The Last Post

If you haven't already heard about it, there is an amazing blogger in Canada who posthumously published one last blog post (read it here).  It is one of the most amazing things I have ever read, and I highly recommend it.

The author, Derek Miller, has been blogging for over 10 years, and didn't stop when he found out he had cancer, or that it was terminal.  His last post has gone viral and it's estimated it has been read over 8 million times.  For me, it is the last line that I'll remember, as he's speaking to his wife.  "I loved you deeply, I loved you, I loved you, I loved you." 

As I've mentioned before, I lost my mother a little over a year ago to cancer.  And underneath the searing pain that still hunts me, is the knowledge that I was loved.  I never worry if my mother would have forgiven me for any mistakes I made along the way, because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she did.  She forgave my mistakes before I even made them.  I can only hope that when it is my time to face the end of my life, that I can do it with the grace and dignity that Mr. Miller showed. 

An Ode to Great Parents

I know that it may seem that I'm very down on children in general.  (When the blog is about being childfree, is that really surprising?)  One of the problems I have with children is that there are a shockingly small number of good parents.  I deal with children and parents quite regularly in my everyday life, and have come to the conclusion that very few people truly are "good parents."

This is, of course, not something you're allowed to say.  In our society, everyone is a good parent.  We go out of our way to reassure people of this from the moment they conceive (or even consider conceiving).  "Oh, you're going to be such a good mom!"  No one ever says, "Hmmm, have you really thought this through?  I mean, you two are nice people, sure, but I'm not so sure how you'll do as parents..."  When you add to this the fact that we have become an over-entitled, "don't judge me" society and, well, things were bound to get interesting. 

Please don't mistake me, I do not think society is going to hell in a hand-basket.  (Okay, I occasionally do, but it's a fleeting thought and I try to remember that people have thought the world was going to hell in a hand-basket from the moment there were people so it's probably not true...)  What I do think is that like everything else people do, parenting requires skill, talent, and effort, and that there are people who are better at it than other people. 

My girlfriend is a great mother, and I admire her every time I see her interact with her child.  I also see how much work she puts into her role as a mother each and every day, and I openly admit that I have no desire to follow in her footsteps.  Perhaps the best thing about my girlfriend is her honesty.  She tells it like it is and will openly state that the past years have not been magical or really even fun.  There's been fun parts, but mostly it's been a great deal of hard work.  (She says she's having more fun now that he's a bit older and they're doing a lot more, and it's easy to see how spending time with her child would be a delightful endeavor.  He has grown into a wonderful little person.) 

I salute good parents everywhere.   I wish there were a lot more of you.

I Am Not Your Babysitter!

Photo by left-hand

The other day at the doctor's office, I had a fun little experience that reminded me how child-centric our society is.  I was reading my book when a grandmother and her two grandchildren, aged 4 and 6, walk in.  (I know their ages, because she loudly told the person she sat beside.) 

The 4 year old, a little girl, walked right up to me and announced, "I have a dress on!"  I gave her a smile and told her that, yes, she did and it was very pretty.  Then I went back to my book.  The little girl proceeded to climb up onto the chair next to me and start to prattle about whatever it is that interests 4 year old people.  I looked up at her grandmother to intervene as I was clearly involved in my book and not interested in babysitting.  The grandmother smiles sweetly at me and says, "Oh, you might as well put your book away, she's going to be your friend!"

Um.  No. 

The child is not mine, at no point did I agree to take on any responsibility for it, and it is not my job to entertain it.   I gave the grandmother a pointed look and went back to my book, ignoring the girl until she got bored and went away. 

Now, I know full well I offended the grandmother.  I also know, from the sighs and muttering around me, that other patients thought I was being rude.  But I maintain that expecting strangers to provide any sort of child care is far more rude than having the stranger refuse to accept the unwanted and unasked for responsibility.  It says rather a lot about the perception people have of their children that they think everyone should want to drop what they're doing to fawn over them.

Mother's Day

I admit it.  I hate Mother's Day.  It a day where the whole world conspires to remind me that I no longer have a mother.  Commercials, friend's Facebook postings, crafts made by children, and storefront displays all gleefully shout that this day is for celebrating mother's.  And my heart breaks a little more at each one, until Mother's Day finally gets here and I'm so shaken and vulnerable inside that I spend the day hiding from more reminders that everyone else out there seems to have a mother or be a mother. 

My mother died a year ago in March of cancer.

I am not yet at the point where memories of my mother are sweet.  While there are happy things that I remember, they don't make me feel happy again.  Instead they stab at my heart with sharp points and remind me keenly of everything I no longer have.  I will be very glad when Mother's Day is over.

An Heir and a Spare

I admit it, I watched a few highlights from the royal wedding.  For about 20 minutes I was glued to my computer looking at pictures and watching short video clips.  I liked the dress.  Then I moved on, because weddings just aren't that fascinating, even my own.  (It took me nearly four years to finish my wedding album, because I got bored looking at wedding photos.)

However, at work that day all the buzz about about the wedding.  And when children would come.  I must admit that I felt a little sorry for William and Catherine.  Apart from not having a choice about having kids, these two will be expected to get to it, post haste.  We no longer live in a time when the monarchy really has to have kids, the country will go on even if they don't.  But even with that it's kind of a foregone conclusion that they will.

There was brief chatter about amending the dated and sexist succession rules to allow women equal rights to rule (and not get skipped over for just about anyone else available with a dangling bit), and that would be nice to see.  Should Will and Kate have a daughter it would be nice if she didn't get immediately forgotten about while everyone waits for the "right" gendered child to come along.  But I still think it's sad that it's an absolute given that these two will procreate.  What if they don't want to?

Jenny McCarthy, medical expert

I'm going to veer a little to the left today, and I don't want to get into the vaccine debate here, but I just read something rather horrifying.  Time has posted as article stating that "24% of parents surveyed recently by the University of Michigan say they place “some trust” in information provided by celebrities such as McCarthy about the safety of vaccines."

The entire article can be found here.

It goes on to say that "Most parents — 76% — ranked their doctor's advice highest, but 67% placed “some” trust in family and friends and 65% trusted parents who thought vaccines had harmed their children. Just 2% of parents trusted celebrities “a lot,” but 24% trusted them to “some” extent."

What?!

This is one of the more terrifying things I have ever read.  Jenny McCarthy is Playboy bunny.  She has shown her hoo-hoo to the world for profit.  She is NOT a researcher, doctor, or scientist.  Why any one would listen to her about anything other than the benefits of bikini waxing absolutely floors me.  Quite frankly, the whole family and friends thing is a little scary, too.  Unless they happen to be medical doctors, researchers, or scientists.  A popular saying in science it that the plural of anecdotes is not data, and when it comes to vaccines most people will throw around their personal experiences.  Or that of their friend.  Or that person they read about once on the interwebs.

I'm generally all for seeking opinions.  But when it comes to the health of a child, not to mention the health of groups of children (herd immunity), opinion should step aside and decisions should be made on evidence. 

Whether a parent vaccinates or not is not the issue here.  There are valid reasons for both choices.  But making that choice based on anything Jenny McCarthy has to say is, well, stupid.   I know there was evidence that parents are deluded (see previous post here), but I just can't believe this many seem to be stupid. 

A Vent

Photo by by Mr. Kimberly

Today I had lunch with my co-workers.  Because people feel no compunction to open the floor to my reproductive choices, I was asked (again) why I didn't want children.  I hate these conversations.  I hate feeling I have to defend myself against something, I hate not being able to actually speak my mind for fear of offending someone...

As an appeal to the general public: The next time you happen to corner some poor individual regarding their choice to procreate the following comments and questions are NOT appreciated.  At all.



1. You'll regret it.
2. You're missing out on a great experience.
3. Who will take care of you when you're old?
4. You'll change your mind.
5. Once you have children, you realize how shallow you were before.
6. You'll never know what love really is.
7. It's good that you know you're too selfish to have kids.
8. What are your going to do with your life?

None of these thing are helpful.  What they are is judgmental and ignorant.  If you can't say something nice, please don't say anything at all.