Ten Year Itch?

Anyone who knows me well knows that I adore babies, and that I would have had more of them. When I had the amniocentesis when pregnant with Son #3 (recommended by OBGYN because of my "advanced" age of 36) and the sono tech told us she knew it was a third boy, right then and there I told hubby that I was prepared to do this again in two years so he could have his little girl. His "I'm sick of little penises around the house" sentiment was balanced by his belief that he was too old, too tired, too poor, too busy, and too impatient to have a fourth kid. Okay, I was content with three.

Today the third child is ten years old. A lot's happened in the past 10 years, beginning with 9/11 which happened when he was a newborn. I'm in my late forties now, amid activities for the older two which require me to be attached to a car constantly...either chauffeuring them someplace or buying them stuff...and I still have my 40 minute commute to work. So free time is rather at a premium, and my energy is not what it once was, even though I'm in good health and good shape.

So, even though this may come as a shock to you, I'm okay with the fact that 1) I last gave birth ten years ago today, and 2) I'm never going to do it again. However...I'm not ready for grandchildren anytime soon!!!

Pair O'Ducks

Last night I did some Sudoku and Cryptoquote pages after I got home from bowling, and after only half an hour my brain decided to wind down so I could think about getting to sleep before 11:45 or so. One of the Cryptoquote puzzles was a delicious paradox.

We have to believe in free will. We have no choice. Isaac Bashevis Singer

I'm thinking of an old Steven Wright stand-up routine now. He got a dog and was having trouble training it. Why? The dog's name was Stay. "C'mere, Stay. C'mere, Stay."

Cherish Your Children

I kind of had the idea for this post percolating, but news I received over the weekend cemented it.

I'd been listening to the audiobook of Hope's Boy during my commute for about the past week. It is a memoir from a former foster child, describing his early years with a grandmother who had trouble scraping by to provide their basic needs and then with his mentally ill mother who had the poor child taken out of her arms by law enforcement to be placed into a brutal group home. His more "stable" later years were spent in a single foster home where his physical needs were mostly met but his emotional needs were left up to him. I agree with one review I read that suggested the book should be required reading for anyone who chooses social work as a career. The author, Andrew Bridge, is a Harvard Law graduate working as an advocate for children in the foster care system.

And now for the event that touched me more personally. An 18 year colleague of mine lost a young grandchild over the weekend, a victim of drowning. This little lady would have begun kindergarten next month and came from a close-knit family full of love and personal attention. To say that the grandparents are heartbroken is a huge understatement.

I am again reminded of the events of 9/11. My youngest was a newborn at that time, and I brought him with me to a medical checkup soon after. One of my physicians had two sons working in the Towers that day. One made it out alive and one did not. I hadn't known this when I'd arrived for my appointment but figured it out quickly enough. After my checkup, I looked my doctor in the face and told him how sorry I was to find out about his son. He thanked me, looked at the baby and said, "Take him home and love him."

With tears streaming down my face as I went to my car, I recalled the other thing the wise M.D. said. We never know how long we have. He was so right. One day in the life of a child is so significant, because they don't have a collection of decades of memories on which to draw, as we do. Whatever we can do to make the most of their days, one at a time, is so worth it.

In a little while, I will head to the funeral for my colleague's granddaughter. I'm trying to amass my strength.

The Power of Suggestion

Unfortunately, the power of suggestion is often used for nefarious purposes. Of course I try to spin things the other way, being a "so Pollyanna you could puke" optimist and sunny side of the street stroller. But it's hard to fight with one's unconscious.

Here's a case in point. A dear friend of mine grew up with a mean mother and mean older sister. Her dad, a real peach of a guy, made excuses for his wife and therefore enabled her behavior. Mean sister died decades ago. Mean mother died months ago. My friend, who grew up with a huge heart, married a man who was mean. Luckily she found the strength to get a divorce after raising two wonderful sons, with love and affection. Her second husband recognizes her for the inner beauty that she is. Her daughter-in-law is about to give birth to Granddaughter Number Three, into a family built on love.

Sounds like a happy ending, doesn't it? Well, mostly. Today my friend confided in me that she still has dreams about herself as a child, being told she's no good or not wanted. What a shame. I have never studied psychology but there's got to be something that this giving, thoughtful, intelligent, funny lady can do to conquer her childhood demons. Regardless, I'm going to keep giving her my unconditional support and try to push her chin up, Up, UP!