I just finished another book that happened to be about babies and husbands who don't want them. After the Rice is a beautifully written novel by Wendy French, a writer I really like, but I was shocked by the ending. How much was the protagonist,Megan's, decision influenced by her husband's strong stand against babies? Did she remain childless to please him or was that what she really wanted? Am I just a romantic who wants others to have the babies I didn't have? Check it out. You'll love Wendy's writing style. The characters she creates are so delightful, I miss them now that I'm through with the book. But that ending. I just don't know.
While I'm at it, I might as well plug her other books, sMothering,Going Coastal and Full of It. Fun reading.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com.
All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it
would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Dog Parents at the Vet's Office
Parents meet at the pediatrician's office, but pet owners congregate at the vet's.
The best part is the waiting room. You never know whom you're going to meet. Even if you didn't know these people before, your mutual love of dogs gets the conversation going.
Yesterday, Sadie and I were doing our weekly recheck with Dr. H. She had suddenly decided she didn't want to go for a ride, so I hefted her into the back seat, and off we went. She sighed and settled onto the green towel spread over the upholstery.
In the waiting room, we hit the jackpot. An older man stood at the counter with a baby golden retriever straining at the leash to meet my big yellow shepherd-lab mix. Meanwhile, a young man sat with a lab pup who had lost a battle at the food bowl with the family's older dogs. The cream-colored dog looked like it had a black eye. Next to me, a middle-aged woman sat with a black dachshund wrapped in a pale blue baby blanket. "He needs his blankie," she said, patting his blanket-covered back.
Ah.
My Sadie, sprawled on the speckled linoleum, was the biggest dog in the room and the best behaved, but that's only because she's old and sick. She used to be crazy like that golden pup.
"She's beautiful," said the dachsie owner.
"Thank you." I felt my ego fluff up a little. All Sadie's life, people have been stopping me to admire my dog. "Can I pet her?" they ask. "Sure," I say. Even sick and skinny, she's still a looker, and I'm proud of her.
Soon we were comparing illnesses. Dear Sadie has cancer. The dachshund has itchy ears and a sore on his rump where he kept biting himself.
"Oh, Sadie did that a couple years ago. It was such a mess."
Everyone gets into everybody else's dog business at the vet's. We might not share our own health problems, but we all want to talk about our "babies."
After the golden went home, the dachshund was called into the smaller examining room. They do it like that. They don't call the owner. The doctor peeks out and calls the dog. We humans just follow along as interpreters.
Sadie and I were called into the next room, the big room with the ugly red painting of an Irish setter and the big animal anatomy charts. An aide weighed her and took a blood sample. Then we waited.
As my dog pouted on the floor—hey, you tricked me again, she was probably thinking—I eavesdropped on the consultation with the dachshund. Hot spot, yes, could have told you that. Wax built up in the ears. "You never had that," I whispered to Sadie. "You have great ears."
Dirty teeth. Need to schedule a cleaning. "You had that," I say, rubbing my dog's soft fur. Could they sneak in a nail trim while the pup was anesthetized? "Sure," the vet said. "He'll never know the difference."
Oh, yes, he will, I thought. Sadie did. He'll wake up and think, what the heck happened to my feet?
The doctor went to another room to gather the dachsie's medications. I listened as the owner talked baby talk in a high voice. "You've got a hot spot, a hot spot, wow, my widdle baby has a hot spot."
"Shoot me if I start to talk like that," I told my dog. She looked up at me. "Yeah," I said, purposely keeping my voice low and adult, "We don't do baby talk." Okay, I do call her Booboo sometimes and I tell her a hundred times a day that she's the best dog in the world, but no, no, we don't do baby talk. Or blankies. Well, actually she does take her big pink quilt to the kennel with her, and she has an L.L. Bean bed in the den, but she has to sleep on something.
The doctor returned to the dachsund, arrangements were made for a return visit, and then it was our turn.
Dr. H. was pleased with Sadie's progress. Her cancer seems to be in remission, he said, suggesting another dose of chemo, the oral kind I have to stuff down her throat every 36 hours. It's a good news-bad news thing. She's feeling better, but I get to spend the next week praying she doesn't vomit up her pills. Even if she doesn't, I feel queasy until the treatment is over.
I met with the dachshund-owner at the counter as we gathered our meds and paid our bills. "He's a sweetie," I said, noting how she held the little black dog against her bosom just like a baby.
"Oh, thank you. I hope yours gets better."
"Me too."
As we went out the heavy orange door, the bullied pup was called in with his young owner, and the waiting room was temporarily empty.
I'm going to miss those people. None of us know anything about each other except that we love our dogs. Work, marriage, where we're from, whether we have children, none of that matters. We're dog mo—lovers. Maybe we'll meet again next week at the vet's office.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
The best part is the waiting room. You never know whom you're going to meet. Even if you didn't know these people before, your mutual love of dogs gets the conversation going.
Yesterday, Sadie and I were doing our weekly recheck with Dr. H. She had suddenly decided she didn't want to go for a ride, so I hefted her into the back seat, and off we went. She sighed and settled onto the green towel spread over the upholstery.
In the waiting room, we hit the jackpot. An older man stood at the counter with a baby golden retriever straining at the leash to meet my big yellow shepherd-lab mix. Meanwhile, a young man sat with a lab pup who had lost a battle at the food bowl with the family's older dogs. The cream-colored dog looked like it had a black eye. Next to me, a middle-aged woman sat with a black dachshund wrapped in a pale blue baby blanket. "He needs his blankie," she said, patting his blanket-covered back.
Ah.
My Sadie, sprawled on the speckled linoleum, was the biggest dog in the room and the best behaved, but that's only because she's old and sick. She used to be crazy like that golden pup.
"She's beautiful," said the dachsie owner.
"Thank you." I felt my ego fluff up a little. All Sadie's life, people have been stopping me to admire my dog. "Can I pet her?" they ask. "Sure," I say. Even sick and skinny, she's still a looker, and I'm proud of her.
Soon we were comparing illnesses. Dear Sadie has cancer. The dachshund has itchy ears and a sore on his rump where he kept biting himself.
"Oh, Sadie did that a couple years ago. It was such a mess."
Everyone gets into everybody else's dog business at the vet's. We might not share our own health problems, but we all want to talk about our "babies."
After the golden went home, the dachshund was called into the smaller examining room. They do it like that. They don't call the owner. The doctor peeks out and calls the dog. We humans just follow along as interpreters.
Sadie and I were called into the next room, the big room with the ugly red painting of an Irish setter and the big animal anatomy charts. An aide weighed her and took a blood sample. Then we waited.
As my dog pouted on the floor—hey, you tricked me again, she was probably thinking—I eavesdropped on the consultation with the dachshund. Hot spot, yes, could have told you that. Wax built up in the ears. "You never had that," I whispered to Sadie. "You have great ears."
Dirty teeth. Need to schedule a cleaning. "You had that," I say, rubbing my dog's soft fur. Could they sneak in a nail trim while the pup was anesthetized? "Sure," the vet said. "He'll never know the difference."
Oh, yes, he will, I thought. Sadie did. He'll wake up and think, what the heck happened to my feet?
The doctor went to another room to gather the dachsie's medications. I listened as the owner talked baby talk in a high voice. "You've got a hot spot, a hot spot, wow, my widdle baby has a hot spot."
"Shoot me if I start to talk like that," I told my dog. She looked up at me. "Yeah," I said, purposely keeping my voice low and adult, "We don't do baby talk." Okay, I do call her Booboo sometimes and I tell her a hundred times a day that she's the best dog in the world, but no, no, we don't do baby talk. Or blankies. Well, actually she does take her big pink quilt to the kennel with her, and she has an L.L. Bean bed in the den, but she has to sleep on something.
The doctor returned to the dachsund, arrangements were made for a return visit, and then it was our turn.
Dr. H. was pleased with Sadie's progress. Her cancer seems to be in remission, he said, suggesting another dose of chemo, the oral kind I have to stuff down her throat every 36 hours. It's a good news-bad news thing. She's feeling better, but I get to spend the next week praying she doesn't vomit up her pills. Even if she doesn't, I feel queasy until the treatment is over.
I met with the dachshund-owner at the counter as we gathered our meds and paid our bills. "He's a sweetie," I said, noting how she held the little black dog against her bosom just like a baby.
"Oh, thank you. I hope yours gets better."
"Me too."
As we went out the heavy orange door, the bullied pup was called in with his young owner, and the waiting room was temporarily empty.
I'm going to miss those people. None of us know anything about each other except that we love our dogs. Work, marriage, where we're from, whether we have children, none of that matters. We're dog mo—lovers. Maybe we'll meet again next week at the vet's office.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Another one of those books
A friend recommended I read a novel called "China Doll" by Barbara Jean Hicks because it was about a woman who yearned for children falling in love with a man who didn't want them. So I bought it. 77 cents for the used copy on Amazon.com, almost $4 for shipping. Setting aside the 1960s cover and the general corniness and predictability, plus the in-your-face fundamentalist religion, I've just got to say we've been duped again. By the final page, the woman has adopted a child, the man has fallen in love with both the child and the woman, and they get married and live happily ever after as a "real family." It wasn't all a lost cause because parts of it take place right here where I live, but that doesn't fix things. I don't know about you, but I'm sick of books where the woman who wants a baby gets a baby in the end.
There seem to be two kinds of books out there about childlessness: the "childfree" books that talk about how life is just fine without kids, and "the oh it hurts so much that I can't have babies" books, which usually end happily in birth or adoption.
In real life, sometimes you want a baby, but you don't get one, and you have to live with that fact. Has anyone out there ever read a book that told how it really is? That's what I'm working on. Comments welcome.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
There seem to be two kinds of books out there about childlessness: the "childfree" books that talk about how life is just fine without kids, and "the oh it hurts so much that I can't have babies" books, which usually end happily in birth or adoption.
In real life, sometimes you want a baby, but you don't get one, and you have to live with that fact. Has anyone out there ever read a book that told how it really is? That's what I'm working on. Comments welcome.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Nobody's Mother or dog's mother?
I just read about a relatively new book called "Nobody's Mother: Life Without Kids" by Lynne Van Luven. Teena from Toronto featured it on her blog called "It's All About Me!" Well, there's a good blog title. But I wonder if it also relates to people who are childless by choice. It's all about meeeee, not about some rugrat who's going to take all my time, attention and money. Never mind. I'm biased. But the book does sound interesting. Although I don't think it has too much about being childless by marriage, I'm ordering it and will report on it when I've read it.
Teena from Toronto says she and her husband Gord consider their dog and two cats their "kids." I can't tell you how many childless women have told me they're gaga over their pets. Does this say they really wanted children but preferred the kind you could lock in the back yard when you wanted to go somewhere or didn't want them around?
I don't think that's true for me. I wanted a dog because I adore dogs. Sadie is not a child substitute. If I had 15 kids, I'd still want dogs.
As I think I reported earlier, my dog Sadie has cancer. She's doing pretty well right now, but the doctor has decided more chemo would be too hard on her, so we have a couple months with her at best. Very sad, but we try not to ruin the time we have by thinking too far ahead.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
Teena from Toronto says she and her husband Gord consider their dog and two cats their "kids." I can't tell you how many childless women have told me they're gaga over their pets. Does this say they really wanted children but preferred the kind you could lock in the back yard when you wanted to go somewhere or didn't want them around?
I don't think that's true for me. I wanted a dog because I adore dogs. Sadie is not a child substitute. If I had 15 kids, I'd still want dogs.
As I think I reported earlier, my dog Sadie has cancer. She's doing pretty well right now, but the doctor has decided more chemo would be too hard on her, so we have a couple months with her at best. Very sad, but we try not to ruin the time we have by thinking too far ahead.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Husband? What Husband?
My dog Sadie has cancer. My husband is sick, too, but his symptoms are less dramatic, and I barely notice him. It's all about the dog. I suspect that's how I'd be with children.
Perhaps my husband, Fred, was wise not to make babies with me. He was married before and experienced what it's like to live with a woman who was obsessed with her children. Maybe that's why he ran out and got a vasectomy after that last surprise pregnancy. He knew the mommy gene would take over again and he'd be toast.
During the night, I listen to Sadie breathing. Is she panting? Did she moan? Does she need to go out? I hear every time she shifts positions, her nails clacking on the walls or the floor. I feel her settle at the foot of the bed, pulling half the blanket down. I notice my husband trying to get some covers. Rather than help him, I just scooch down lower and go back to sleep.
First thing in the morning, I hurry out of bed to make Sadie's breakfast, carefully inserting her morning pills, leaving the husband to fill his own cereal bowl. I bake boneless, skinless chicken breasts for the dog, but do you think I'd offer to whip up some waffles for the spouse? Not likely.
"We're out of milk," the husband calls.
"Should have told me before I went to the store," I reply. I don't leave the dog or even look away from her. Milk, schmilk, the dog needs me.
Sadie spends most of her nights and early mornings lying on my bathroom floor. This morning I took my bath with her still there, leaving the door open and my clothes in the other room, doing my darndest not to drip water on her. God forbid I disturb her sleep. If it were Fred, I'd probably have told him, "Get out of here. I need to take a bath."
As I chatter all day long, my husband often asks, "Are you talking to me?"
"No, I'm talking to the dog," I reply in a tone that implies he's an idiot.
I'm constantly asking, "Where's Sadie?" I offer her food and water. If she won't come to her bowl, I bring the bowl to her. I worry over every bite, every pill, every bathroom trip. I pet her and tell her I love her a hundred times a day.
And the husband? He's on his own. I look over and comment, "Your hair looks funny" or "There's a stain on your pants." Do I rush to fix his hair or to find him clean pants? No.
When Sadie opens her eyes, I greet her like the Second Coming. Just now, I heard her coming down the hall. I left the computer to follow her out the door, applauding as she squatted on the grass. "Good pee!" I called. I gave her a treat, then hurried to present her bowl. I barely restrained myself from shoving my coffee-pouring husband out of the way so I could get to the dog food.
I watched every bite she ate, chanting, "Good girl, good girl!" until she had finished eating and settled on the living room rug. I left the husband to eat his healthy cereal and read his book alone. No "Good boy!" for him.
In fact, come to think of it, I have neither wished him a good morning nor touched him lovingly. If I had had children, God help my husband. I mean, look at how I am with the dog? How could he ever compete with a little person who grew inside me?
I recently read about women in Japan who dress their little dogs in tiny cashmere sweaters from the Fifi and Romeo dog boutique and push them around in baby buggies. They're too busy for husbands and kids, they said.
At least I feel guilty about neglecting my husband. But the dog has cancer. That trumps the sniffles every time. So I'll kiss the husband on the head and hunker down on the floor with Sadie. Fred will get his turn later.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
Perhaps my husband, Fred, was wise not to make babies with me. He was married before and experienced what it's like to live with a woman who was obsessed with her children. Maybe that's why he ran out and got a vasectomy after that last surprise pregnancy. He knew the mommy gene would take over again and he'd be toast.
During the night, I listen to Sadie breathing. Is she panting? Did she moan? Does she need to go out? I hear every time she shifts positions, her nails clacking on the walls or the floor. I feel her settle at the foot of the bed, pulling half the blanket down. I notice my husband trying to get some covers. Rather than help him, I just scooch down lower and go back to sleep.
First thing in the morning, I hurry out of bed to make Sadie's breakfast, carefully inserting her morning pills, leaving the husband to fill his own cereal bowl. I bake boneless, skinless chicken breasts for the dog, but do you think I'd offer to whip up some waffles for the spouse? Not likely.
"We're out of milk," the husband calls.
"Should have told me before I went to the store," I reply. I don't leave the dog or even look away from her. Milk, schmilk, the dog needs me.
Sadie spends most of her nights and early mornings lying on my bathroom floor. This morning I took my bath with her still there, leaving the door open and my clothes in the other room, doing my darndest not to drip water on her. God forbid I disturb her sleep. If it were Fred, I'd probably have told him, "Get out of here. I need to take a bath."
As I chatter all day long, my husband often asks, "Are you talking to me?"
"No, I'm talking to the dog," I reply in a tone that implies he's an idiot.
I'm constantly asking, "Where's Sadie?" I offer her food and water. If she won't come to her bowl, I bring the bowl to her. I worry over every bite, every pill, every bathroom trip. I pet her and tell her I love her a hundred times a day.
And the husband? He's on his own. I look over and comment, "Your hair looks funny" or "There's a stain on your pants." Do I rush to fix his hair or to find him clean pants? No.
When Sadie opens her eyes, I greet her like the Second Coming. Just now, I heard her coming down the hall. I left the computer to follow her out the door, applauding as she squatted on the grass. "Good pee!" I called. I gave her a treat, then hurried to present her bowl. I barely restrained myself from shoving my coffee-pouring husband out of the way so I could get to the dog food.
I watched every bite she ate, chanting, "Good girl, good girl!" until she had finished eating and settled on the living room rug. I left the husband to eat his healthy cereal and read his book alone. No "Good boy!" for him.
In fact, come to think of it, I have neither wished him a good morning nor touched him lovingly. If I had had children, God help my husband. I mean, look at how I am with the dog? How could he ever compete with a little person who grew inside me?
I recently read about women in Japan who dress their little dogs in tiny cashmere sweaters from the Fifi and Romeo dog boutique and push them around in baby buggies. They're too busy for husbands and kids, they said.
At least I feel guilty about neglecting my husband. But the dog has cancer. That trumps the sniffles every time. So I'll kiss the husband on the head and hunker down on the floor with Sadie. Fred will get his turn later.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
"Deal with It" article
I just read an interesting article called "We're Here, We're Childless: Deal with It." Writer Mark Edward Manning enumerates the reasons why he has chosen to be childless AND celibate. They include time, money, environment, social life, etc. Read it at http://blogcritics.org/archives/2007/09/09/161829.php and see what you think. Personally, it scares me. I see so many young people deciding not to have children because of the sacrifices involved. But isn't that how it's supposed to be? Besides, kids don't stay babies forever. They grow up into adults like you and me. Read it and let me know what you think.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Who will help in your old age?
Buying plants at the nursery the other day, I noticed the supply was dwindling and asked the young owner if she was preparing to close for winter. It turns out she's preparing to close forever. Her father-in-law has Alzheimer's and she and her husband are moving to Corvallis (about 60 miles away) to help him and his wife. "They need us closer," she said. She seemed to have no doubt about the right thing to do.
When I ask childless women whether they worry about who will take care of them in their old age, most reply that people can't count on their kids to be there anyway. Do you think that's true?
Let me turn this around a bit. Would you uproot your life if your parents needed you? Have you done so or known others who have? Why or why not?
I know what I'd do, but I'd love to hear your answers first.
Sue
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
When I ask childless women whether they worry about who will take care of them in their old age, most reply that people can't count on their kids to be there anyway. Do you think that's true?
Let me turn this around a bit. Would you uproot your life if your parents needed you? Have you done so or known others who have? Why or why not?
I know what I'd do, but I'd love to hear your answers first.
Sue
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
My baby the dog comes first
Sitting at the vet's office early yesterday morning, I watched a woman about my age holding a white poodle to her bosom, patting it just like she would pat a human baby. The pooch, only two years old, has a serious intestinal problem. My dog, Sadie, a 13-year-old shepherd-lab mix, has cancer. She's too big to hold in my lap, but that doesn't stop me from lots of petting and baby talk.
We were all waiting while the vet dealt with a terrier who had been hit by a car.
In my surveys of childless women, I have found that most of them have pets and admit to treating them like babies. These days while my dog is so sick, I have to keep reminding myself not to ignore my husband. I suspect I'd have been the same way with kids. It would be all about the children and the poor husband would be doomed to sloppy seconds.
How many times a day do I speak to the dog and the husband says, "What?" Then I have to explain, "No, I was talking to the dog." Why wasn't I talking to the husband? Is it maternal instinct that makes us place the child or the pet first? If I had to choose between the dog and the husband, would I choose the husband? Ooh, that's a tough one.
Any dog moms out there care to comment on this touchy topic?
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
We were all waiting while the vet dealt with a terrier who had been hit by a car.
In my surveys of childless women, I have found that most of them have pets and admit to treating them like babies. These days while my dog is so sick, I have to keep reminding myself not to ignore my husband. I suspect I'd have been the same way with kids. It would be all about the children and the poor husband would be doomed to sloppy seconds.
How many times a day do I speak to the dog and the husband says, "What?" Then I have to explain, "No, I was talking to the dog." Why wasn't I talking to the husband? Is it maternal instinct that makes us place the child or the pet first? If I had to choose between the dog and the husband, would I choose the husband? Ooh, that's a tough one.
Any dog moms out there care to comment on this touchy topic?
IMPORTANT NOTICE: This blog has moved. Please switch over to the new site at http://www.childlessbymarriageblog.com. All of the old posts have already been transferred over there, and it would make life easier if you would comment at that site. Thank you.
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