Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

Expressing Motherhood Report

As I mentioned last Thursday, I went to see my friend Holly in her show Expressing Motherhood last weekend. I got myself dolled up, drove to Hollywood, circled the dodgy neighborhood until I found parking, and took a seat in the 4th row.

I decided I was going to get past my hang-ups and do this for my friend, but about ten minutes before the show, I suddenly thought, “Oh, God. What am I doing here?” The audience was about 95% women, and I’d guess from the conversations going on around me, about 95% of them were mothers. And there I sat, on my own, wondering what the hell I had been thinking. But then the lights went down and I had no choice but to sit it out.

For the next two hours 13 mothers told stories and sang songs, but here’s what was really interesting. To me, they weren’t 13 mothers, they we simply 13 women who just happened to be mothers. Granted, some of the stories, particularly the funny ones, were about the ups and downs of raising kids, but I was able to laugh just as easily as the mothers in the audience.

There were stories about relocating to a safer friendlier city, about becoming a 30-something widow, and about the funny side of living with Stage 4 Breast Cancer (and yes there really is a funny side!) One woman talked about reconnecting with the Chinese heritage that her father had eschewed in the name of Westernization, and another talked about the effects of her husband’s job loss.

I could relate to all of their stories in some way, or at least see the humor or pathos (although I’ll admit that during one particular story, the only dry eye in the house was mine, but that may have been because I’d steeled myself for the show and perhaps closed myself off a bit. Or maybe I’m just hard-hearted. Whatever.) The point is that yes, I was a lone non-mom in a sea of mothers, but we were all (or at least 95% of us) were women, and 100% of us were human beings, and we can all relate to that. Being a mom, or a non-mom, is only a part of who we are.

This particular show has closed now, but another show with a new set of performers will be coming soon, and I may even go back.

Whiny Wednesday: On Being [Childless]

I could whine about the hassle of moving, but that would be too easy. The memory of the blowout on Highway 5 is fading, the numerous cock-ups (such as packing my computer, but leaving the keyboard and mouse behind) are being resolved, and Felicity (my cat) survived the trauma and even came out from under the bedding today. But I do have something on my mind.

I’ve been thinking about being “bitter and childless.” It’s a horrible expression, but the two words so often get put together. I don’t think of myself as being bitter about my childlessness, but sometimes I hear a bitter edge in my posts here. Or more to the point, I can see how someone might interpret what I post as bitterness. That’s not what I’m about here.

By the same token, I don’t exactly celebrate my childlessness either. I’m not glad I don’t have kids; but I’m no longer sad either. Yes, sometimes when I see harassed mothers I think that I had a narrow escape, but I’m not really relieved by my escape. I’m not sad and not glad; I just am.

Maybe I should change today’s title from Whiny Wednesday to Waffle-y Wednesday, but there, that’s what’s on my mind today.

You?

A Barren Island in a Sea of Babies

When I look around my group of friends, I find that there’s about a 50-50 split between those who have children and those who don’t. I think I’m lucky in that respect. But when I look at my family, I see a very different picture.

I was really shocked to discover that among my relatives back in the UK, I am the ONLY one of my generation who does not have children and, as a family, we are a pretty fertile bunch. I have one uncle who never married or had children, but all my other aunts and uncles (nine couples), every single one of my 21 cousins (including my brothers), and many (at least seven) of my cousins’ children all have children. The only one who doesn’t is me.

As I live a long way from my family, I’m rarely in one of those big family get-togethers that highlights my childlessness, but even from this distance, I feel odd. I can’t help but wonder why I was singled out for infertility. Clearly, it doesn’t run in my family!

There are benefits to my status, though—I am more accessible to my nieces and nephews, and I also have the flexibility to spend long periods of time with my mother, especially as she gets older, but I still feel sometimes like the oddball in my family.

When you look around at your extended family, are you the only one who doesn’t have children? Or are you surprised to find you’re not alone?

Making Room For Other People’s Children

I recently read Ian McEwan’s book, Enduring Love. In the story, the main character and his long-time partner are childless-not-by-choice. It’s not particularly relevant to the story, other than it colors their characters and their interactions with other people and their children.

McEwan writes that the couple had made room for children in their lives. They were godparents and had many other young relatives and children of friends who were a part of their lives. They even kept a spare bedroom in their apartment, and encouraged regular visits from the various children.

I found this arrangement strange. Although I still love children and have several who are a part of my life, I can’t imagine having the kind of relationships with other people’s children that would warrant keeping a spare room and regularly inviting them to stay.

So I’m wondering, what kind of relationship do you have with other people’s children? Have you literally made room for children in your lives? Or do they just come along as accessories to your friends and relatives?

Sharing Holiday Traditions

Today is Friday, December 17 and no matter how in denial you’ve been up until now, it’s time to face the fact that we are in full-blown holiday mode. I still have cards to write and mail, gifts to buy, and a naked, but beautiful tree that could use some decorations, and I am slowly acknowledging that Christmas is going to happen with or without me.

J and I have been married for almost seven years now and yet we haven’t really established any holiday traditions. When his mother was alive, we often hosted Christmas dinner at our house, but since she passed away two years ago his family has become fractured and they don’t spend the holidays together so much. My family is half way around the world, so we go there about every third year, and in between we kind of ping around like lost pinballs, with no set program for the holidays. If we had kids, I know it would be different.

Growing up, our family Christmas was the same every year. We’d usually go out Christmas Eve to a party at the local social club. There’d be dancing, my parents could have a drink, and it was a 10-15 minute walk home. We often walked home after midnight, so I would look for Father Christmas (Santa) in the sky. I’d hang out my pillowcase (not stocking) at the end of my bed and somehow Father Christmas would always manage to fill it without waking me up.

Being the youngest of three, I’d be the first up on Christmas morning, and usually get sent back to bed at least twice for getting up too early. My parents would bring up tea and cookies and we’d all pile into their bed to open the gifts. No matter what else we got, we always got pajamas, a sweater, and chocolate.

We’d often go out for a walk on Christmas morning while the turkey was cooking, especially if it was one of those crisp, sunny days, and sometimes we’d go over to my Grandma’s for a short visit, but we’d always get on the phone to all the relatives to wish them a Merry Christmas and thank them for our gifts.

It was usually just the five of us for Christmas dinner. I don’t remember having relatives join us. We’d have the traditional Christmas dinner – turkey, sage and onion stuffing, roast potatoes, Brussels sprouts, etc., followed by sherry trifle and/or Christmas pudding with brandy sauce. We’d pull Christmas crackers, tell the jokes, and wear the paper hats all through dinner. Then we’d do the dishes and be all done in time for the Queen’s speech at 3:00. After that, there’d be a family movie (this was pre-video, and when the UK still only had three TV channels), something big like The Wizard of Oz, or new, such as Superman.

In the evening we’d play a game – cards or whichever board game was hot that year – and snack on cheese and crackers and all the goodies we only ever got at Christmas. My parents would have a beer or two and make me a shandy (a mix of beer and 7Up) and we’d watch our favorite Christmas specials until it was bedtime. So, for me, Christmas was always a quiet family time spent at home.

Why am I droning on about this? Because if I had children, I would pass these traditions on to them. I’d want to create the kind of Christmas memories for them that I have from my childhood. As it’s just the two of us, we have the freedom to spend Christmas however we choose, but without traditions of our own, it doesn’t feel as special.

So, I’m looking for some new traditions to start that fit our life now. I’d love it if you’d share some of yours – old family ones, and new ones that you’ve adopted as an adult. How do you make the holidays special and family-orientated when your family is just one or two?

A Book On Every Bed

Syndicated advice columnist Amy Dickinson, aka Ask Amy posted a great idea last week. Working alongside the Family Reading Partnership, she has launched a campaign called “A Book on Every Bed.” You can read about it here.

The idea is to give a book to a child this year, wrap it and place it on his or her bed, so that it’s the first gift they see on Christmas morning, before the thrill of the latest video game or gadget takes over.

I love this idea.  Amy talks about her first book, Green Eggs and Ham. Although I can’t remember my first book, I remember the book my older brother gave me for my eighth birthday: The Complete Adventures of Paddington – in hardback. I still love that book and I will never part with it. I don’t remember anything else I got for my birthday that year, but I remember my brother giving me that book.

Even though we don’t have children of our own, we can still have an influence on other people’s children. If you have a child in your life, consider giving them a book this year.  It might not make you the most popular person now, but years from now, when the toys and games have broken and been tossed away, your book will be still be appreciated.

A Culture of Blame

I came across this article on Childless.com.au, an Australian site. The author, Jane Blakely, is an Australian living temporarily in Malaysia. I found her experience fascinating.

While sitting in a doctor’s waiting room she got pulled into a conversation with a Malaysian man, Raj, who asked her if she had children. When she replied that she didn’t, here’s what happened:

“In my culture, it is expected a couple will have their first child within the first year of being married,” he said. Continuing the family lineage through childbirth is of utmost importance in his culture, Raj said, and the “suitability” of a wife will be called into question by the groom’s family if she hasn’t had a child within the first year of marriage.

The suitability of the wife? There are no male fertility issues in Malaysia? How very Henry VIII!

My initial thought after reading this way, “Boy, I’m glad I don’t live in a culture like that.” But to a lesser extent, I do.

When you don’t have children, you are not the norm, and while people may not openly point fingers of blame, you know they’re speculating as to where the problem lies. “Is it her?” “Is he firing blanks?” And we too often hear stories of marriages that don’t survive infertility, and of spouses who left because they needed to have a family.

Jane’s article was a really eye-opener for me – not because it educated me about other cultures, but because it caused me to take a closer look at my own.

Family Traits

I always thought one of the fun things about having biological children would be looking for family traits. I always wondered which of my relatives my children would look like and who they’d take after.

For example, my niece has the Baker Chin. It’s the same little pointy chin my Grandma Baker had, as well as my mum’s younger sister. None of us kids have it, but it popped up in my niece. My mum (and I’m sure she won’t mind me telling you this!) has a funny shaped head. She has a large frontal lobe (full of math brains) and a rounded protrusion at the back. She can never get a hat to fit. One of my nephews has exactly the same shaped head. I get my math skills from my mother; my brother gets his “life of the party” personality from my grandfather, and my older brother is a dead-ringer for my dad. Line up my uncle, brother, and two of my cousins (each from a different aunt) and they all look like peas in a pod. It’s uncanny.

I’m a bit of a Mr. Potato Head of all my relatives from both sides of the family. I have my mum’s smile and bony ankles and my dad’s eyes and the funny blip on the end of his nose. I look like both my brothers, half my cousins, and at least one of my nieces, so I’ve often wondered which traits my children would have inherited from me and which of my family’s characteristics would have popped up.

I’m sure some of this wondering comes from vanity, and the hope that I’d reproduce a mini replica of myself, but much of it is also scientific curiosity. It’s fascinating to watch genetics in action and it would have been fun to see which long-dormant trait came up in my kids.

The Ticking Clock

I always expected to have children. I never had a burning desire that had to be kept under control by my logical self; I just had an expectation that one day I’d have kids.

Then I hit 30.

All of a sudden, the desire kicked in and I started shaping my life in preparation for having a family of my own. Once I met my husband (I was around 32) that desire burst into flames, and when I first realized I wasn’t going to get pregnant on-demand, the fire started raging out of control.

Now the fire is out again. I still love children, still go starry eyed at babies, but that desire to reproduce has been snuffed out. I don’t miss it, but it does make me wonder how much of the ticking clock is hormonal and how much is mental. How did I go from being nonchalant about having children to being insane with desire to genuinely stamping out that desire? Did my hormones just run their course or was it the act of convincing myself to give it up that brought the change? I’m leaning towards the latter, but it was the former that started it in the first place.

How about you? Did your clock ever start ticking or has it been ticking for years and won’t shut up? Is the desire to reproduce purely hormonal or do we control the desire. I’m interested to know how it felt for you and how you feel now.

Childfree Flights

You’ve been there. You’re tired, jet-lagged, just want to go home, but two rows over a baby with the healthiest lungs imaginable is testing them at full force. Or the three-year-old behind you is pounding the back of your chair with his light-up sneakers. Or (my own personal nightmare) the kid in the seat next to has turned green and is reaching for the air sick bag.

At some point we’ve all been on a flight disturbed by kids, but now a movement is beginning to persuade airlines to provide childfree flights or at least family only sections. I must say, I can’t quite decide where I stand on this.

Over the years, I think I’ve had relatively good luck with babies on flights, but when my luck has turned, it’s turned big. This summer we flew from LA to Vancouver on a flight that had connected with one from Fiji. There were lots of families on board and the whole three-hour trip was like a bad day at the Whacky Warehouse. The flight back was no better and we’ve vowed not to fly that airline again, at least not on that route.

But a childfree flight? The NY Times article prompted this letter to the editor, and while I don’t wholly agree with her argument (yes, all babies cry, but that doesn’t mean they should be taken to restaurants, the movies, or on long-haul flights) she makes some good points. Childfree flights feel elitist and while I like the idea in theory, I can’t actually see myself paying more for the privilege. And a family section on a plane? Remember the days when planes had smoking sections? Confining children to one section is like giving them carte blanche to run riot.

I think this debate is going to go on from some time. Where do you stand? Would you pay more for a childfree flight or do we all just need to get along?