Pitter Patter

This post is the product of an ongoing internal rant, and was triggered by reading this. It’s one of those topics that really gets me going, so be warned: Ms. Rose is about to have a bit of a controversial rant. Look away while you still can…

Why is it that, as soon as a couple starts shooting out the babies, they become determined to persuade other couples to follow suit? “When will we get to see the little x-es?” [raised eyebrows], “You have to start sometime!” [snigger snigger], “You’re not getting any younger!” [hardy har har]. And this from people who hated being harassed about this as much as I do only a few months earlier. Sometimes I want to write it off as a form of jealousy or spite, something along the lines of ‘Let’s see how good you look with bags under your eyes and vomit on your sweater’. But that doesn’t quite cover it somehow.

First off, let me tell you: I’m not allergic to kids. I’ve spent a great deal of my life around them, actually. Especially around babies: there are three of ‘em out there I can partially ‘put to my name’, meaning I spent virtually every day with them for the first year and a half of their precious little lives. I know about bathing, burping, feeding and diapers. I’m somewhat of an expert on colic, teething and diaper rash. I’ve heard first words and seen first steps. I’ve been there for the birthday cakes…And I know what they’re like when they grow up as well, lots of my friends have kids. But I’m not drawn to experiencing any of these stages first hand, from pregnancy –via childbirth, lest we forget– all the way to teens and beyond. It’s just not me. I have my reasons.

And, frankly, that should be good enough. There’s no need to get superior with me because you have a few months’ experience of being a parent. Sure, I get that it’s entirely different when they’re your own. And I know it’s something I’ll never understand unless I have them (guess not, then). And I realize that, by choosing not to have any, I’ll be missing out on a whole dimension in life.

But has it ever occurred to you that, by choosing to have them, you might also be missing out on a dimension? A childless couple or single person will always be different from a couple or a single person with kids –I’m not saying better! Just different. There are things we can do that you simply can’t –not until they leave home, anyway. Our time and our minds are our own. We can travel, devote more time to self development and to our relationships. And so the outcome will naturally be different. We’ll doubtless be more self involved. But that’s ok, isn’t it? It takes all kinds of people to walk this earth…

The bottom line: I know you wouldn’t want to trade lives with me and that you can’t imagine a life without kids. And that’s brilliant, it really is. But vice versa: I can’t imagine a life with them (or I can, but I don’t want to). I love watching them play and talk and giggle. But, afterwards, I’m happy to go home to my own life. I wouldn’t dream of second guessing your choices, or of making judgements on how your lives turned out. All I’d like is the same courtesy from you.

Mr. Considerate

The Spanish are such a considerate people, it’d bring tears to your eyes. This morning at around six o’clock, I became aware of a neighbour shouting into his mobile phone on his little balcony across from mine. Ah, I thought, he’s out there so as not to wake the wife. Would you just look at him? Braving these Mediterranean nighttime temperatures –must have been less than 20C– in his T and boxers, arms crossed and recrossed over his chest as he walked the length of the balcony over and over again, directing his boom box voice first to one half of the neighbourhood, then to the other (wouldn’t want to be unfair now, would he?). One one of his laps, he stepped onto the cat’s tail, who issued a loud and mangled screech. In response to which the downstairs dog started to bark, followed by the three or four other dogs in the area. Every one of them determined to have the last word/bark, they kept at it well after Mr. Considerate had retreated back indoors –to prepare a three course breakfast for the missus, no doubt.

Ahhhhhh…Sunday morning in Spain.