Rebecca Mildren's Blog - Posts Tagged "children"
Oh, give me a home…
I may have lived in Montana for over a year now, but I still get happy when I see the antelope. "Look, Jeremy!" I said this morning, on the way to daycare. "Do you see the antelope?" It was standing close to the road, facing away from us. "Antelope's butt," he says. "Bottom. Antelope's bottom," say I. "Butt," says he. I remember that when I was in kindergarten, I thought "butt" was a 4-letter word. Jeremy's only 2. Oh, well. But anyway, now I have a new rendition of glass half empty/half full. Am I seeing the antelope or it's bottom?
It really is a beautiful day here today. The sun is shining, and the snow seems to have melted on the surrounding mountains. And, it's my kindergartener's last full day of school, which necessarily brings out the sentimental in me. My apologies to those who were hoping for something cynical. This past Saturday, Nate was out of town. Actually, I woke him at quarter past 4 in the morning so he could get on the road. Then, at 6am, 0600 hours, I kid you not, Zuri bursts into my bedroom. What's 2 with 4 zeroes after it? he wants to know. I had almost fallen back asleep when he tried again 15 minutes later. What's 1 with 5 zeroes after it? He is always on about numbers and is rather a math whiz, if you ask me. The other day, he asked himself what is 5 minus 8? And he answered himself that it was minus 3. Genius! But at 6am-desperate to be certain that Jeremy, cuddled next to me since 5am, didn't wake up-I was more inclined to see the antelope's bottom. Or butt.
I'm not your ultra-fun-type mom. But I am trying. That Saturday, I decided a baking project was in order. To be honest, I was really just trying to survive at home all day as a single mom. What did the kids want to bake? Cookies? Brownies? Cake? Caramel popcorn? The decision was cake. And we made it, though I knew they wouldn't eat a bite. They hate cake. They LOVE frosting. Before I had even got out the recipe, Jeremy was pulling the stool over to my drawer. You know, the drawer that has all my mommy odds and ends in it, that I always tell him to stay out of. He got out the birthday candles and proceeded to crumble wax around the parquet floor. Then, the kids battled over "helping," and mommy ruled that Zuri would measure and Jeremy would mix. Later came the frosting. Then candy heart sprinkles, a whole small jar of them, and our unbirthday cake was finished.
I was right, of course. Neither of them have eaten a bite. Well, maybe one or two. Mainly frosting. But on this beautiful Tuesday morning, I'm thinking that focusing on the negative would be like only seeing the antelope's butt, so I'm taking the time now to smile. To remember the excitement, the licking of beaters, the peeking in the oven, noses and shirts dusted with flour. To remember something other than the mess I had to clean up or the whole cake that Nate and I are eating all by ourselves this week. Lest all the good things in life be more like the squirrel I also saw this morning. "Look! A squirrel!" I said to Jeremy. But even at 35mph, we had passed it by, and Jeremy said he didn't see it at all. Not even its butt.
It really is a beautiful day here today. The sun is shining, and the snow seems to have melted on the surrounding mountains. And, it's my kindergartener's last full day of school, which necessarily brings out the sentimental in me. My apologies to those who were hoping for something cynical. This past Saturday, Nate was out of town. Actually, I woke him at quarter past 4 in the morning so he could get on the road. Then, at 6am, 0600 hours, I kid you not, Zuri bursts into my bedroom. What's 2 with 4 zeroes after it? he wants to know. I had almost fallen back asleep when he tried again 15 minutes later. What's 1 with 5 zeroes after it? He is always on about numbers and is rather a math whiz, if you ask me. The other day, he asked himself what is 5 minus 8? And he answered himself that it was minus 3. Genius! But at 6am-desperate to be certain that Jeremy, cuddled next to me since 5am, didn't wake up-I was more inclined to see the antelope's bottom. Or butt.
I'm not your ultra-fun-type mom. But I am trying. That Saturday, I decided a baking project was in order. To be honest, I was really just trying to survive at home all day as a single mom. What did the kids want to bake? Cookies? Brownies? Cake? Caramel popcorn? The decision was cake. And we made it, though I knew they wouldn't eat a bite. They hate cake. They LOVE frosting. Before I had even got out the recipe, Jeremy was pulling the stool over to my drawer. You know, the drawer that has all my mommy odds and ends in it, that I always tell him to stay out of. He got out the birthday candles and proceeded to crumble wax around the parquet floor. Then, the kids battled over "helping," and mommy ruled that Zuri would measure and Jeremy would mix. Later came the frosting. Then candy heart sprinkles, a whole small jar of them, and our unbirthday cake was finished.
I was right, of course. Neither of them have eaten a bite. Well, maybe one or two. Mainly frosting. But on this beautiful Tuesday morning, I'm thinking that focusing on the negative would be like only seeing the antelope's butt, so I'm taking the time now to smile. To remember the excitement, the licking of beaters, the peeking in the oven, noses and shirts dusted with flour. To remember something other than the mess I had to clean up or the whole cake that Nate and I are eating all by ourselves this week. Lest all the good things in life be more like the squirrel I also saw this morning. "Look! A squirrel!" I said to Jeremy. But even at 35mph, we had passed it by, and Jeremy said he didn't see it at all. Not even its butt.
The Almost Invisible Disability of Infertility
My apologies in advance for such a long post! But certain women celebrities have been opening up lately about their struggles to have children, whether their experiences suffering miscarriages (thank you, Michelle Obama), needing expensive and painful IVF, or being told they will never have a biological child, and I wanted to add my two cents to the mix. In the novel I'm currently working on, the main character also has to deal with infertility issues and the personal and interpersonal turmoil that comes with them.
I'm sure there are as many reactions to such trials as there are people who suffer through them, which run the gamut from extreme depression, to being content not to have children, to happily adopting, or eventually pushing through to have biological children anyway. Some women are comfortable sharing their struggles openly, while others prefer to remain silent.
Meanwhile, in writing a fictional historical character who faces an infertility issue, I want to say it's not my intent to critique or reflect anyone's personal reaction to their own similar trials, except perhaps my own. My hope is that the modern reader, should the novel ever be published (fingers crossed!), will extend me this benefit of the doubt, instead of railing against my attempt at portraying this complex issue, saying I should have done more to condemn outdated expectations that all women become mothers. Or that my character should have been better able to cope with her disappointment, because at heart, she's a feminist before her time.
Equally, I would like to take this opportunity to urge fertile women everywhere today not to pressure the infertile to accept their plight easily, because "the times have changed." Don't get me wrong, I'm happy childless women in the Western world are not shamed (as much) for not having fulfilled their supposedly central purpose as females, but the issue is much more complex than mere social expectations. There are also personal expectations and disappointments at play that have little or nothing to do with the broader social climate. And we can go even further and add those parents who are criticized for choosing to have small or large families, or even no children, as well as people who do not marry at all, and so on. As Paul wrote in one of his epistles, no one can know a person's thoughts except that person's own spirit. Passing judgment on the private struggles and decisions of others can only be hurtful.
Meanwhile, I would also like to ask people who have faced these struggles and are willing, to step out and share their stories more. At the end of the day, working through such private issues can be extremely isolating, as I know from experience, and besides spreading awareness of the available options today, it's comforting to know we are not alone. In this sense, yes, I wish the times would change faster, and the cultural inhibitions about discussing infertility or the conscious decision not to have children would just fall by the wayside.
In this spirit, I would like to share a little of my own hard path to motherhood, for those who haven't heard it. I married the love of my life when I was 23. We thought we'd wait two or three years, then start a family. Four kids would be perfect, I thought. My husband and I, each for our own personal reasons, had always maintained that we would rather have biological children than adopt. But the years passed, and I didn't get pregnant. Needless to say, this not only put a strain on my otherwise happy sex life, but I was also angry at God and depressed. Why give me not just the parts to bear children, but also the desire, if it wasn't to be? Especially when I was really, really not interested in adoption? (This is not to disparage adoption, which is a beautiful and precious thing. I can only bless and honor those who take that road, but it's not for everybody.)
At some point, my husband and I found ourselves living in Israel, which happens to be quite advanced in the area of treating infertility. Friends wondered why, if we wanted children, we weren't availing ourselves of modern technology. Honestly, we were completely ignorant of our options. We'd thought that everything had to end in IVF, an expensive and unnatural (to us) rigmarole that we weren't keen on. But in the end, we decided to be tested. My husband was cleared; the problem was me. I suffered from a variety of issues: vitamin B-12 deficiency, endometrial polyps, and I didn't appear to be ovulating. The first two issues were dealt with easily enough, with extra vitamins and a D&C; for the third, my doctor recommended hormone therapy.
I balked. I'd always been resistant to taking medicines that messed with my hormones, had never been a fan of the pill. I was already 32, but I decided I wanted to wait and see what nature and God might do. A year later, we celebrated our 10th anniversary, still not pregnant. I was nearing the deadline I'd set for myself and was about to go see my doctor about the hormone therapy, when I learned I was pregnant. In 2008, my first son was born. When we decided to try again for another child, it took a year and a half, but then I got pregnant, again naturally. I was almost 37 when my second son was born, and we decided that was blessing enough. This was how it worked out for us. Others, I know, face a much more difficult or devastating path. Some do not have the finances to pursue all the options available, or do not want to.
At the time, I did not feel that social expectations had played any role in my wanting children or the disappointment in apparently not being able to have them. However, today, when I look back, I see more clearly the part that society played in my case. Before I married, I never questioned whether I should or shouldn't want children. I just assumed I would have them and like it. Waiting a couple years to try sounded like a wise choice. Becoming a parent was just something everyone did. So before I could even mature enough to question my own future and what I really wanted, I had already gone down the path of depression over not being able to attain this thing I was certain I wanted.
I love my children. They are wonderful human beings, and I'm hopeful for the contribution they will make to the world. Having them has taught me many things, has stretched and strengthened me in ways I would not have been, otherwise. But they are also inconvenient. They are exhausting. Expensive. They have made me postpone or not do things in life that I would have liked. My body is definitely worse off since I had them. And so, if I am honest with myself as to whether I would have done it all over again, many days, the answer is "I'm not sure." At the same time, I'm glad the decision is not mine to go back and make over. Perhaps that makes me a bad mother, but in the end, mothers are not some supernatural Victorian angel of the house; they are only humans.
All this is to say, life is so much more complex than is convenient. In the end, it requires decisions of each of us that only we can make, and whose outcome isn't always predictable. Or as my novel's protagonist puts it: "The linear nature of life is desperately unfair. When you arrive at a fork in the road, you cannot know in advance which path will make you happier. You might look back on a decision and regret it for a lifetime, but you can never know whether you'd have regretted the other path more." What we can do, though, to make the difficulties of life easier to bear, is to be kind—both to ourselves, and others.
I'm sure there are as many reactions to such trials as there are people who suffer through them, which run the gamut from extreme depression, to being content not to have children, to happily adopting, or eventually pushing through to have biological children anyway. Some women are comfortable sharing their struggles openly, while others prefer to remain silent.
Meanwhile, in writing a fictional historical character who faces an infertility issue, I want to say it's not my intent to critique or reflect anyone's personal reaction to their own similar trials, except perhaps my own. My hope is that the modern reader, should the novel ever be published (fingers crossed!), will extend me this benefit of the doubt, instead of railing against my attempt at portraying this complex issue, saying I should have done more to condemn outdated expectations that all women become mothers. Or that my character should have been better able to cope with her disappointment, because at heart, she's a feminist before her time.
Equally, I would like to take this opportunity to urge fertile women everywhere today not to pressure the infertile to accept their plight easily, because "the times have changed." Don't get me wrong, I'm happy childless women in the Western world are not shamed (as much) for not having fulfilled their supposedly central purpose as females, but the issue is much more complex than mere social expectations. There are also personal expectations and disappointments at play that have little or nothing to do with the broader social climate. And we can go even further and add those parents who are criticized for choosing to have small or large families, or even no children, as well as people who do not marry at all, and so on. As Paul wrote in one of his epistles, no one can know a person's thoughts except that person's own spirit. Passing judgment on the private struggles and decisions of others can only be hurtful.
Meanwhile, I would also like to ask people who have faced these struggles and are willing, to step out and share their stories more. At the end of the day, working through such private issues can be extremely isolating, as I know from experience, and besides spreading awareness of the available options today, it's comforting to know we are not alone. In this sense, yes, I wish the times would change faster, and the cultural inhibitions about discussing infertility or the conscious decision not to have children would just fall by the wayside.
In this spirit, I would like to share a little of my own hard path to motherhood, for those who haven't heard it. I married the love of my life when I was 23. We thought we'd wait two or three years, then start a family. Four kids would be perfect, I thought. My husband and I, each for our own personal reasons, had always maintained that we would rather have biological children than adopt. But the years passed, and I didn't get pregnant. Needless to say, this not only put a strain on my otherwise happy sex life, but I was also angry at God and depressed. Why give me not just the parts to bear children, but also the desire, if it wasn't to be? Especially when I was really, really not interested in adoption? (This is not to disparage adoption, which is a beautiful and precious thing. I can only bless and honor those who take that road, but it's not for everybody.)
At some point, my husband and I found ourselves living in Israel, which happens to be quite advanced in the area of treating infertility. Friends wondered why, if we wanted children, we weren't availing ourselves of modern technology. Honestly, we were completely ignorant of our options. We'd thought that everything had to end in IVF, an expensive and unnatural (to us) rigmarole that we weren't keen on. But in the end, we decided to be tested. My husband was cleared; the problem was me. I suffered from a variety of issues: vitamin B-12 deficiency, endometrial polyps, and I didn't appear to be ovulating. The first two issues were dealt with easily enough, with extra vitamins and a D&C; for the third, my doctor recommended hormone therapy.
I balked. I'd always been resistant to taking medicines that messed with my hormones, had never been a fan of the pill. I was already 32, but I decided I wanted to wait and see what nature and God might do. A year later, we celebrated our 10th anniversary, still not pregnant. I was nearing the deadline I'd set for myself and was about to go see my doctor about the hormone therapy, when I learned I was pregnant. In 2008, my first son was born. When we decided to try again for another child, it took a year and a half, but then I got pregnant, again naturally. I was almost 37 when my second son was born, and we decided that was blessing enough. This was how it worked out for us. Others, I know, face a much more difficult or devastating path. Some do not have the finances to pursue all the options available, or do not want to.
At the time, I did not feel that social expectations had played any role in my wanting children or the disappointment in apparently not being able to have them. However, today, when I look back, I see more clearly the part that society played in my case. Before I married, I never questioned whether I should or shouldn't want children. I just assumed I would have them and like it. Waiting a couple years to try sounded like a wise choice. Becoming a parent was just something everyone did. So before I could even mature enough to question my own future and what I really wanted, I had already gone down the path of depression over not being able to attain this thing I was certain I wanted.
I love my children. They are wonderful human beings, and I'm hopeful for the contribution they will make to the world. Having them has taught me many things, has stretched and strengthened me in ways I would not have been, otherwise. But they are also inconvenient. They are exhausting. Expensive. They have made me postpone or not do things in life that I would have liked. My body is definitely worse off since I had them. And so, if I am honest with myself as to whether I would have done it all over again, many days, the answer is "I'm not sure." At the same time, I'm glad the decision is not mine to go back and make over. Perhaps that makes me a bad mother, but in the end, mothers are not some supernatural Victorian angel of the house; they are only humans.
All this is to say, life is so much more complex than is convenient. In the end, it requires decisions of each of us that only we can make, and whose outcome isn't always predictable. Or as my novel's protagonist puts it: "The linear nature of life is desperately unfair. When you arrive at a fork in the road, you cannot know in advance which path will make you happier. You might look back on a decision and regret it for a lifetime, but you can never know whether you'd have regretted the other path more." What we can do, though, to make the difficulties of life easier to bear, is to be kind—both to ourselves, and others.
