Raw Drip

1. You find yourself ordering for your partner in restaurants because the multi-page menu and hard decisions like soup vs. salad, completely overwhelm him.   Someone’s got to step in and help the poor, confused bastard before the server slugs him and that someone is you.
2. You squeeze really big, nasty zits for each other.
3. You know he’s thinking about your boobs and he knows you know it.
4. You can have an entire date night dinner conversation on a mundane topic such as the merits of franchising as a business model and then both refer to it later as a “dazzling” conversation.
5. Your partner helps you look for your yeast infection suppository applicator after the kids steal it from the bathroom and use it as a gun for play fighting.

Now, even you cynics out there have got to admit – it must be love;  ‘cuz it certainly isn’t romance, anymore!

As I stood in line at the Post Office the other day, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation between a twenty-something woman in front of me and her similarly worldly girlfriend. The first woman was complaining to her girlfriend about her otherwise perfect fiance, Patrick, a man with personality, good looks, a stable job and, unfortunately, a deep hatred of children. Ashley is desperate to have children and is certain that she and Patrick would make, “really sweet, adorable kids”.

“He loves you, right?”, said the girlfriend.

“Yeah. I’m sure of it. Otherwise, why would he have proposed?”

“Okay, so he just needs a little push. He probably wants to have kids but he’s just scared. After the wedding you should just “forget” to take the pill for a few months and see what happens. By then you’ll be married, so he’ll have to be supportive, or he’ll look like an asshole.”

Cue the screeching brakes sound effect.

Can I just say that this is, perhaps, the WORST advice I’ve ever heard. There are so many things wrong that I don’t even know where to start! Overall, getting knocked up just to prove a point seems like a bad idea to me – the stuff of daytime talk shows and bad soap opera storylines. If Patrick is like most guys, he probably is just a little shy of the idea, but the way to win him over and triumph in the commitment debate is NOT to force him into the most permanent, profound and costly commitment of his life. Besides, guess who’ll feel guilty about bringing an unwanted child into this world? Well, NOT Patrick, since he will have left you for being the scheming, lying woman men only want you to be in their fantasies.

My advice: no need to rush things. Start off easy. Get a house plant, work your way up to a gold fish and if things go really well in a year or two you can talk about getting a dog. I’ve got to think this would’ve been an easier “sell” to Patrick and would’ve made for a much better start to a marriage than a manipulative lie resulting in an unwanted pregnancy.

*****

But when I hear women, especially very young women, voicing their fantastical notions about the divine right of motherhood, I just want to give them a big slap across the face and scream, “Snap out of it!” Motherhood, heck parenting, is under the best of conditions, maddening, terrifying, and deeply disappointing, at times. The moments of joy are definitely there, but they’re often marred by the doldrums of never-ending duties and the delirium of omnipresent exhaustion. Even when you’re mature enough to take the plunge eyes wide open, you may still find that you struggle with the consequences of your decision. It can be tough to make peace with all the sacrifices and the lost sense of self, not to mention the feelings of shame and isolation everytime you repress your urge to think or do for yourself.

Of course, when you’re drunk on the elixir of baby love everyone is selling, my words simply come across as the bitter rantings of a crazy woman who’s been without sleep for far too long.

Even if you don’t believe me, there are others who will join my reality bites stance. The comedian, Paul Riser once likened the glowing praise of the joys of parenting as a sales pitch – something akin to the high-pressure pitch you’d get from an Amway person. He pointed out that the pitch had an almost “join our cult” ring to it with its relentless optimism, and its black & white certainty that choosing NOT to have children is the stuff of people who are either Godless or barren.

This parenting pitch is perfectly composed of several key arguments, most of them platitudes spun with heart-warming charm designed to seem revealing in a Hallmark card kinda way.

Children are your legacy: I have a hard time committing to glazed or chocolate frosted doughnuts (okay, okay – chocolate frosted) so the idea of committing to something with such permanence as a legacy is, frankly, intimidating as hell. I can hardly handle the guilt associated with my carbon footprint and now this?

Children are hard work, but they’re so worth it…: Puhleez. They are very hard work and, yes, there are moments of pure love & joy to be found in the relationship. But there’s no shame in NOT having kids if you are happier finding pure love & joy in other ways – ways that don’t require you surrendering your life and independence to needy little ingrates who may end up committing patricide someday over their pent up anger at the random blog post you wrote about them a decade ago. (Remember, mommy loves you, Adam! Love you, too, Tabitha!)

Children enrich your life: Really? Before kids, Dick and I would take vacations and stay at decent hotels and eat in nice restaurants. When we needed clothing, we bought it. When we wanted a new toy, we bought it. We had minimal debt and a small retirement account.

After kids, we can barely afford groceries for the bottomless pit otherwise known as Adam. Our savings is tapped and we’re swimming in debt. Seriously, if it’s not therapy, or orthodontics, or shoes, it’s groceries..

Spouting cheap talk about the joys of children is not the perfect way to pitch the notion of a family. But on the other hand, if you’re waiting for your life to be in perfect harmony before you take the plunge into family, get a grip. After all, you wouldn’t be here if someone hadn’t taken a chance and believed in the power of your love to transform them into the flawed, but loving parents they (and we) are today. My words are not the perfect parenting pitch, but they strike me as the pitch perfect way of explaining how much it means to me to have – finally, my own amazing little family.

At age 4, Adam hardly has the sophistication to grasp the implications of statements like, “When I grow up, I want to be a queen.”  Nonetheless, I felt it necessary to try to unravel the statement in search of hidden parenting landmines and to protect Dick from slipping into a surreality coma. 

Me: Why do you want to be a queen?

 

Adam: All good little boys can be a queen when they grow up.

 

Me: But what about being a king?  That’s a pretty good gig, too…

 

Adam: No.  Only a queen gets to wear a pink dress.  Boys don’t wear pink.

 

Me: Boys do wear pink.  I know lots of wonderful boys who like pink.

 

Adam: Are they queens?

 

Me: Some of them are queens - but some are kings.  Buddy, if there’s one thing I can tell you for certain, there are an awful lot of people in this world who like a lot of different things and we all have to appreciate each other’s ideas, even if they aren’t our own.  

In the meantime, maybe you can just wait a few years before you share your wish to be a queen with Daddy? I think he’s still trying to get over you being a sentient being.

*****

As I learned the other day, I should just shut up and be glad that he’s not 14 yet – when the complicated parenting landmines are much more deadly and better hidden under the dense fog of generic teen angst. 

As I laughingly told one of my work colleagues about Adam’s “queenly” ambitions, she confided, “Well, if you think that’s bad, let me just say that I’ve had to start putting a fresh box of Kleenex in Todd’s room (her 14 year old son) every week, if you get my drift…”

Not getting her drift, I stupidly asked, “Oh, does he have allergies??” 

“No,” she said (gritting her teeth as if speaking to an idiot), “he’s whacking off every other minute.”

*****

So, it really is good to be a queen - especially when you’re a 4 year old boy whose mommy still has plenty of time to teach you about the importance of good hygiene and fresh Kleenex (with Aloe, of course).    

Parenting is a perilous journey, indeed.  If nothing else every new day provides another glimpse at the map of landmines ahead of me.  One lesson I learned from my most recent glimpse:  the imagination of a 14 year old male is no less vivid than that of the 4 year old male; it’s just a matter of focus and scale.  

At least by 14 Adam may have given up on the pink dress…maybe.