Chicken pox
picture by nursing pins
We’ve been in quarantine for a couple of weeks now, since Miss Eight broke out in her rash. Initially, I kept the whole family home to ensure everyone caught it (thus giving them valuable immunity for the future) and to prevent us passing it on to everyone else at school. Short-sightedly, I sent the boys back to school after a week when they didn’t develop secondary symptoms (ie, the itchy rash associated with chicken pox). They were missing so much school and more than half the kids there have now contracted the virus, so what’s the point, right? Well, I sincerely hope we haven’t infected anyone else (who didn’t want to be infected) but that’s all spilt milk now.
Now the other three kids have developed their rash and, aside from general crankiness, they seem to be tolerating the discomfort very well. We chose not to vaccinate for what is normally a fairly harmless childhood illness. Dear husband remembers having chicken pox as a child, and so do I, so we figured we were safe being exposed to the kids. Most interesting to me: many of the children immunised against chicken pox at the kids’ school are still contracting it - albeit, usually in a milder form (but not always).
And even though my mother claims that I have had chicken pox twice in my life, I still assumed that having them, even once, equates with some sort of immunity. Apparently not. Darling hubby has now contracted a second case of chicken pox in this lifetime, and he is not a happy camper. His rash is mild but the migraine headache that seems to be the major symptom of adult chicken pox has knocked him flat. I feel terrible for him, but guess who ends up playing nurse … again!
While I anticipate at least one friend is going to want to bring her kids over and expose them to the virus, I can acknowledge that vaccinating against childhood illness is a choice we all get to make at some point in our parenting journey. I take responsibility for the decisions I’ve made with regard to my children’s health and I don’t like to be scare-mongered by doctors and friends who think that just because a vaccination is offered it should be accepted. Are we messing with the health of our children (and future grandchildren and beyond) by opting to vaccinate against otherwise ordinary childhood illnesses? I’m not so willing to choose convenience in this generation, without understanding how it might impact on the next.
September 5th, 2010 - Posted in gratitude, childhood, partnership, parenthood, duty of care, beliefs, health | | 2 Comments
Guest post
picture by Peter Becker
Having an Only Child by Emilia Liz
The other day my mother and I were sorting through my daughter’s old baby clothes. We put them in two piles, one for things she could wear in the upcoming months and another for those she had already outgrown. We debated what to do with the second pile of clothing: should we give it to my brother and sister-in-law, who are considering having a third child; send it out West to my newly married cousin and his wife; or donate it to the Salvation Army or some other charity? For now we’re keeping it on hold. One option that didn’t come up, though, was saving it for me in case I have another baby. It suddenly struck me: my daughter Gabriella Michelle will probably be my only child.
I didn’t deliberately set out to have only one child. Over the years my ideas on family size have changed. When I was young, I wanted four children, just like my mother’s family of origin with her, my aunt and their two brothers. Then I entered a “the-world’s-too-awful-to-bring-children-into” phase (it’s called adolescence). After I got engaged in college, my then-fiancé and I pictured a family of two children, a girl and a boy. But eventually I came to like the notion of an only child. This preference was driven home to me by various babysitting experiences. While I love spending time with my niece and nephew and having them play with my daughter, I realize I can’t handle more than one small child at once.
An alternative to having an only child is waiting six years or so for when my daughter is no longer so dependent on me. Given that I’m forty years old now, however, by that time there’s a good chance I’ll either be infertile or, in the event of a pregnancy, at higher risk of problems like miscarriage or Down syndrome. There are other options besides the so-called “natural way,” namely reproductive technologies and adoption. I’ve never seriously considered the first: while I’m by no means against reproductive technologies, what might be appropriate for, say, a childless couple in their thirties would not feel right for me, a woman over forty with a biological child.
On the other hand, I have looked into adoption more closely. But my chances of expanding my family this way also seem slim. Foreign adoption is expensive, not only in terms of fees for the process itself but in wages lost from time taken off work to travel to the country in question. In addition, my age, marital status (I’m in a so-called “visiting relationship” but not legally married), and the fact I already have a biological child would probably place me at the bottom of a prospective adoptive parents list. I’ve explored domestic adoption as well. Unfortunately, most of the kids available here in Canada have emotional and/or developmental problems due to neglect, prenatal exposure to alcohol, etcetera, and I don’t personally feel capable of raising a child with these kinds of issues. (Of note, I once ended a relationship with a man with manic depression partly for fear any children we would have might inherit his condition.) On one website I examined there was a single child I would have considered adopting – a beautiful East Indian girl with a purely physical handicap – but lo and behold, the next time I checked the site she was gone, placed with a family. And I’m sure that if I had applied to take her I would have been competing with other families viewed as more suitable than mine, for the reasons mentioned above.
So now I basically have accepted that I’ll probably have only one child in this lifetime. Most of the time, I think of the positives in this. They include being able to spend more time with my daughter, in volunteer activities, and at solitary endeavours such as writing this article. The extra time with my daughter has created a special closeness between us (not that parents with two or more children can’t be close to each one of them). For me, it’s not so much the “quality moments” that I cherish but rather the simple things like singing with her as I do the dishes, carrying her around the neighbourhood in my “pouch” (Baby Bjorn), and reading her the stories she loves. I also appreciate the fact I don’t have to deal with trying to divide myself between two small children who both need my attention, worrying about money, or breaking up sibling squabbles. Don’t get me wrong: I admire people like my brother and sister-in-law who can handle two or more small children at one time. I just don’t know if I could do the same.
With any decision, whether it’s living without children, having only one child, or reproducing a la Michelle Duggar (American woman with 18 kids at last count), there are pros and cons. On the rare occasion I’ll get the urge for a second baby, small and sweet like my little girl. My biggest questions, however, have to do with my daughter herself. Am I harming her by depriving her of a brother or sister? My mom once told me the good thing about siblings is that they are still there when your parents are gone. One book called siblinghood the longest-lasting bond. On the practical side, if I become incapacitated in my old age will my daughter resent not having someone else to share the burden of caring for me with? Overall, though, I’m confident she’ll be fine. I’ve researched the academic literature on the effect of being an only child versus having siblings, and it’s been fairly reassuring: some studies show only children do better than their peers; others suggest they suffer disadvantages; and still more find no difference between the two groups.
Of course my lifestyle is not for everybody. Though I don’t like societal attitudes that label parents of onlies as “selfish” or only children as “spoiled brats,” I don’t have any problem with the two-child family being the norm. And my situation could change. I might find myself in a new relationship and choose to have a child to cement it. Maybe my daughter will demand a brother or sister. Or I could develop a sudden craving for another baby for no reason at all. (Of note, I haven’t had a tubal ligation, so the possibility of having a biological child is probably still open to me for another three or four years). But in all likelihood I will remain a mother of one, and I am content with this.
July 12th, 2010 - Posted in gratitude, parenthood, grief, beliefs, wisdom | | 2 Comments
Introducing Emma
picture by mr. toaster
Strong women?
If there’s one thing I miss from my pre-kids life, it’s disappearing onto the road. I used to do a lot of long-distance travel, mostly on my own. Driving for eleven hours straight across the Hay plains, down dirt roads, finding a cheap motel in the middle of nowhere or sleeping in the back seat when I got too tired. Hours at a time with nothing but my own thoughts, and my voice cracking when I use it for the first time all day to pay for petrol. Like Tracey Chapman’s “Fast Car”, the car has always been my independence, escape, and protection.
My last trip pre-kids was to Kakadu during the dry season, seven years ago. I pitched a tent with no fly over top so I could watch the stars as I fell asleep. I listened to indigenous rangers talk about rock art and kinship systems, walked down to the water hoping I didn’t see any crocs, and watched slow burns clearing the dry grass.
I went into the shop on my last night to get a can of beans for dinner, and had a chat with a young woman who had moved there from the Kimberleys to get work. She told me how she knew this guy, David Gulpilil, who wanted to make a movie about Australia set in Arnhem Land. He wanted the world to see how beautiful the place is, and they were talking to big Hollywood celebrities to come do the movie. She hoped to get work as a cook when the movie starting shooting.
Later that night, she spotted me in the bar and we played a game of pool (I’m the worst player ever). It was her first night back in the bar after a three week ban for getting in a fight (she said self-protection), and she was celebrating. When she asked why I wasn’t drinking, I told her I was getting married in six weeks and hoping to have babies, so I was getting my body ready. And she said something that really stunned me: “We need more strong women like you.”
I’ve never seen myself as strong. Here was a young woman, prepared to move hundreds or even thousands of miles from her family, dealing with the combined discrimination against indigenous people and women… and she thought I was strong.
I still don’t know what strength she saw in me. But I hope she got to work in Arnhem Land. It’s beautiful country, I’d love to go back sometime. Although I guess the car trip won’t be about solitude next time.
Emma blogs at www.emmadavidson.wordpress.com
July 8th, 2010 - Posted in parenthood, community, beliefs, wisdom, health, self-care | | 2 Comments
Self-reliance
picture by DoubleM2
Hubby is away. Has been away for over a week and we have another few days to go. We’ve been doing this merry-go-round for ten years now and even though it is getting easier as the kids grow up, and as the communication technology gets better, the period of separation still has its inevitable pitfalls.
Actually, this would be one of the first times we haven’t had some minor disaster or technological breakdown of one sort or another. We’re just coming out the other side of a tummy bug that I have so far managed to evade. In one 24 hour period, three kids went down with it. I was expecting it because Master Almost-Seven had it last Friday. I had thought we’d got off lightly.
But I’m not here to talk about the negatives - much as I’d like to indulge myself a good long whinge about life and it’s spewy wash piles.
No, I’d rather point out that there’s an up side to every down. This work-related travel, disruptive though it is, augments my personal growth. When hubby is home I can be lazy because he’s always been good at helping out around the house. But when he’s away, everything falls to me. Well, not everything. I let the mail collect at the front door, and I don’t bother to mow the yard. But I keep up with the essentials and all the commitments, and I like it. To be honest, I feel a great sense of self-reliance during hubby’s away-time.
I shop and stockpile so we can be as self-sufficient as possible. We drop a few extra-curricular activities so the schedule isn’t too full and plan as little as possible for the weekends. When I cook, it’s a double batch, so we have a meal for the freezer, we eat simply but still allow ourselves the odd take away meal.
And despite the spew-a-thon, I’m caught up on the laundry, I got the bins out last night (this week I snuck out two recycle bins, which I’ve never done before but since we missed last time, it seemed justifiable) and I haven’t let the disorder get too out of hand.
I realise that I don’t need a full social life or a lot of outside input to keep things ticking smoothly. I can do this, all by myself. So this alone time (with the kids) is something to be grateful for, too. Doesn’t mean I won’t be happy to see dear husband walk through the door on Friday.
June 9th, 2010 - Posted in personal growth, gratitude, happiness, partnership, parenthood, self-care | | 2 Comments
Out of the mouths of babes #7
picture by jj.figueroa
Miss Four asks me where her chihuahua is. I look at her blankly.
She persists, “Maaa~aam, do you know where my chihuahua is?” “Maaa~aam, can you help me find it, pleeeeeeze?”
I’m baffled. I try to think if she has any pictures of dogs in her books, on her clothes, or maybe she has a stuffed toy somewhere? Surely not or I’d know about it.
Knowing full well what a chihuahua looks like I figured I’d ask her anyhow. She rolls her eyes.
“You know Mum, the princess chihuahua I wear on my head!”
Oh, that chihuahua. I find her *tiara* and try not to look amused.
May 18th, 2010 - Posted in childhood, parenthood, play | | 2 Comments
