Thinking About Having Children, Part 2: Selfishness and Sacrifice

Part I is here.

People on both sides of this issue tend to think of those on the other side as selfish.

When I didn't desire children, I knew that some people saw me as selfish. I remember sitting around the workplace and listening to a coworker talk about her neighbor. "They don't even have any kids," she snorted. "How selfish is that?" I was stunned that the simple state of being childless could brand a woman. And ironically, although some of my reasons for wanting to avoid children were selfish, I had just as many reasons that I thought of as merciful to my would-be children. I was convinced I'd be a horrible parent.

Now that I'm on the flip side, a different group sees my actions as selfish.

Having been both childless by choice, and a mom of three, I can say this: motherhood is hard.  And when I'm doing it right, it demands that I be anything but selfish.

Motherhood is a string of sacrifices. They start in pregnancy because -- let me tell you -- being pregnant was fun for me only during months four and five. That's when the 24/7 morning sickness ended, the progesterone treatments could halt, I finally looked pregnant instead of fat, and I wasn't yet so big that I waddled and was uncomfortable all the time.  (I'm 5' 2" and one of my babies was almost nine pounds. This is a working definition of "off balance.")

Then there's labor (which my body does not perform well) and delivery and the realization that I'm actually responsible for another human being.  In a piece I wrote several years ago (Are You New? for Babies Today), I mentioned this:

During labor, I'd developed a fever. Immediately after her birth, my baby was whisked away for testing and antibiotics because she, too, had a fever. In those first few hours I was in and out of lucidity and all I could think of was sleep. I remember asking myself, when they brought my daughter in for a nursing, "Why do they keep bringing me this baby?!" Only to realize, "Oh, yeah. I'm the mother."  The reality and magnitude of my responsibility suddenly overwhelmed me. I'm the mother.

I was the mom.

It was terrifying.

All the other cliches of new babydom, including excruciatingly sleepless nights, crying (oh, yeah -- the baby cried a lot, too) and beginning my worry about my children's futures before they'd sampled solid food kicked in.

I was recently reading Hilda van Stockum's Canadian Summer with the girls. In one scene, Grannie is describing how, when she was a little girl, she gave her beloved doll to orphans:

"And my mother warned me seriously that I would never have another like it and probably would miss it but I wanted to give it anyway."

"I guess you didn't realize," said Joan.

"Yes, I did realize and I knew I should be sorry and I was sorry. It was my first sacrifice," said Grannie, smiling gently into the fire ...

... "But I've remembered that doll all my life. In a way it is the only one I still have, for the others are forgotten. Which shows that it is what you give away that you truly possess."

It is what you give away that you truly possess.

When I had children, I gave myself away.

And in doing that, I came to genuinely possess who and what I am.

Not in the sense I used to imagine, which went something like this: "If I have children, I will become one of those desperate women without a life. I'll live through and for the kids and someday when they move out I won't even know who I am."

No. That's not it at all. My husband and family (because, incidentally, I once felt the same way about marriage) have become part of who I am, and I am a part of them, too. We weave in and out of each other's lives in ways that are surprising, unpredictable, hard and sublime.

And the sacrifices that motherhood requires of me have not resulted in a net loss but in immeasurable gains that are, to be sure, challenging and demanding but gains that are gifts.

As I wrote a couple of years ago in another post:

I could not see, as C.S. Lewis said in The Problem of Pain:

"We are not merely imperfect creatures who must be improved: we are... rebels who must lay down their arms."

I didn't want to lay down my arms. But, clearly, at some point, my arms slipped or were wrenched from me (a bit of each, at various stages) because here I am. I surrendered, first of all, to a "mere Christianity," and later to the Catholic Church. And in laying down my arms and waving those white flags, in asking God to let me die so that I might rise again, in accepting that I might become a new creation in Him, I have found a peace the depth of which I couldn't have conceived in my atheist days.

In the midst of that peace is the knowledge that while I did "lose" myself I have paradoxically also become a truer version of myself. In surrendering everything (from my time, my marriage, my fertility, my writing, and my cherished sleep, oh, sleep) to God, He has shown me that He will lead me, wisely and well, in all things and that I will inch closer to becoming the person He intends me to be. He's proven to me that He knows better than my best-laid plans.

I really believe that most people on both "sides" of the issue of children are trying their best to figure it out and do the right thing. The world we live in makes it pretty complicated and confusing. For me, the answers became simple (not easy and not simple-minded, but simple to understand) in the context of my faith.

Children are both sacrifice and gift. Not everyone is called to have them -- hey, some of my best friends are celibate -- but when a gift is given, it is worth the sacrifice it takes to accept it.

More discussion about having kids vs. not having kids

in the combox of this post. 

Thinking About Having Children

You might be surprised at the number of people who land on my blog every day after Googling variations on "Reasons to Have Kids."

It all started back when I wrote this post. 

I had read about a book called No Kids: Forty Good Reasons Not to Have Children and I dashed off a response that consisted of forty reasons to have them. Not forty reasons as in, "I'd like to start a serious discussion about having children vs. not having children," but rather forty reasons as in, "I have nothing else to blog about today and my kids? I love 'em awful. I'll blog forty reasons to have them."

However, blogging is never that simple. After the initial and cheering support from friends and other Catholic moms, the post became a common Google result and another kind of comment started to roll in. (But, hey, kids of my friends and friends of my kids -- check with your moms before you read it. Some of the commenters get a bit rude.)  Which is fine. I can take it.  I welcome discussion -- not soundbites, and not meaningless debate, which is unfortunately the kind of debate that tends to happen in comboxes, but real conversation.

But why am I bringing this up now? Because the conversation fascinates me in myriad ways. We live in a world with a number of options that weren't available to our parents and grandparents. "To have or not to have" was not a question for most of human history but contraception has made it one. But there's more to my interest than that.

Having once been on the "childfree by choice" side of the issue, I'm interested in how we can talk about this without accusations and anger. Because, on one hand, I know what it feels like to not want children, and to feel like a freak for that choice. I remember the way other women looked at me with suspicion, the way people assumed I was a selfish oaf. Now that I have children, I can see that even though I was not a selfish oaf (I don't think ...) actually having children to care for has made me unselfish in ways I could never have aniticipated.

So, that's one aspect I'd love to explore more in writing -- how we can simply talk about this without alienating each other.

The other thing I want to talk about is faith -- it plays a huge role. Obviously, being a Catholic who lives by the teachings of the Church (no artificial birth control) has changed me. (If I were twelve years old, I'd say "duh" here ....)  But the very fact that it comes back to a faith discussion is also key.

When we go searching for reasons to have kids, we often want to make a "pros and cons" list. We want to weigh profit and loss, decide which choice offers the biggest gain.  That sort of thinking was bittersweetly summed up in an old movie called Kramer vs. Kramer. A moving scene shows Dustin Hoffman's character evaluating the reasons that might make it "worth it" to fight for custody of his son.  The "pro" side of his list is short and abstract (I can't remember for certain -- does he write anything on the "pro" side?) The concrete "cons" are lengthy. Abstraction wins. Mr. Spock might not be happy with the logic, but anyone who has ever felt any kind of love will get it.

Human relationships just can't be confined to a P & L analysis.

These are just some rambling thoughts on some ideas I hope to expound on in some posts to come.

Being Open to Life, ala Danielle, Christi, Margaret, and Copycat Me

I'm following the lead of several incomparable moms. It's another chain reaction, a bit like the "40 Reasons to Have Kids" (and I still need to put that whole chain together and do a post linking to lots of other great lists.)

Yesterday, the incomparable Danielle encouraged us to encourage one another in our openness to life. Then, the incomparable Christi at "Mum2Twelve" posted her Family Foundations article on the subject. The incomparable Minnesota Mom did likewise.

And, now, I'm being a copycat.

I was blessed to appear in the same issue of Family Foundations that ran essays by Christi and Margaret. We were all asked to write about how we had discerned family size, how we "decided" to have the number of children we have. And, even though we have such varying numbers of children, ultimately, our answers were the same: God decided.

And we keep letting Him decide. He's the boss of us.

It's not always easy to follow the Boss's orders. But, it's always good. Always best. And always, bottom line, the most joyful road to take.

The Little Way of a Little Family

“How many children should we have?”

When young, Catholic couples marry, do they ask that question?

My husband and I wouldn’t know. We weren’t Catholic when we married (we were, in fact, unbelievers) nor were we particularly young when we started a family. For the first seven years of our marriage, we agreed that we absolutely did not want kids. We thought them too expensive, too consuming, and definitely too sticky.

But time, God’s sense of humor, and conversions to Catholicism led us to embrace parenthood. We’re now the happy parents of three beautiful daughters on earth and a number of (miscarried) souls in heaven.

For us, “How many children should we have?” was never the question. Once we opened our lives to God’s plan, our question became, “How many children does He want us to have?”

He seems to have settled on three. We are, at ages 47 and 50, ridiculously open to more, but that’s in God’s hands. And, I must say that life with three is good. No, let me amend that: it’s great. I dote on my daughters, find endless delight in being a mom, and repeatedly catch myself wondering, “Who was that horrible woman who didn’t want children and how could she not know what jewels they are?” My incredible girls make me laugh every day, cry now and then, and, most of all, thank God constantly for the gift that they are to me.

By Catholic standards, we are certainly a little family, due to our late start and our losses. And while having a small family has brought certain heartaches, perhaps our losses have also helped us appreciate more fully what is unique in each individual child. And, perhaps, they’ve helped us to see that every child (born to us or not) is an eternal blessing. In my journey to accept God’s will for our family, I’ve learned to trust that He gives what’s right for us.

On a more lighthearted note, I’ve also learned to appreciate some practical advantages to being “little.” For example:

• In our small family, I can revel in more one-on-one time with each of my children than perhaps a mom-of-many can. We schedule regular “Mommy/Daughter Nights” out, which usually involve an evening Mass and copious amounts of ice cream.

• Speaking of Mass, when we’re frantically racing around getting ready for it on Sunday morning, I have only three little heads of hair to fuss over (my husband is on his own) and only three pairs of shoes to track down (he’s on his own for that, too.)

• Our whole family still fits in our ’92 Grand Am, a more fuel-efficient vehicle these days than our van (which we broke down and purchased during a particularly strong phase of “Van Envy” that I experienced a couple of years ago.)

• A mom with only three kids and a van (aha -- It was a smart buy!) can tote her kids’ friends around town, making her feel quite magnanimous, and giving her the opportunity to help out the big families, who have no spare vehicle space.

• Our whole family still fits in one hotel room, making traveling a slightly more economical proposition.

Now … would I trade in all of these silly, little worldly benefits in order to have more gifts from heaven?

Oh, yeah. In a minute.

But, God is making that call. And, I firmly believe He wants us to work with what He’s provided, to “bloom where we’re planted.” The Lord allowed our many miscarriages; He gave us only three living children in our little family. In contemplating this, I’m reminded of St. Therese of Lisieux and her “Little Way.”

St. Therese had big dreams. She wanted to be a missionary, evangelizing the whole world. Instead, she was given a short, hidden life, full of mundane little tasks in the convent, tasks she learned to do with great love. And now, this Doctor of the Church is evangelizing the whole world through her intercession from heaven.

It’s true that St. Therese could have asked God, “How many countries should I visit?” but that would have been the wrong question. God answered Therese’s desires and expectations in surprising ways, just as He has done for my husband and me. Our little family here on earth -- our “little way” -- is not the big dream family we’ve often wished for. But, our little domestic church is exactly what God wished for it to be.

It was never up to us. But I know that, like Therese, we will see rewards and beauty in heaven that we cannot begin to imagine here, while we’re still looking through a glass darkly.

Ultimately, the answer to the question, “How many children should we have?” is easy:

Ask God.

In so many ways, big and little, He’ll let you know.

*****

40 Reasons to Have Kids

(9/13) Updated again to note: People often land on this post after Googling "Reasons to Have Kids." If you're looking for serious discussion about that question, this is not the post you're hoping for, as it was not a serious exploration of the issue.

(6/10) Updated again -- More discussion, in which I begin to tackle the real questions:

Thinking About Having Children, Part 1
Thinking About Having Children, Part 2

Updated to note:

People often land on this post after Googling "Reasons to Have Kids." But many don't read the back story about how this post came about, so here it is.

My original post on this subject is  here. It offers more detail on the book No Kids: 40 Good Reasons Not to Have Children. Based on what the author says about her own reasons for having kids, I thought she clearly had them for the wrong reasons, and that she then projected those feelings (and her own failings) onto her children and the world. Her regrets about her children made me cringe. Not because I think everyone should have children, but because I genuinely felt bad for her kids (who were still young and vulnerable when she wrote her book.)

By way of contrast, my list was written in the spirit of love. In spite of all the challenges of parenting (and I was once part of the "I'll remain child-free forever" contingent), I wouldn't change a thing.  My  "40 Reasons to Have Kids" was a quick counterpoint to an unhappy, mean-spirited book. (An article about the book -- and the original list of "40 Reasons for Not Having Children" on which I based my list  --  is here.)

Let's be clear. The author of No Kids is not  "childfree by choice."  Hers is not the case of someone saying, "I've chosen not to reproduce for the following reasons."  She has two kids. They'll one day read her words, if they haven't already. And though I'm sure she meant to be clever and funny, I feel sorry for her children,  the targets of her cleverness.

I mentioned in a comment below that kids have a way of "not getting it" regarding their parents' humor, especially when it's about wishing them out of existence.

So, perhaps this post sprang from a maternal instinct to protect children in general, even hers.

The real irony is that there was at time when I didn't think I even had a maternal instinct; I vowed to never reproduce.

By age 19, I was firmly convinced I would never want children -- never, ever,  no room for argument. I inquired about sterilization, but my doctor wouldn't consider it, given my age. I was outraged at the him for making such a decision for me.

I was 30 years old before my views on children significantly changed, so I've certainly been on both sides of this issue.

Please keep all of the above in mind when you read this list, which was my spontaneous reaction to a list of  40 silly, petty reasons not to have children. I offer, instead, an account of the completely unpredictable and unbelievable discoveries of parenthood.

At one time in my life, I wouldn't have believed them either.

**********

original post:


So, yesterday I mentioned this woman. She wrote a book detailing her "40 Reasons Not to Have Kids."

Today, I present:

40 Reasons to Have Kids
(based on her reasons not to ....)

1. Desiring children with the man you love is as natural as breathing.

2. The experience of delivering a new life to the world is singularly exhilarating. If you fear pain, there's this lovely thing called an epidural.

3. Breastfeeding: it's not only economical, efficient, and good for the baby, but it releases hormones that relax and calm both mother and child, lulling both of you to sleep. Who wouldn't want a natural nap-inducer?

4. The world doesn't revolve around me and my daily desires.

5. Every human being has dignity and worth.

6. A child is an unbreakable bond between husband and wife. Love breeds love. And more love. And more. There's nothing more desirable than the father of your children.

7. A couple becomes a family -- the whole becomes greater than its parts.

8. Having a child is a cooperation with the sacred.

9. Children are some of the most charming little people I know: full of wonder, curiosity and innate kindness. Properly nurtured, they become equally charming adults.

10. You get to read all the favorite books of your childhood all over again.

11. Children naturally grasp the lesson that people are more important than things.

12. Children teach us the freedom that comes with self-discipline and self-sacrifice.

13. The biggest drudgery is facing no one but myself day after day.

14. I am not ideal ... why should I expect my children to be? Kids teach us the joy of unconditional love and acceptance.

15. I will inevitably disappoint my children because I am not perfect. But, along the way, I'll be able to teach them that -- while nothing on this side of heaven is perfect -- the journey and the perfection that awaits us are worth every moment of trial on earth.

16. To remain or become a self-centered, self-enclosed egotist: what horror!

17. Taking time to care for the gifts I've been given ... yes, thank you.

18. Motherhood is a vocation: fulfilling, rewarding, and full of unpredictable surprises.

19. Families: they are a reflection of the Trinity.

20. Relive childhood and all of its innocent wonder and mirth.

21. To persist in saying "me first" is a sign of immaturity.

22. A child will ignite the fond memories of your own childhood.

23. While you cannot ensure that your child will be happy 100% of the time, the desire for her happiness is a good, admirable and unselfish thing.

24. The enchantment of being with one's children outweighs any and all other difficulties.

25. If you worry about sending them off to school, homeschooling is a delightful, intellectually stimulating option.

26. Do something to change the world. Have a child. Raise a saint.

27. Revel in the simplicity of a child's unconditional love and trust.

28. Parenting will soften your hard edges and sharpen your compassion and empathy.

29. Motherhood is an insight into one's soul. It's better than analysis.

30. Success is not defined only in terms of what one does for money. To succeed as a mother is beyond worldly success.

31. When your husband becomes the father of your children, a new man appears: fiercely loving but practical and still-logical, nurturing but fiercely strong and protective. You will fall in love with him all over again.

32. The child to whom you give life may be the one to fight the culture of death and the notion of a brave new world.

33. "How can there be too many children? That is like saying there are too many flowers." -- Blessed Teresa of Calcutta

34. Children whittle away your time in ways that are ultimately beneficial: they have an uncanny knack for getting rid of the meaningless hobbies that used to consume you.

35. Watching a child grow into a caring, sensitive soul is a reward that cannot be measured in book sales.

36. It's an awe-inspiring thing to have a child and the experience of feeling, "I didn't think I could ever love anyone that much."

37. Already have a child? Have another. Siblings are the best birthday presents, Christmas presents, Father's Day presents, Arbor Day presents ....

38. Baby toes. Need I say more?

39. Okay, I'll say more. Watching your baby sleep: You didn't know that angels could be held in your arms.

40. Worried about money? What's worth more than a soul?

I'm at a loss for a post title

Atticus saw this article (not for children) over at Mark Shea's yesterday. It's the story of a French writer who has told the world, in her bestselling book, that she regrets having children. She and her partner (according to the article, they have a psychiatric practice -- yikes!) are raising two children, ages 13 and 10.

Here she betrays her problem:

"Generally speaking, people who have children have them for the wrong reasons," she says. "They have them because they're afraid of being alone, and they want to grasp a tiny bit of immortality."

She has projected her own mistake -- having children to escape a feeling of loneliness -- onto the world. From earlier in the article:

She is painfully honest, as perhaps only a psychiatrist can be, about her own delusions of motherhood. She had been an only child and had hoped that having children would end her feelings of loneliness. She realized too late, she says, that it simply created new forms of loneliness.

And so, this poor, unhappy woman is trying to justify her own shortcomings by telling the world that her children were a mistake. She thinks she is being hip and funny, but all she's really accomplished is for me to feel pity. Especially for her children. I'm sure she'd find me hopelessly archaic for doing it, but I'll be praying for her.