The Baby in the Back Row

Sue Fagalde Lick Uncategorized

At the library for our monthly writers’ meeting, I hear a voice behind me calling my name. I turn and blink, trying to recognize this young woman with a baby attached to her by what looks like an overgrown scarf. I won’t remember her name until later, but I know she was one of my best students. She was writing about motherhood. It comes back to me. The last time I saw her, she was pregnant, and I was editing her proposal for a book about birthing plans. But that was—this is a different baby. She has three, I think. Then I discover this pudgy-faced Gerber baby is number four. The oldest is six. Oh. What do you say? He’s beautiful. I love his tiny coveralls and the soft brown fuzz on his head. As our guest speaker talks, every now and then he gurgles a loud amen, and when we write, he seems to be studying the page, thinking hard.

Although wearing the glassy-eyed stare of someone who rarely gets enough sleep, my student seems content and bonded to her baby.

In the front row, another young woman, very young, has the same translucent, puffy look of a new mother. She clutches what looks like a blanket in her lap. Later I’ll learn that it’s her jacket. She’s struggling to write about her recent experience giving her baby up for adoption. Like me, she keeps looking at the baby in the back row.

Afterward, I talk to my student, catching up. Yes, she is still writing when she can. She knows all about me from reading my newsletter. “How’s Annie?” she asks. My dog. “Good,” I say.

I get busy helping to put away the chairs. At home, as I relax into my big chair in front of the TV, Annie jumps into my lap, all 60 pounds of her. She keeps trying to lick my face. I pull her close and pet her soft fur. “Oh, baby, let’s just watch American Idol, okay?”

Even here they ask

Sue Fagalde Lick childlessness, mom club

At my husband’s nursing home yesterday, we shared a red-clothed table with a mother and daughter for the Valentine’s Day party. It wasn’t much of a party. Most of the residents were napping. Those of us who were awake ate cupcakes, jelly beans, M&M’s, and those little sugar hearts with writing on them. I sang songs and played my guitar, and we played a little bingo with the sugar hearts. Actually, the activities director, the daughter and I played bingo, and Fred and the mom sat while we pushed candies around their cards. The mom, Jean, has been in a mood lately. She used to be very talkative and always got up to sing and dance when anyone played music. But now she just sat there in her red sweater, frowning. Her daughter, dressed identically in red and black, sang with me as we tried to keep this slow party going.

After I had won my second round of Bingo and eaten another heart, Jean suddenly surprised me. “How many kids do ya have?” she asked.

I stared and saw her staring back intently. “I don’t have any children,” I said. I felt so disloyal to my husband, not acknowledging the stepchildren. But he was my link to them, and the link is broken. “He has three,” I said,” pointing to Fred. Jean went back to her silence as an aide started setting tiny glasses of milk on the tables in preparation for dinner. The daughter and I exchanged looks. Time to go.

I wonder what would have happened if I did have children to talk about.

Is That What I was Supposed to Do?

Sue Fagalde Lick family photos

I received a CD-rom from my cousins yesterday. It contained more than 1,300 family photos. The note promised pictures from several weddings, including my own, major birthday parties for family members, showers, holidays and more. Oh boy, I thought, eager to relive the old days with so many loved ones who have passed away.

There was some of that, but most of the pictures were of my cousins and their kids. Three cousins, five kids, three spouses of the kids at every age from newborn to young adult. So many group photos. Moms pregnant, moms at baby showers, moms holding their babies, moms, dads and grandparents with tiny gap-toothed kids of varying heights. The passing generations of parents to children to their children. Soon these young adults will be having their own offspring, and the cyle will go on with baby pictures, first communions, graduations, weddings, and more baby pictures. Of course the people who took the pictures, cousins whom I treasure even though I rarely see them, would focus mostly on their own families. My own photo albums have pictures of my family, although lately I haven’t taken very many.

These days, my photos tend to be of old barns, flowers, bridges, trees, and dogs. If I had children, I suppose I’d be snapping photos of them incessantly and proudly foisting them on relatives who would display them on their pianos, end tables and bookshelves. But I don’t have that kind of photos. A few stepchild photos here and there, but not many.

I did find some wonderful shots on the CD-rom of my grandmother, my mother and aunts and uncles who have passed away. There were a couple from my wedding and some that showed me the way I used to look. So young! I will save these pictures and love them. But the generations stop with me. I don’t fit into the family picture the way my cousins do. I’m different. It makes me sad.

Do you know what I mean? Do you feel that way sometimes? Like the one looking on from afar?

Taking Chico away

Sue Fagalde Lick Annie and Chico, grandchild cravings, Willamette Humane Society

My baby dog is gone. I surrendered him to the Willamette Humane Society last weekend–on his 23-month birthday. It hurt bad. I cried so much I made myself sick. I know there’s no real comparison between this and giving up a human baby for adoption, but that’s how it felt. I know we’ll both be better off, but it’s so hard. I drove to Salem with this handsome dog on the seat beside me. I pet him and talked to him. At the rest stop, he behaved perfectly, as he had for the last 24 hours. Was I really doing this? Could I really do this? I did. The moment I reached the counter, a woman took my dog away. I stayed to fill out papers, acknowledging that the shelter will not provide updates on his status. He is no longer mine. I drove home alone.

Now it’s just his sister Annie and me. I hope not to torture you dear readers with more about this dog situation. For now anyway.

*****
On the way to Salem, we followed a school bus for a while. I found myself waving at the children inside. Although I have never craved the company of children before, suddenly I find myself wanting to be around them. I don’t want to be pregnant now. My old body couldn’t take the strain. Is it some deep-seated instinct to be a grandmother now that I’m truly a grandmotherly age? Is it that the old people around me are dying and I want a sign of new life coming up like the bulbs pushing through the dead vines in my garden? I wonder if even women who choose to be childless feel a little twinge sometimes, a need to hold a tiny hand and see life through a child’s eyes.

Go, Melissa!

Sue Fagalde Lick giving up children for a man, men who don't want children, Thirtysomething

I have been watching reruns of the 1980s TV show “Thirtysomething”. It’s interesting to see how issues such as childlessness were treated 20 years ago. Some things have changed, but some have definitely stayed the same.

In one episode, “career gal” Elyn asked her motherly friend Hope if it would be terrible if she never had kids. She wasn’t sure she wanted them. Shocking disclosure. One might notice that she didn’t cozy up to Hope’s baby Janie.

Melissa, on the other hand, adored Janie and always had her in her arms. She ached for a child of her own and even suggested she might have one without a husband. Then along came the handsome Dr. Bob. Their romance developed quickly. He looked like “the one.” Melissa loved his daughter Robyn, played by a very young Kellie Martin. Eventually the subject of having children together came up. It was an awkward conversation, along the lines of: I know we’re not at that place yet, but hypothetically . . . , if, maybe, someday, how would you feel about having more children?

Alas, Dr. Bob had decided long ago that Robyn was more than enough. He did not want to go through that experience again.

Well, now what does Melissa do? At first she tries not to react, telling him and herself, it’s early, there’s time to change his mind. Still, he doesn’t seem to want to talk about it, and his response never varies: Robyn is enough for me. Maybe he’ll change his mind, Melissa persists. “No, he won’t!” I’m shouting at the TV. A man of Dr. Bob’s age who says he does not want children won’t change his mind.

Finally Melissa presses him again for a definite answer, and he gives it to her: no more kids. Her response is one of the best exit lines I have heard. “I think me and my eggs will be moving on.” And away she goes. I am so proud of her. Too many of us are so desperate for a man that we agree to give up children just to keep the man.

Not that Dr. Bob is a bad guy; he’s just the wrong guy for Melissa. Perhaps we should introduce him to Elyn.

Pink Draft is Done

Sue Fagalde Lick childless by marriage

I finished the latest draft of my Childless by Marriage book this week. Some tweaking and I will be ready to market the book, as well as excerpts and related stories. I call this “the pink draft,” printed on pink paper so I can tell it apart from the other drafts.

I have interviewed many women and a few men over the past decade. Some are childless by choice, but lots of them tell tales of motherhood thwarted by husbands and boyfriends or delayed until it was too late. I will be trying to contact these women to find out what has happened since we talked and make sure it’s still okay to use their comments. For some folks, the contact information I have is no longer valid. If I interviewed you for my book, please e-mail me privately at suelick@casco.net.

Let us work together to make sure the world knows what it’s really like for us.

Thanks for reading this blog and for your many comments. We will go on indefinitely.

Talk about pressure

Sue Fagalde Lick childlessness in India; Kid in a Kit, pressure to conceive

Those of us in the US and UK may feel a bit pressured sometimes because we don’t have children, but it’s a lot worse in some other countries. India offers some particularly painful examples. A woman contacted me a year or so ago to tell me about her situation. She had not been able to conceive. Doctors found nothing wrong with her; her husband refused to be tested. Her in-laws persecuted her constantly over the lack of children. They didn’t care that she was highly educated and a college professor. If she wasn’t a mother, she had failed.

A more shocking case made the news last month. An Indian woman was harassed so badly over her failure to produce children that she finally kidnapped six male infants. When one of them died, she abandoned him, but her husband didn’t know the children weren’t his and was quite pleased–until she got caught. Read about it in this article from the UK’s Telegraph or this piece from Calcutta.

A different kind of pressure has inspired the creation of the fake “Kid in a Kit.” Intended for office workers who feel cheated by the moms and dads who get extra time off for parenting duties, the kit includes photos of a child, kid-type artwork, faux doctors’ notes, and sample excuses to get out of work. Fun!

You never know what a childless woman will do. 🙂

Dog trouble

Sue Fagalde Lick Chico and Annie, dog attack

More dog tales, you say? Sorry. It will be over soon.

I brought my dog Chico back from the kennel last Tuesday. He and his sister Annie did not get along at first, but within 24 hours, they were best friends again. Worse, I fell in love with the big lug all over again. He kept jumping the fence, but he kept coming home, too, and I loved greeting him at the back door.

Over Christmas, I took him back to the kennel because I knew I’d be gone most of the time.

I knew I still needed to find him a new home. People who had seen my flyers or the ad in the paper called about Chico. One woman was so eager she agreed to drive over an hour round trip to meet Chico at the kennel. Well, he got so excited he almost pulled me down the hill, and the poor woman, who was grieving the loss of her Yorkie, decided he was too much for her. Oh well. Since I was there, I brought him home.

This time we all made friends much more quickly. I started thinking maybe I ought to keep my dog. But I don’t think that anymore. Not after today.

Today a prospective new owner showed up around lunchtime. I had both dogs in the house and didn’t have time to stash them outside or in the laundry room. When the door opened, both dashed out and ran away. This kind man actually cleaned part of my clogged gutter–in the rain–while I tried to get the pups back. Finally he said he’d come back later. It didn’t bother him that Chico ran off or that he jumped as high as his head in his excitement. He seemed like the kind of man who could handle a big dog.

It took me an hour and a half to find my dogs and get them into the car. Both were covered with mud. All three of us were soaked. About 10 minutes later, the man returned with his dog, a slightly smaller Chico lookalike. Same breed even: half Lab, half pit bull. Chico almost tore my arm off trying to get to the door. The man and his dog came in. Once the door was shut, I let Chico go. Mistake. He went after that dog with every intention of killing him. He latched on and wouldn’t let go as the dog screeched. Somehow I got bitten on the leg in middle of the action. It took forever for Chico to let go. The man quickly removed his dog, saying he was sorry. Crying, I exiled my dog, cleaned my wound and considered taking him to the animal shelter immediately. Who is going to want a dog that attacks other animals and may attack people, too? He even scared me, even though now he’s as loving as ever. When he pulls with all his strength, I can’t hold him. He still jumps the fences, and if he bites someone, I’m in trouble. So Chico has to go. I called the shelter, leaving a message that I needed to “surrender” my dog.

My baby has to go to jail, unless some strong, easy-going person with no other pets and a fence that Chico can’t jump or climb steps forward this week. Damn. Sometimes being the only human in the house stinks.

He’s baaaack

Sue Fagalde Lick Chico and Annie

More dog tales. What does this have to do with being childless? For some of us, our dogs are our only children.

I was right about not bringing my exiled dog Chico back home. He immediately jumped the fence again, shaking off his sister’s eager gestures to stay and play. I left the gate open and he eventually came back. Now I’ve got both dogs in the house, but they aren’t getting along. I don’t know what Chico told his smaller sibling in dog talk, but first she was hiding in the kitchen while he took up all the warm space in front of the pellet stove. Then, while I practiced piano music for Christmas, she disappeared. I found her on my bed in the dark. Hiding. Suddenly my alpha dog, the one I intend to keep, is slinking around the corners with her tail tucked between her legs.

The two used to be inseparable, but the bond seems to have broken during their time apart. Chico, distant with me at first, is now following me everywhere. I find myself suddenly defensive of Annie and anxious to ship him off to somewhere else. I have no more motherly feelings for him. He’s an animal and a problem. They still have room for him at the kennel, and I’m thinking of taking him there for Christmas Eve and Christmas. After that, I hope my prayers for a new owner are answered. He can’t live at the kennel forever.

On the way home from the kennel, we visited one woman who was interested. She had an old black Lab and four cats. I had my doubts. As soon as I opened the car door, Chico jumped out and pounced on the Lab. That was the end of that.

Folks at the kennel tell me that aside from destroying his blanket, Chico behaved well. He even took his first bath peacefully.

Now he’s sleeping on the floor next to my desk. Annie is still on my bed. What will happen when I try to feed them? Dare I leave them together in the laundry room tonight? What about tomorrow, when I have to go out?

Ring, phone, ring.