Rosemary’s Baby wouldn’t mesh well with that atmosphere, or that it would leave me feeling even more depleted to contemplate the idea of having to protect your unborn baby from your own husband and neighbors that you thought had your best interests at heart. But instead, it’s Rosemary’s love for her son that I find both completely relatable and deeply inspiring this time of year.

Initially, Rosemary is told her baby has died in childbirth. When she discovers he’s alive, she refuses to give up. Sneaking out of the room her neighborhood Satan-worshippers have hidden her in, where they take her breast milk — promising her they just dispose of it — as she recovers from birth, she is fully ready to murder her husband, her neighbors, her doctor. Anyone who is willing to stand in the way of her and her baby, of her son’s safety, is on her list, and she acts exceptionally brave and wild.

But when Rosemary finds him and learns that he’s not meant to be a sacrifice, but is instead the anti-Christ — half her DNA and flesh, half Satan’s — she’s overcome with horror. She wonders if she should kill her own son to save the world. But love for her baby overcomes her. She watches the other women in the group rock the baby too roughly, she worries over how tight his bonnet is, she feels deep sadness that he is destined to be evil.

Or is he?

“But he’s half-me, after all,” Rosemary says. Instead of seeing a monster, she sees hope. Instead of seeing an end, she sees potential joy. Instead of seeing the expectations of others, she sees her own love shining into her son.

Rosemary’s Baby isn’t just a horror story — it’s a love story. A love story between a mother and son, a promise to love someone unconditionally. Rosemary obviously didn’t want to have a baby with Satan, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want her baby. The one that grew inside of her and heard her voice and immediately calms his wailing when she’s near. So she decides to meet her son where he is. She loves him regardless, and if being half-evil means he’s destined to take over the world, that why can’t being half-good help him save it?

It’s the perfect story to read for spooky season, and it’s the perfect story to read as a mom. It’s a story about being willing to do anything for your baby... even if he’s got devil eyes and tiny claws.

Samantha Darby is a Senior Lifestyle Editor at Romper and Scary Mommy and a PTA soccer mom raising three little women in the suburbs of Georgia with her husband. Her minivan is always trashed.