How old is too old?

Sue Fagalde Lick childbirth over 30, childbirth over 40

Once upon a time, I was married and got divorced without having children. I married again later and didn’t have children, but that’s not the point of this story. At the time I became a divorcee, or what my mother used to call a grass widow, I was 28 years old. That seems young now, but I was truly concerned about whether I still had a chance to have children. I even checked a book out of the library about childbirth over age 30. That was 1980. In those days, most women still gave birth before their 30th birthday. Things have changed a lot.

This came to mind this week because of a New York Times piece offering statistics about women and pregnancy. Most of it referred to the fact that the majority of pregnant women work up to their ninth month and come back to work soon after the birth, but the stat that caught my attention said that the percentage of first births to women age 30 and older had increased from 4 percent in 1970 to 24 percent in 2000. They don’t go into the reasons, but we all know that women are waiting longer. Many want to get established in their careers before they jump onto the mommy train. Back in 1970, being a mother was the career for most women. They went to college to earn their MRS degree and shortly after the nuptials, they were having babies.

Experts say women’s ability to conceive starts decreasing in their mid-30s, but many women these days figure they can wait until 40 or even a little later to have children. For some it’s no problem. A few get surprised by early menopause. Others count on in vitro fertilization, surrogate mothers and other medical maneuvers to shore up their aging ovaries.

So, is 40 the new 30? Is there some wisdom to having children when you’re younger so you have more energy to take care of them? Is it worth the risk of waiting until you’re older and more settled in your life, even though it might be more difficult to conceive? How old is too old to have children? What do you think?

Bringing things back to the subject of being childless by marriage, if you’re dating, engaged or married to a man who says he doesn’t want children, do you have time to change his mind or should you move on because the clock is ticking?

Here’s one more statistic to ponder from a collection of facts and figures posted online last month: of the nearly 1 billion women in the world aged 40 or older, 8 percent are estimated to be childless. That compares to almost 25 percent in the U.S. Hmm.

I’d love to hear your comments.

Bye bye, doggie

Sue Fagalde Lick dog momma, parenting pets

Alas, Halle the dog has gone back to the SafeHaven shelter. I guess I could say I failed as a dog parent, or perhaps she was a juvenile delinquent and I didn’t have the strength to straighten her out. I feel terrible.

I wonder if I care so much because I don’t have human children, only dogs. Without a dog, I feel lost. This dog was such a crazy, happy, loving creature, but I could not sit down or go to bed without having to constantly fight her off. When she wasn’t chewing up my things, she was jumping on me and chewing on me. It was like trying to sleep with an alligator in the room.

I tried all the techniques recommended by the experts. Put her in the crate, send her outside, regulate her food, knock her down every time she jumps, ignore her when she misbehaves, and limit the cuddling time so that she knows who’s “the momma dog.” That’s what the trainer who came to our house said I had to be, “the momma dog.”

Well, this momma dog can’t do the tough love thing.

My husband wants to get another dog right away. But like most dads, he wasn’t the one dealing with the bad behavior, trying to get this crazed animal to settle down at night, worrying about her food, her health, her need to go outside.

I need a break, time to stop grieving for my old friend Sadie, time to accept that Halle could not replace her. You don’t buy a new best friend for a hundred bucks and assume you’ll have the same kind of relationship. Let’s just think of this as a two-week visit by an unruly guest. We had some good times, but she had to go home. We were crying, but Halle actually seemed quite content back in her old cage.

By now, you’re asking, “How does this relate to childlessness?” I think many of us who don’t have children put all our parenting energies into our pets. But I can also compare this to trying to adopt a troubled teen without having raised a child from birth, without having had any input in his early years, without having the experience to know what to do when he turns on you.

A friend bought me an Easter lily because I was sad about losing my dog. Nobody has ever bought me a lily before. Lilies are what adult children buy for their aging mothers on Easter because they feel as if they have to buy them something. It makes me uncomfortable to see it sitting on the table.

This should be the last you’ll hear of Halle Berry the dog from me. I’ll get back to people issues next time, I promise.

But how about you? Have you put your mothering eggs in the dog or cat Easter basket, only to be disappointed? I’d love to hear your stories.

Calling Supernanny

Sue Fagalde Lick dog mom, out of control dog, Supernanny

If you’re following this blog, you know we adopted a new dog, Halle, last week. Well, she’s beautiful, gigantic and out of control. Yesterday, I was about to take her back to the shelter, but first I called a local dog trainer for emergency help.
Within minutes, she had the dog sitting peacefully at our feet.

I could almost hear the British tones of TV’s Supernanny Jo Frost as she told me that I have to be the Mama Dog. Who’s in charge here, she asked. The dog. You can’t let her run your life. You have to let her know you’re the parent.

She showed my husband and me how to put Halle in the crate and then walk away, ignoring her no matter how much she barked or whined. Is this not the same as the Supernanny putting the kids on Timeout? Of course it is.

I don’t know if it’s going to work out in the long run with Halle. We hadn’t planned on adopting a dog that needed so much training. Those parents on Supernanny have to reorganize their whole lives to work out their problems with their children. They can’t give the kids back, so they have to do something. That part is different with dogs; we can take her back.

The Supernanny seems to work miracles. However, I strongly believe that at least half of all those families we see on TV waving happily as Jo drives away in her PT Cruiser revert to chaos within a week. Just as the dog and I were battling till midnight last night, despite everything the Super Dog Trainer had taught us. This morning we’re not speaking to each other.

I don’t think there’s that much difference between being a dog mom and the mother of a human child–except that the human child eventually grows up and moves away. Also, the human child rarely eats your remote control.

Dogs you can give back

Sue Fagalde Lick dog mother

I’m sure there are times when mothers would like to give their children back. When they’re on the floor of the supermarket throwing a tantrum for example. Well, you can’t really return children. Once they’re born, they’re yours, which may be why some people decide not to have them at all.
There have been moments this week when we wanted to give our new dog, Halle Berry Lick, back. I mean, we have seriously discussed it. The shy pooch we met at Safe Haven Humane Society bears only physical resemblance to the creature who jumps up and plants her paws around my neck while I’m trying to eat breakfast and won’t let anyone sit on the couch for more than 30 seconds without trying put all 56 pounds of herself in their lap. We have already signed her up for school and gotten some emergency advice from the dog trainer. We have also spent a fortune on a crate, food, leash, shots, license, treats, chewbones, toys and dog-training books. Halle destroyed three balls, a coaster and a ceramic pot in two days, has tried to eat at least four of my husband’s shoes, and keeps trying to eat the fuzzy slippers right off my feet.
I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since she arrived.
And yet, there are moments when she is so sweet and such good company. She makes us laugh often, and she forces us to take breaks from work and worries.
The trainer and the vet both assure me that she can be trained and become a wonderful companion, but right now it’s constant hand-to-paw combat. I do see progress, but it’s in tiny increments, and somehow she seems so much bigger in our house than she seemed at the kennel.
This dog isn’t dumb. She has mastered “sit” and showed me yesterday that she already knows how to shake hands. Sometimes she’ll come when we call.
So what does this have to do with childlessness? Well, when I didn’t have a dog, I felt like a mother with no kids. I’m a dog mom. It’s part of my identity. Everywhere I looked, I saw people with dogs, and I felt so left out. When H.B. joined us, I showed her picture to everyone, called the family to announce her arrival, got her a name tag and a license, in other words did everything to stake my claim and show her off, just like someone would do with a baby.
Give her back? We’ve gone too far. Part of me really misses the quiet peace of our house before Halle came, the long nights of uninterrupted sleep, the ability to leave my stuff out without it getting chewed up. It’s the same with a toddler who gets into everything. If it’s too quiet, they’re into something.
In fact, Halle just stopped barking, so I have to go.
But the truth is, you can give a dog away if you get tired of parenting it. Can’t do that with a child even if you’d like to claim no knowledge of the red-faced screaming toddler on the floor between the soup and the pasta. Then again, kids rarely eat your library books or chew up your favorite shoes.

Announcing Halle Berry Lick

Sue Fagalde Lick Halle Berry, Safe Haven animal shelter


Anyone who thinks childless women don’t use dogs as baby substitutes is lying. All they had to do is watch me over the last eight hours as Fred and I adopted our newest arrival, Halle Berry Lick. If you were reading this before, you might remember we lost our beloved Sadie last November to cancer. I swear I never cried so hard over anything. We raised that dog from puppy to old lady and then sat with her as she died. Heartbreaking.
Suddenly I couldn’t identify myself as a dog mom and I was lost. Everywhere I looked I saw someone with a dog. I have gotten relatively used to not having kids, but life without a dog feels empty. With my birthday coming up Sunday, I decided it was time for another dog. Forget work; we’re getting a dog, I announced.
We checked the local humane society again and saw the same sad dogs, then headed east to bigger cities with bigger pounds. We found dog heaven in Albany, just east of Corvallis, Oregon, more than a 100-mile round trip from home.
Making the choice was hard. I fell first for a puppy named Archer, but he was crazy and all teeth,and his fur activated my allergies. Then Fred went nuts for a teenage Rottweiler named Potter. He was pretty cute, but his idea of hello was a body slam to the knees, and he had a lot more growing to do. Sorry. Then there was Jerrod, about two years old, white with black speckles, but he’d never been house-trained and in fact didn’t know how to function in a house. Plus, having been beaten by his previous owner, he was afraid of men. Nope.
We made the circuit so many times, tried on so many dogs, including the Rottweiler mix whom I had to run away from. Ah, no. Also no to the incessant barkers and the teeth-flashers.
But among the quiet dogs was one they called Halley. She met all the qualifications. One year old, Lab mix, loving, house-trained. Similar to Sadie but different enough that I wouldn’t see my old dog every time I looked at her. We took her out for a walk in the yard. She was scared at first, and I was a nervous wreck. Gradually as we warmed to each other, I burst into tears. She let me hold her and cry on her silky black fur. Yep, that was our dog.
They sent us home with booklets and CDs labeled “New Parents’ Guide”, along with a collar, a leash, some food, two balls, a fleece blanket, and a nifty bag to carry it all in. Human babies should be treated so well.
We knew Halley was a good one when the whole staff gathered to hug her goodbye. This was a dog people loved.
She rode the whole 56 miles home dozing in the back seat on her blanket. When we finally reached South Beach, she set out to explore every inch of the house and yard. She helped me make dinner and sat by the table to mooch, just like good Sadie did, except the new pooch is taller. She can reach stuff on the table and the counter.
We changed her name a bit, making her Halle Berry Lick, because she’s a foxy black girl like the movie star and we chased her around the house trying to take a picture for our announcement. I got more shots of her rear end moving out of the frame. Boy, you can’t see a black dog in the dark, can you?
Halle, the dog, was a stray, and she is starved for affection. She came to the right place. She keeps bumping my hand off the computer as I try to type. I just type with one hand and pet her with the other.
Tonight I’ll get Sadie’s bed down and put it next my bed and hope this new dog will sleep through the night. I doubt it.
But let’s face it. I’m talking baby talk again, I’m obsessed by this black creature wandering through my house and I want to send out announcements to the world. Tomorrow we’ll raid the local pet store for new dog treats.
Sue and Fred Lick are pleased to announce the arrival of Halle Berry Lick, 53.7 pounds, tall enough to reach the counter. We’re dog parents again.

Sometimes stepchildren get easier

Sue Fagalde Lick childless stepmother, stepchildren

My husband has three children from his first marriage. When we met, the youngest was only 7, a friendly little sprite who didn’t quite get what was going on. His older sister was 15. She hated me. She refused to talk to me. And the oldest, who was 17, just sort of ignored me.

Part of it was my fault. Having never had kids or been around them much, I didn’t reach out to Fred’s children. I didn’t know how. I think now about the aunt who used to take me shopping and talk about boys. She was an only child and had not had children yet. Where did she learn how to relate to kids like that?

In the early years of our marriage, the kids got into all kinds of trouble and drove us crazy. Did I ever feel like their mother? Heck no. I was the woman who was sleeping with their dad, the woman who was always in the kitchen preparing food, the woman who was not their mother.

But time can work miracles. Fred and I have together for 24 years. His “kids” are 31, 39 and 41. As I mentioned last week, we met the youngest two, Michael and Gretchen, in Portland for a couple of days, and Michael introduced me to his friends as his “mom.”

Cool. But Mom is just a word. What really made it special was the genuine love we all felt for each other. Trust, too. I let Michael drive our car the whole time we were there and only had to close my eyes a few times. Boy, can that kid parallel park. Zip, and we’re in. I’d be working on it for hours and probably ram another car in the process.

We were truly glad to see each other and sad to say goodbye. The hugs were real. Do we still do things that drive each other crazy? You bet. Will they forget my birthday next week? Probably. But now that the kids and I have known each other for most of their lives, the resentment has faded and we are all getting to accept each other as family. Past resentments are just memories now.

Fred and I will always be “Dad and Sue,” never “Dad and Mom,” but the love is there, and it doesn’t matter what labels you put on it.

So, if you’re a childless stepmother whose stepchildren give you nothing but headaches and don’t fill the ache in your heart for a child of your own, there’s hope. They will grow up. It doesn’t always happen, but sometimes, if you hang in there long enough, you’ll get used to each other and develop a relationship that is not mother-child but it’s closer than the word “stepmother” implies.

This is my . . . uh

Sue Fagalde Lick OR; stepson, Portland, stepdaughter; childless stepmother

We’re sitting around the table at the restaurant where my stepson Michael works, and he’s proudly introducing his family to his co-workers. This is our first visit to Portland, OR since he moved there, and you can tell he’s proud to have his people seated in his favorite booth.
He starts with “This is my sister, Gretchen.” Then he turns to my husband. “This is my father, Fred.” And then I’m holding my breath. What will he say about me? “This is my mom, Sue.” Ah. I know it’s not quite true, but it’s so sweet of him to say so. Back in the days when he was living with us, he’d do the same thing. As his friends trooped by my office, he’d point to me and say, “That’s my mom. She’s a writer.” I loved it. Maybe sometimes, since I entered his life when he was only seven, he even thinks of me as a mom. I would love that.
But it’s an awkward thing. When I go to introduce the three stepchildren, I may call them stepson or daughter, Fred’s son or daughter, or more recently “our son” or “our daughter.” I almost never say “my son” or “my daughter.” A copout? Lack of self-esteem? Or am I just being accurate? I don’t want to take anything away from their biological mother, who is a terrific person.
Most of the childless stepmothers I have interviewed say the kids call them by their first names. To my face, that’s what mine do, too, although Gretchen tried the “Mom” thing for a while after I complained that no one would ever call me Mom. It didn’t stick; it just didn’t feel right. We love each other as Gretchen and Sue. But “Mom” is the former Mrs. Lick, not me.
It’s a tricky thing. The “step” implies something negative, but to leave it out implies that you are claiming a role that isn’t really yours. So what’s a stepparent to do?
Do you have stepchildren? How do you refer to them? What do they call you? Do you secretly wish they’d call you something else? Let’s talk about this.

Portland, by the way, is a fantastic city. Just don’t try to drive there. And do visit the Blue Moon Cafe. Ask for Michael and tip big.

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.

Have You Ever Lied About It?

Sue Fagalde Lick lie, mom club, pretend you have children, stepchildren

Have you ever lied about not having children? I have. Well, actually the only time I flat-out lied was in a game called two truths and a lie. The truths were that I was a published author and professional musician. The lie was that I had two sons. I even gave them names and personalities. The other contestants bought it completely. Why not? Most women my age had kids. I won that game.
For years, I wrote for a parenting publication. I did have a stepson at home, but he joined our household when he was almost 12. I wrote lots of articles about children and their problems. Most of the time, I could fit right in. No need to mention that my only claim to the Mom Club was my stepson. People might ask, “Was it like that when yours were small?” and I’d nod. “Uh-huh.” Kind of a lie. How would I know what he and the other steps were like when they were little? I wasn’t there.
The only time I really got into trouble was when people started telling birth stories. If somebody asked me, “How long were you in labor?” well, I was stuck. I had to ‘fess up that I had never been pregnant.
But hey, I write about lots of things I’ve never personally experienced. I just ask enough questions to write the story.
In real life, when you do have stepchildren, even if you only hear from them once or twice a year, sometimes it’s just easier to fall into the mom discussions without bothering to clarify the situation.
How about you? Have you ever let people think you had children when you didn’t?

Sorry I’ve been so slow blogging here lately. I have been immersed in my chapter on stepparenting. Boy, is that a tough one. You love ’em and you hate ’em. Sometimes you feel like a parent and sometimes you don’t. More on that later.

Childless vs. childfree

Sue Fagalde Lick anger, breeder trolls, infertility, Selfish Heathens, Tiffany Lee Brown

Apparently I’m a wanna-be “breeder troll,” at least according to the Selfish Heathens site, which is firmly devoted to nonparenting. In fact, parents aka breeder trolls are strongly urged to stay away. If they even lurk at the site, they will be summarily deleted. The Satanic imagery and strong language scare the heck out of a mommy-lookalike such as myself.

I learned about the Selfish Heathens from a blog entry by Canadian Writer Jonathan Kay who started a flame war with his piece about bringing children to restaurants. One commenter threatened to throw ice water into the faces of Kay and his “broodsow” if they ever met in a restaurant. Luckily they will probably never meet in person.

I often hear mothers referred to as breeders, as if they were cats who went into heat and turned out one litter after another with no regard to overpopulation or to the way their kids are annoying little brats. But then again, others talk about children being the biggest blessing of their lives, that raising them is the most important thing one can do, far more important than any other occupation. Many who can’t conceive spend thousands of dollars on painful medical procedures trying to unite one egg and sperm successfully into a baby. When the effort fails, they come away heartbroken.

Why is there such an undercurrent of anger between parents and nonparents? Must we split into separate societies, those with children and those without? Why can’t we just accept each other’s choices and move on?

For a view completely opposite to the Selfish Heathens, but just as hip, check out Tiffany Lee Brown’s new blog, http://magdalen.blogs.com/nymphe. She includes some wonderful articles, a fascinating performance art project in progress, and heartfelt journal entries about her struggle with her husband’s preference to not have children and her own late-arriving desire to be a mother.

What do you think? Why is there so much animosity on this issue?