childless

Stepparenting: A Bummer and a Blessing

Sue Fagalde Lick Being Fruitful Without Multiplying, childfree, childless, effect of children on marriage, raising somebody else's child, stepchildren, stepparenting

In the Childfree community, there’s a lot of talk about how having children can mess up a marriage. Check out the new book Being FruitfulWithout Multiplying or any “childfree” website for lots of testimony from writers who cite that as one of the reasons they didn’t want to have children. There’s no question that having a baby can lead to sleepless nights, attention going to the child instead of each other, endless expenses, and physical and emotional changes.

But what happens when a child from one of the spouse’s previous marriages is thrown into a childless marriage, especially when the other biological parent is still involved in their lives?
1) You find yourself helping to raise a child who has been formed by someone else. Not only do they have the ex’s genes, but they spent their critical early years learning how to walk, talk and think from somebody whose values may be very different from yours.
2) You find yourself responsible for a child you barely know without any experience at being a parent.
3) When conflicts arise, your spouse’s loyalties are divided between the two of you, and sometimes you lose.
4) A serious amount of your money is being used to raise somebody else’s child.
5) The children know you are not the “real” mom or dad and may decide they don’t need to do what you say or worry about your feelings. You and your partner may, no, probably will, quarrel over discipline.
6) On major occasions, such as graduations, weddings and court dates, both biological parents are likely to be there, making you feel left out and barren.
These are just a few of the things that happen. I’ll bet you can add to the list.
But I can make another list of the good things about marrying someone who comes with children from a previous relationship.
1) You go from being single to feeling like part of a real family.
2) You have someone to complain about and brag about when everybody’s talking about their children.
3) Coming in without the baggage of their early years, sometimes you can become a special friend and confidant, a mother without so many rules.
4) You might get to be a grandmother without ever giving birth.
5) You have an opportunity to love and be part of the life of a young person who shares many of the qualities you love about your partner.
6) They might even friend you and send you baby pictures on Facebook.
If for some reason, their biological parent is not in the picture, having died or gotten sick or abandoned them, you may find yourself taking care of these kids full-time and loving them every bit as if they were your own.
I know this is a big issue for a lot of us. We don’t have children mostly because our partners already have these other children. So that’s my list. I’d love to hear what’s on your list.
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You’re probably sick of hearing about it, but if you haven’t gotten my Childless by Marriage book yet, the Kindle e-book version will be available for free Oct. 28-31. That’s this Sunday through Halloween. You don’t have to have a Kindle reader to read it. You can download the free Kindle reading program onto your computer, iPad or whatever.
I can’t afford to give away the paperback for free, but if you promise to post a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or elsewhere, I can send you a free copy. Just email me at sufalick@gmail.com.
Also, my novel Azorean Dreams, which is a Portuguese-American romance with a lot of suspense, will also be available as a free Kindle e-book Oct. 28-31.
Have a great weekend!

Baby pictures?

Sue Fagalde Lick baby pictures, childless, ultrasound

I lay back on the bed in the small dark room at the hospital and stared at the screen. As I have seen in so many TV shows and movies, there was the fuzzy image in the shape of a windshield-wiper swath. My pants were open, coated with gel, and the technician was running a wand over my belly. Although I knew it was impossible, I wanted to see a baby up there.

The image looked just like the screen on our old black and white TV when Dad was up on the roof trying to get the antenna to work. If you stared at it long enough, you started to see things that might be there. In this case, I pretended I could see a fetus. But no, it wasn’t there. One more time, I felt the loss of the children who might have been.

An hour earlier, my doctor had felt something irregular in the area of my left ovary and ordered an immediate ultrasound. The good-looking male technician pointed out my bladder, my uterus, and the places where my ovaries supposedly were, but I couldn’t see them. I sure hoped he could interpret all that black and white fuzz.

Having seen it done so often on TV, the first part of the ultrasound was familiar and physically painless, interesting even. The writer in me was already constructing my prize-winning essay and wondering if I could get a photo to take home. But then he announced Part 2, which consisted of inserting a long wand into my vagina and poking around for a while to get close-up pictures. Not so fun. Do they do this with pregnant women? I have no reference.

The good news is that my doctor ultimately determined that everything was normal. “Normal” is such a beautiful word, isn’t it? I still have all my baby-making equipment, even though they are too old to use. Still room for a miracle.

Or maybe I just had mine.

Manterfield really understands childlessness

Sue Fagalde Lick childless, I'm Taking My Eggs and Going Home, LifeWithoutBaby, Lisa Manterfield

Here’s a book you might want to read.

I’m Taking My Eggs and Going Home by Lisa Manterfield, Steel Rose Press, 2010. This is a memoir that includes all phases of childlessness. Manterfield’s first husband did not want to have children. She was still hoping he’d change his mind when their marriage broke up.

Then she met Jose, who was older, already had children and had had a vasectomy, but he was willing to do whatever it took to have a baby with Lisa, including having surgery to reverse the vasectomy. Surgery complete, Lisa and Jose set about trying to make a baby. They had names picked out and all kinds of plans for little Sophia or Valentino, but she didn’t get pregnant. Ultimately, Lisa had to accept that she might never be a mother and that maybe life without children could be all right.

Wherever you’re at on the childless spectrum, I suspect you will identify with this book. It is well-written, well-researched and suspenseful enough to hold the reader from beginning to end. It’s a welcome addition to the literature of childlessness.

There’s more. Manterfield blogs at LifeWithoutBaby.wordpress.com. She also has a fantastic video on her childless experience at http://lisamanterfield.com. It will make you smile and feel less alone.

Have you ever felt this?

Sue Fagalde Lick baby craving, childless, need to hold a baby

I’m in church playing the piano for 5:30 Mass. A baby has been gurgling and whining throughout the Mass, and now I hear him letting out a wail. His mother is standing in the aisle bouncing him. Suddenly out of nowhere I have this bone deep physical need to hold a baby. I’m not even sure I know how, but I need to. When I realize that it’s unlikely I’ll ever have the chance to do that—I’m estranged from my stepchildren and step-grandchildren and live far from my niece and nephew—I just want to wail.

I lose all track of what’s going on in the Mass for a moment because it hits me so hard. I look back on the last 26 years with my husband and think “What happened?” I was married, then alone, then married and now I’m alone again. I have no babies to hold. I don’t think there’s any amount of compensation or redirecting of mother energy that can counteract that physical need.

I know there are childless women who claim they have never felt a desire for children and don’t expect to ever feel it. God bless them. But for me and maybe for you, it’s such a deep physical need that no amount of logic will make it disappear. It’s a loss which I will always grieve. Just as I miss my mother, miss touching her, miss the way she smelled and the sound of her voice, I miss the children I never had.

It’s like when you’re so hungry that you can’t think of anything else. You can’t talk it away. You need food or you will die.

I’m thinking maybe it’s time to stop writing about being childless and go find someplace where I can hug babies. Who is going to let this 50-something childless stranger hug their children? Mothers would see me as a threat. I can hug puppies, but not human babies.

I tune back into the Mass in time to play the next song, but the feeling that something’s missing lingers.

Do you ever feel this way?

One of those dreams

Sue Fagalde Lick baby dreams, childless

I had another baby dream. I was having babies, twins, a boy and a girl. I went to the hospital and was escorted to a birthing room. A doctor gave me a shot that numbed my legs. I realized I didn’t have anything at home for the babies, nor would they fit in my car. My husband had picked out names I didn’t like. But he wouldn’t listen to me.

A friend came in, and I showed her the babies by shining a flashlight on my belly. You could clearly see them, the girl facing me, the boy facing away. I could see their hearts glowing red. The girl talked to me in plain English.

All the staff went away. I felt the boy start coming out. I screamed for help, but nobody came. I was trying to hold the baby in when I woke up and realized there was no baby. Again.

Over the years, I have had lots of baby dreams, most of them not quite this strange. But I wake up certain that my breasts are full of milk. I feel my flat belly and can’t believe there’s no baby in there.

Do you have dreams like this? Do they ever stop? Do mothers have this kind of dreams, too?

Childless Fourth of July

Sue Fagalde Lick childless, fireworks, Fourth of July

It’s a drizzly Fourth of July on the Central Oregon Coast, which does not bode well for the planned parades and fireworks, but I’m content to stay home and enjoy a good book, maybe watch a video. I do worry about the puppies not getting out to play, but they’ll be all right.

If I had children around, it would be a different story. After all, aren’t they the ones who get the most excited about Fourth of July? The food, the fun, the fireworks are all new and thrilling to them. We have something in the nearby town of Yachats called the La De Da Parade. Anybody can join in, the sillier the better. If we had kids, could we deny them the privilege? In a tiny town like Yachats, they might well be representing their scout troop, their school, their dog club, their swim team, whatever. I might even be walking with them in the rain from the Commons around the downtown streets and back. Rain or not, that’s what moms do, right?

When my husband and I attend the parade, we watch from the sidelines, then skedaddle to a nearby restaurant for a romantic lunch for two, eating seafood croissants at a table overlooking the bay while all those parents and kids scramble to reunite and find something cheap to eat before dashing off to other holiday events, all of which will culminate in finally opening the big box of fireworks the second it gets dark.

As a non-mom, I can choose to stay home and do nothing special. I don’t even have to watch fireworks. I can just close my eyes and remember the many fireworks displays I have seen before: at the Calgary Stampede, at Great America, at Disneyland, at the Bees Stadium in San Jose after the baseball game, and so many other places. I can even track back to my own childhood. We could see the big fireworks show from Buck Shaw Stadium from our driveway. Dad set off smaller fireworks from the red, white and blue box Mom had bought earlier in the week. My little brother and I watched, swirling sparklers around, painting pictures of light in the darkness. I can still smell the smoke, hear the crackle, whoosh and bang of the Roman candles and firecrackers, and see the bright colors flashing in the street. The whole neighborhood came out, the summer nights were deliciously cool, and it was so much fun.

If I had children, I couldn’t deny these experiences to them—or to myself. It would be like getting a chance to relive my own childhood and share the best parts of it with a new generation. Although I’m not sad to stay in on this rainy holiday, I am aware once again that my life as a childless woman is different from the lives of those who have children and grandchildren, different from the life I could have had.

I’m wearing red, white and blue. Why not? It’s Fourth of July. Have a happy holiday and do something to delight the kid in you.

No one in line behind me

Sue Fagalde Lick childless, dynasty, family tree, older generation dying

My Uncle Don, Dad’s brother, died recently. I’ll be heading to San Jose for a Celebration of Life for him and Aunt Gen later this month. Today I found myself inviting my stepson to join me. Not like it’s going to be fun, but I suddenly really wanted a son or daughter keeping me company. You see, in the usual scheme of things, life goes in a circle. The old ones die, but young ones take their places. In middle age, we watch our grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles die and we are sad, but there’s a whole new generation behind us to give us hope for the future.

That’s not the case for me. My family is shrinking. There’s no one coming up behind me. I looked through our wedding album the other day and realized that many of the people who were there have died. So many. I look for the next generation, and no one is there because I never had children.

I didn’t mean to make this so sad, but it’s a sad time lately. Too many people in my life are dying or terminally ill. With no children to give me hope for the future, I turn to stepchildren and puppies. It’s not the same, but it’s something.

My uncle and aunt had five children and seven grandchildren. They created a small dynasty which will continue to grow. Fred and I have not done that. He had three children, but none of them are mine, and only one has ever had any children. The others don’t plan to marry or procreate. It’s their business, but they have no idea how lonely it will feel as they attend all those funerals and take up fewer and fewer seats.

Taking a deep breath, we have to accept that some of us are the trunk of the family tree and some of us are the ends of the branches. Most of us have a choice which we want to be. Choose carefully. You get more sun at the tip of the branch, but it’s lonely out there.

The Non-Mom Club

Sue Fagalde Lick childfree, childless, Non-mom club, vasectomy, yoga

The other day at yoga class, I discovered that Nancy, who exercises next to me, never had children either. It wasn’t a long discussion. While the mom-types were talking about their kids, she muttered something about not having done that. I said, “So you didn’t have children either?” She said, “Nope,” and that was it. No more discussion needed. It was time to cross our legs and walk our hands forward, stretching out our backs and focusing on our nasal breathing. Leave everything else outside. Let it go, the teacher said. Later I discovered she’d never had children either. Same story as mine. Husband with kids, vasectomy, not wanting any more.

But now it was time for yoga. We bent, we breathed. We spoke no more. Without knowing why or what had happened to make Nancy a non-mother, I felt less lonely and realized that although I will never be an official member of the Mom Club, I am part of an ever-growing Non-Mom club, women who for whatever reason never had children. At this point, among women over 40, that’s approximately 25 percent of us. Wherever I go, aside from obvious child-centered places like schools and kiddie playgrounds, I’m going to find others like me. It was a good and comforting feeling.

All I really know about Nancy is that she’s a nurse at the local hospital, currently cross-training to work in pre-op. She has a perfect figure but uncontrollable curly hair, and she is more flexible than I am. She can get her head all the way to the floor. Oh, and she has the most beautiful flowered green yoga mat.

There’s got to be a better name for the Non-Mom club, something more mellifluous. Help me out with a name. I’m won’t accept the “Childfree Club” because some of us really wanted children and feel the loss. But the “Childless Club” sounds so sad and doesn’t include those who are just fine with not having kids.

Whatever we’re called, we didn’t have children. However we feel about it, we’re in good company.

Thanks, Nancy.

Where’s the Nursery?

Sue Fagalde Lick childless, husbands who don't want children, menopause, nursery

“Dream House,” the slender file was labeled. I remembered it well, a 1968 home economics assignment filed away in a cabinet covered with bumper stickers for PBS, ecology groups, and local newspapers.
It was a great house, done up in bright red, green and yellow. I had an office, a darkroom, a craft room and a gallery, lots of bathrooms, a living room, kitchen, and bedroom, everything except a nursery. At 16, it never occurred to me to allot space for children. My home was a glorified office complex with living quarters attached.
The rest of the folder includes plans for a build-it-yourself desk and craft ideas for the kitchen and den. No nurseries or bunk beds.
Why didn’t I think about a place for children? I couldn’t have known that 35 years later I’d enter menopause without giving birth, that the equipment that caused me killer cramps every 28 days would never serve any purpose, that I would be married twice to men who wouldn’t or couldn’t have kids, that my only mothering experiences would be dog-mothering or step-mothering. I couldn’t possibly have known all that. I was not one of those teens who decide early that she doesn’t even want to have children. And, although I claim a bit of ESP, I don’t think that was involved here.
Perhaps I was just innocent. There’s no space for a husband in that house either. A late bloomer, I didn’t start dating until I was in college. By the time a man showed up at the door to take me on a date, my parents were so relieved they didn’t even consider imposing a curfew or giving him the third degree. But I daydreamed like every other teen of boys and men falling in love with me, wanting to marry me. Did I not realize that relationships with men usually led to children, or at least they did back in the ’60s? Love, marriage, baby carriage. I didn’t know much about sex, but I think I knew that much.
So why at 16 didn’t I leave space in my dream house for children? Why did I just seek work space?
I was a kid who “mothered” baby dolls, toddler dolls, Barbie dolls, stuffed animal dolls, enough dolls to cover my entire double bed. I gave them all names, carried them around with me, made them clothes, talked to them all the time, and grieved when they got torn or bent. I called myself their Mommy.
At the same time, I was in full wife and mother training. I learned how to cook and sew and clean. Mom had me washing, drying and ironing clothes by the hamper-full. By the time I was 10, I could copy her famous chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. By 15, I could prepare a full dinner. I could also knit, crochet, embroider and sew. Whatever other career I might pursue, my main life’s work would be the same as my mother’s: caring for a husband, home and children.
So why didn’t I put a nursery in my dream house?
Had I already decided that since I had had no dates at 16, nobody would ever ask me out, so I might as well plan life as a creative spinster? I don’t think so. As a 30-year-old divorcee whose life was all about work, I thought that, but not when I was in high school. I had crushes on several boys and at least one teacher, and I was berserk over Paul McCartney. But a nursery? Babies? I wasn’t thinking about that. Do most 16-year-olds think about babies in that window between playing with dolls and real-life pregnancy? Maybe that’s why so many teens get pregnant by accident. They don’t see it as something that might really happen to them.
I have always wanted a terrific office. Nurseries are pretty and soft and warm and smell of baby powder, but I have never seen myself belonging in one. I wanted to fit in; babies are God’s most amazing creation, but maybe I always knew he had another plan for me, a plan that required an office.
They say that the way you envision your life is the way it will turn out. If I had drawn a nursery into my dream house, would I be a mother and grandmother now? I’ll never know because it never occurred to me at 16.
Just as most of my classmates never thought about including an office in their dream houses. What for?
Perhaps this pencil diagram in an old folder in an old file cabinet contains the key to why I never became a mother. I could blame husband number one for not wanting them or husband number two for not wanting any more than the ones he already had. I could attribute my childless state to persistent use of birth control. But the truth, somehow, is that I always wanted an office, not a nursery. And that’s what I got.

As always, your comments are welcome.
Sue

Copyright 2007 Sue Fagalde Lick

These Dolls are Too Much Work!

Sue Fagalde Lick Betsy Wetsy, Bratz, Chatty Cathy, childless, dolls, Fred Meyer, Wal-Mart


In the toy department at Fred Meyer’s last week, I watched as a mother dragged her daughter over to the doll department and asked her to choose which color stroller she wanted. The girl, maybe 7 years old, wearily said she’d take the purple one.
I have been researching dolls for my book on childless women. I knew what we had when I was a child, but not what kids are playing with now. Only a childless woman with no little kids in her life would have to rely on Google and trips to Wal-Mart and Freddies to find out what dolls are hot now. I felt like a spy, whispering into my little voice recorder as I roamed the aisles. Keep in mind I live in a small town. We don’t have a Toys R Us.
Thank God there are still plenty of baby dolls, but some of them do so much I can see how they’d wear a little girl out. The first ones I saw, on the end display, actually defecate. Seriously. They come with fake food, fake poop and fake diapers, which I suppose one has to replenish on a regular basis. Who decided that was fun?
Other dolls drink and wet, just like good old Betsy Wetsy of the 50s. Water goes in one hole and out the other. The baby dolls close their eyes when they lie down and open them when tilted upward. Some are programmed to randomly wake up giggling or crying. Some say a few words. They come with lots of accessories, including diapering supplies, bottles and food, play pens, car carriers, strollers, and sleeping bags. You’d need a station wagon to carry all their stuff around.
However, these dolls are awfully cute and lifelike. In addition to pressing all the “try me” buttons, I wanted to scoop one out and hug it. I guess that’s why I still have my Chatty Cathy doll, pictured above. She speaks as if she’s had a stroke now, but I still enjoy her company.
There are plenty of older dolls these days, referred to as “fashion dolls.” These include the Bratz line that has been demeaned for teaching shallow values. I don’t know; I think they’re cute, although their huge painted-on eyes are kind of strange. We also have lots of Dora dolls. And Barbie’s still around, slightly more realistic-looking than she was in the ’60s.
Most girls enjoy dressing their dolls and pretending to send them to school or parties or into glamorous careers. Kids get to practice for real life. I don’t see a problem with that, although many of the childless women I have interviewed claimed they never liked to play with dolls. Foreshadowing their future?
It’s encouraging that today’s dolls come in multiple ethnicities. On the other hand, it worries me that so many of them come with names, prefab dialogue and written histories. I think one of the best parts of play is using one’s imagination. Let the little girls name their own dolls and make up their own stories. That’s part of the fun, having those conversations that start, “Let’s say we’re going to the store and . . . ”
In addition to the many dolls, Wal-Mart and Freddies offered lots of stuffed animals, including a parrot that never shut up, and a dog that supposedly lifted its leg and peed if you pushed the right button. Again, like the defecating doll, a little too real.
I’m happy to report that there are still plenty of dolls, and they’re not going to corrupt our society’s children.
As a woman who never finished growing up, I kind of want one. Is that why we get pets? An adult woman doesn’t look half as crazy cuddling a terrier as she does holding a Little Mommy doll—unless of course she can find an actual little girl to play with.

Copyright 2007 Sue Fagalde Lick