So, the population of the U.S. hit 300 million today. Or rather, it hit 300 million sometime within the last few months, or it WILL hit 300 million soon – no one really has an exact headcount. But the “population clock” in the Census Bureau rolled over from 299,999,999 like a giant odometer at 7:46 a.m. this morning. The population clock adds a hypothetical person every 7 seconds to represent a birth; subtracts a hypothetical person every 13 seconds to represent a death; and adds another hypothetical person every 31 seconds to represent an immigrant. But since these are hypothetical people, no one really knows for certain if we have, in fact, surpassed the 300 million mark. But it’s a good guess. So I’d just like to say – I think we’re good now. That’s enough. There’s a baby born in this country every seven seconds? You can stop having so many babies, people. Let’s slow it down to every eight seconds, at least…
I’ve never been much of a “kid” person myself. I’ve always felt that I was somehow defective, apparently lacking in that maternal instinct gene that seems far too obvious in most women. While my friends in high school had their entire lives planned out – complete with names for all their yet-to-be-conceived children – I was dreaming of living in my own apartment in New York City, where I’d no doubt be a famous writer or artist (I’d have to be a FAMOUS writer or artist to afford an apartment in New York). I’d have a view of Central Park, and I’d walk to a coffeehouse every morning to sip cappuccino and work on my novel. I’d travel around the globe, meeting fascinating people and staying in fascinating hotels. I’d have fabulously creative friends and I’d wear fabulously creative clothes, and of course I would transform from the shy, reserved teenager I was into some kind of beautiful social butterfly. Kids were never in any of my future plans… heck, MARRIAGE wasn’t even in my future plans. Not that it wasn’t something I thought of – it was just something I assumed I’d never have a chance to experience. In fact, in lieu of all those other silly dreams, I thought perhaps a nunnery might be my best choice. Do Protestant nunneries exist? I would wonder. Because I’m not Catholic, and I don’t think I want to convert…
And what’s more, I absolutely hated babysitting when I was a teenager. I did it only for the money (and also because I’m incapable, at times, of saying no to people). I babysat my piano teacher’s little girl once a week for several years when I was in high school. I was able to accumulate a nice stash of spending money, but I dreaded the job. The little girl’s name was Danielle, and she could be very cute and sweet when she wanted to be, but she could also be whiny and demanding and excruciatingly boring. When I first started watching her, when she was about two years old, she was in an “I want to be naked all the time!!” stage. As soon as her mom would leave the house, she’d start peeling off items of clothing one by one. I would chase her around the house, collecting the clothes, attempting to coerce her into putting them back on. In response, she’d giggle hysterically and jump on the couch naked. I had a horrible fear that her mom would return to the house, see her daughter prancing around the house in her birthday suit, and angrily inquire why I was allowing Danielle to run around in such a state.
And then there was dinner time – Danielle’s mom would always put a plate of food in the fridge (which, by the way, was like some sort of horrible bio-hazard – I hated opening that fridge), and I was supposed to heat it up in the microwave and feed her, and afterwards she could have dessert. The instructions were usually something along the lines of, “she can have a popsicle, but don’t give her any ice cream.” Inevitably, Danielle would not only refuse to eat whatever plate of food her mom had left for her, but she would also insist I give her ice cream, whether or not she was supposed to have it. She would throw a tantrum of such epic proportions that eventually I’d just set out the whole carton for her, with chocolate syrup and whipped cream on the side, and let her go to town. I mean, it was either that, or hitting her over the head with a frying pan. I’m pretty sure the ice cream was the correct choice.
Danielle was also one of those kids who would find a toy or game of some sort that she liked, and then decide that we had to do everything the exact same way, over and over and over again, to recreate the magic of that very first, “hey, I love this game!” moment. After the five zillionth time of pretending to be the pirate while she pretended to be the princess, I wanted to hit MYSELF over the head with a frying pan…
The whole experience made me wonder – are there actually teenagers who ENJOY babysitting? Or is it always just about the money? And why are girls always the ones who are asked to babysit? Is it just an assumption that all girls have some kind of longing for babies, and think they’re so adorable, and can’t wait to take care of them? It’s a well-known fact within my family that Eric is about a thousand times better with kids than I am. Maybe he would’ve been less frustrated and annoyed with babysitting, who knows. Maybe he wouldn’t have walked away every week thinking, “I am NEVER having kids… ever… never ever…”
I once read that one of the indications that you're ready for motherhood is if you can say you feel completely traveled-out. If you no longer have any sort of wanderlust, then perhaps you're ready to welcome a tiny little ball-and-chain into your life. But if there are still places you want to go, and things you want to see, maybe a kid isn't the best idea. Because once you have one, you can't send it back. There's no return policy. And traveling to faraway locations becomes an extravagant and complicated undertaking -- if it's undertaken at all. And I feel like there's still so much of the world left to see...
Oh, and yes, I know – “kids are different when they’re YOURS.” Yeah. Sure. Right. Actually, they’re exactly the same – it’s just your view that gets skewed. I’d be willing to guess that’s from lack of sleep… :)
4 comments:
So which one of you three "kids" is our ".5"? :-) You know, if you put all your blog posts in a book, you'd already have quite a book written about your life. So it wouldn't be a novel, but lots of people like biographies! You are a fantastic writer!
Love you!
Well, I'm tempted to say that Eric is the .5, but I guess I'll go with Bob... after all, he lives so far out in the Middle of Nowhere, Montana, that he only sort of half-exists. I mean, if you live in a place where the best restaurant around serves frozen catfish on a regular basis, you're not entirely immersed in reality, are you? Yeah, Bob is definitely the .5... :)
And yet, strangely enough, kids always seem to gravitate toward you. while my nieces and nephews were growing up they always seem to gravitate toward you...same for Nick's kids and whoever else's we're around. It's uncanny.
Ok Lisa, I could be making way too much out of this and that wouldn't be the first time for me. But, for the sake of debate and because I'm a father of four (4), I can't say that I completely agree with the concluding thoughts in this specific entry of your wonderful blog. Yeah, yeah, I know, they're your thoughts and comments and who am I to argue with them. But I did find it interesting how you managed to go from humorous remembrances about your baby-sitting experiences to what looks to be an implication that those of us who are parents must be so only because we now have a discarded desire to travel / see the world and who now function with a skewed view of our own children.
I think that's a bit of a broad stroke you've painted there or rather...a stroke that doesn't display the entire parental painting. There is more to this picture, perhaps.
First of all, let me say that my being a parent certainly doesn't qualify me as the expert here, but I do at least have the benefit of recalling what it was like and how it felt to when before I had kids to how it feels now after I've had kids...err...I should point out that I didn't HAVE them...my wife actually HAD them, I just HAVE them now...except for when I'm busy working or sleeping or watching TV or avoiding them whenever possible...hmm...maybe I know nothing here... Ahh well, Nevermind...
Ok, wait! So I can say this: Most parents I know still dream big and desire to go, do and see great things. They just now desire those things for more than themselves. The means and convenience to go and do is constrained by parenthood and this sometimes forces a "stay or suspension" of this wanderlust as you call it. I think for most parents, that desire is still very much alive...it's just put on a higher bookshelf for a time, father back from the front and harder to reach but still very much accessible. You may not want yours put away that far back and I understand that and can respect your honesty.
I would also like to comment about what you say is a parental skewed view toward our children. To me, the word skew implies...well, not implies, but really it says that we see our kids falsely or wrongly. It says that we see off-center in some way. I don't necessarily think so, not in the way you seem to be making a point about. Sure, I'll be the first to admit that most parents aren't always completely honest about our own children at all times and that we don't see them as other people see them and maybe that's simply what you meant there. But I think the more important point here is:
I don't think it much matters whether your children are truly different when they're yours or not but what matters more is that YOU ARE THE ONE who's different when they're yours. I think that's the point. You feel different when they're yours.
I don't think one can ever for certain know how he / she will feel about being a parent until they're the parent of they're own child. Solely using your experiences and feelings from other parents' children and translating that as the final barometer of the feelings you'll definitely have toward your own children is sort of impossible. It'd be like trying to predict the amount of pride and satisfaction you'd have after composing your own work of art (music, literature etc) from the pride and satisfaction you feel for the art of some other artist. You can appreciate, understand - or not - another's work of art but you can't know it in the way you know your own piece. When it's yours and from you and part of you and created by you, it's just different.
I'm sure you're thinking...well Nick...this is all sort of a deadend, a trap, isn't it? And yeah,it is a trap I guess. If there's no way for you to truly know whether you're meant to have kids until you determine how you'd feel about your own kids, which would only happen if you actually HAVE your own kids then is the only choice to have the kids?? I DON'T KNOW. I guess you pray about it and go with where your gut leads you and be at peace with that. But, understand that it is quite possible to have no clue how you'd truly feel about your own kids until you have your own kids. It might just be very wonderful.
I do know this though. My kids love you. They think you're great. They say that your kind and sweet. You're very giving, gentle-spirited and patient. You're smart too. Sounds like a pretty good recipe for motherhood. Rick, on the other hand... LOL... kidding.
In the end, you know better than anyone how YOU feel. Sounds like you're making a wise decison by contemplating these things and I can respect that. I'm not trying to be argumentative, just giving you an alternate view.
Take care and keep up the great blogging. It's always a good read.
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