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I fell upon this blog called, “Mocha Dad”. Don’t ask me how I found it, I’m not even sure why I started reading it. But this blogger’s mission is to break the stereotypes for African American fathers and show how involved he is in the lives of his children- his words, not mine. This dad read an article about how, statistically, married couples who DON’T have kids are happier than those who DO have kids. Mocha Dad didn’t agree with the article, although he did admit that parenting isn’t always a happy route, but opened his blog up to discussion. I was pretty horrified with the comments, although I should be used to the views of the world by now. Here is one such comment:
“All you "I wouldn't change a thing" parents are missing the point. What's important here is that a growing body of research shows that you are not as happy as you think you are. It's hard for you to see this because you lack perspective; you made the irreversible choice and now you have to tell yourself it's good. It's like having a bad tattoo. Those of us without kids experience higher levels of happiness for a more sustained period of time... our whole lives. If you don't tell yourself that "it was all worth it" you will be depressed. It's an illusion that you must maintain to justify the years of hard work it took to raise your kids.
And another thing... most people that choose not to have kids are not fearful of their parenting abilities nor do they come from single-parent homes, at least not any more than those of you that do have kids. They simply know a path to lifelong happiness when they see one and don't crumble to long-standing generational pressures to continue lineage. So get off your high horses, moms and dads of the world. You're no great martyrs. You are empiracally less happy than those without kids, but you'll never understand why because your lives have been narrowed by the demands of child rearing.”
Really?!? Is the decision to have kids really based on such selfish reasons? I don’t feel very happy about 60% of the day with my kids. I’m cleaning up messes, wiping bums, kissing boo-boos, refereeing fights… it’s messy business. But I am also learning humility,strength, compassion, charity, patience, sympathy, and most of all, love. I feel like in the end, I will be a much greater person than a childless version of myself could ever become. So the article may be right, I might not be as happy (at times) than those who chose not to “continue their lineage”, but in the end I believe I will find more satisfaction with myself than the childless could ever dream.
(For the record, my thoughts only apply to those married couples CHOOSING not to ever have kids. I understand that some couples can’t have kids and I believe those trials will make you just as strong as raising children.)
It seems like now that I’m really starting to show, people are starting to notice my family more and more. Like the guy who saw me struggling to get both of my kids out of the car and told me we looked like a clown car, because the kids just kept on coming. Or the random comments at Walmart to me and Barry as our kids beg us for pennies for the donation vortex thing… “Wow, you really have your hands full!”
Or today…
I was trying to kill some time so I took the kids to the “Family Dollar” store. Of course, the toy display is the first thing you see when you walk in, and immediately Grayson got the “I wanna’s!” He usually isn’t so whiney, but we kept him up LATE for the Fourth of July, so today was especially bad. Trying to evade an argument, I told him maybe we could get whatever he was showing me at the moment, for his upcoming birthday.
That didn’t work.
He started pouting, and dragging his feet, and trying to hide in the clothes rack, or just yell, “PLEASE MOMMY! I WANT IT!” Jaye is also trying to exercise her independence by walking, so she was fighting to stand up in the cart. I would make her sit down and she would start whining and stand up in defiance- over and over and over. One of the workers came up to me after studying my kids, then asked (in a very judgmental tone), “When’s the next one coming?” I politely answered: August 12.
And the woman started laughing at me. It was one of those cackles where you can just hear her brain saying, “Good luck, lady!”
I was kind of embarrassed. I got in the car in a bit of a huff and was giving myself the pep talk- I know three kids will be hard, but I can do it! I felt like the Little Engine that Could. Then I got home to the pile of dishes, and the mountains of laundry, and the mess of a house… and I got a little worried.
But today, the kids had combed hair, matching clothes, shoes on the right feet (without socks, though) and I even managed to feed and bath them... so maybe there’s hope for me after all.
Today at my Doctor’s appointment, the nurse told me she was concerned because there was sugar in my urine. She asked if I had anything sugary for breakfast, and I just started laughing. Last night I hosted a baby shower… with a dessert bar… and boy howdy, did I have at those desserts! I explained that to her, and she started laughing. Then she asked my permission to write that on my chart because she thought the doctor would get a kick out of it: “Excessive desserts last night.” For some reason, that sounds so rebellious: excessive desserts.
Also, my Doctor asked me when we had scheduled my C-section and I told him August 9th. Then his smile faded and he said, “Oh no…” Something you NEVER want to hear come out of a doctor’s mouth. He told me that he was going to Columbia at that time and wouldn’t be able to do the surgery.
“OH NO!” indeed!
This is the doctor who delivered both of my other babies! And his replacement doctor is the only one I reeeeally DON’T like! “Or,” he finally added as I was sinking into stressful despair... I could wait until the 12th when he will be back … a whole three days after our original date.
I can handle that.
Once again, I have been absent from the blogging world. It seems like I use the excuse, “I’ve been busy” quite often, but I am recycling it once more.
I’ve been busy.
But my sister-in-law, Rachel, seems to find time to blog and she does a WHOLE lot more than I do, so my excuse seems kind of wimpy, compared to her. So here I am… attempting to update my blog.
Almost half a year ago, the children’s librarian approached me about directing a show for the “teen segment” of the Public Library summer activities. I never thought it would actually happen, but here I am, practically 8 months pregnant and directing a cast of ten fantastic teenagers.
We were given two days out of the week for the month of June to throw together a one-act play, called “A Bagful of Fables”. I don’t really have help with the show, so I have bought or made all the props and “costumes” myself. THANK GOODNESS for the Dollar Tree!!! And these past two weeks I have painted a 20 foot backdrop for the show… in my living room. By myself. THANK GOODNESS acrylic paint wipes off of wood floors!!! (Pictures to come soon. My AMAZING husband just taped it all up at the library today!)
So… I’ve been busy. I got a chance to go to Walmart all by myself (a RARE opportunity!), to buy shirts for my cast. But being alone with my thoughts at Walmart, without the screaming, whining, begging, whining, rambunctious, whining children… made me think of my children, the upcoming one in particular.
I got excited.
And I bought her an outfit.
The first money I’ve spent on the little bun in the oven. Only seven weeks left, and I’m just getting around to thinking about having her here. Is that sad? Or is it yet another sign that this has been the easiest pregnancy EVER?
...Or am I just too busy?
Grayson sort of grasps the concept of pregnancy… I’ve tried to explain it. He still gets a little confused so I thought if I could show him the baby moving, I’d have the perfect opportunity to explain things better. The baby was moving a lot, so I laid down on the floor and told Grayson to watch my tummy.
He saw the baby move and all of the sudden his face melted from curiosity to complete horror. He looked at me and gasped, “It’s trying to crack you open!”
What kind of horrible images am I planting in my poor son’s head?!? I think I will just retire from trying to educate my son about the baby… I don’t want him stuck with nightmares for the rest of his life!
I was going to write earlier this week but I am soooooooo glad I didn’t! It would’ve been the most depressing, life-sucking post you would have ever read. And then you would never come back to my blog again. I’ve been sick. And miserable. And really REALLY sick of being miserable.
Saturday, my throat started hurting, and by Monday, I had a full-on mash up of yuckiness. My throat was in so much pain it hurt to breathe, and I couldn’t even breathe through my nose. And my ears were so stuffed up that it made me feel dizzy non-stop. And of course, I get sick on the week that Barry only gets one day off, and has to sleep peacefully during the day as I struggle to be a sick mother. We just can’t get a break, can we Mothers?
So, I’d have to say I get negative points on the “Good Mother” score board. I feel so disappointed in myself, I found myself yelling constantly, which was made even worse by the screechy cackling witch voice my sore throat created.
On Tuesday, I got the kids their breakfast, turned on a movie and went back to bed. A few minutes later, Grayson pounded on the bedroom door, shouting, “Mommy! Jaye went poop!” I sprung to the doorway, and found Jaye standing there holding up her sweet little hands, covered in… you know. Grayson led me down the hallway and pointed at the smeared mess all over the floor. (Jaye decided to take off her diaper… and THEN do her business.)
The sight was so overwhelming I just threw Jaye in the bath tub and sat on the floor beside her sobbing. Grayson was so concerned he went and woke up Daddy, saying, “Daddy, Mommy is crying!” I yelled at him to leave Daddy alone. Grayson then asked why I was crying. I didn’t know what to say so I just said, “Mommy doesn’t feel well.”
A few minutes later, Grayson came back in the bathroom carrying my medicine. I snapped at him because he knows NOT to touch any of our medicines. And he looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, “It’s for you, Mommy. To help you feel better.”
I gave my sweet child the biggest hug I could muster, and started sobbing again.
Like I said, SERIOUSLY NEGATIVE POINTS on the “Good Mother scale”. When I feel better, I’m going to work on fixing that!
When we first moved to Carlsbad, I was called to be the Sunbeams teacher. A few months after that, I was called to be a mother. I was so sick I hardly ever made it to church, and when I was feeling up to going, I was wishing I felt sick. My class was awful, although I’m sure it was the hormones blinding my judgment. I would get into the car after church and sincerely tell my husband that I was going to be a horrible mother because Sunbeams made me realize that I hated children.
One day during class, one of the more “loveable” rugrats told me he knew sign language. I watched as the child signed “I love you” to me and my heart melted. “You love me?” I asked, my voice shaky with emotion. He rolled his eyes as he said “no!” and then signed his message again. “I said, I don’t love you!”
The dimpled fingers of this tiny little three-year-old made me cry. A lot. Then I asked to get released. (More for my horrible, non-stopping illness, though!)
I was relieved to learn a few months later that I didn’t really hate kids, but I always cringe (and laugh) when I think about Sunbeams. It has been a little joke between me and my husband. Three years later, last Sunday, I was asked (extremely last minute, as in, as class was starting) to sub for the Sunbeams class. This class isn’t known for the best-behaved children (I would know, Grayson is now in there), but I agreed to take on the task.
The lesson was about appreciating our sense of taste and smell: easy peasy. I thought I was doing an excellent job with my spur-of-the-moment lesson. I drew a large oval on a sheet of paper for each child and asked them to draw a face on the oval, and to remember to be grateful for our noses and mouth.
One little girl reached for a crayon and said, “I’m going to draw a frown on mine.”
“A frown?” I asked. “Why are you going to draw a frown?”
The little girl looked at me and earnestly said, “Because it doesn’t like you.”
Memories of a little boy signing to me came rushing back. I started laughing at the fact that a whole new generation of sunbeams acted the same way. I must just have naturally bad rapport with three-year-olds. But the point of my story is: I didn’t break down and cry in front of these little “angels”. And that just goes to show you how FANTASTIC this pregnancy has been for me!
