Sunday, April 04, 2010
Just for the record: I'm certain that somewhere out there, members of my family are wondering if and when I'll have a child. Well here's the low-down, the truth. Here's how I feel about it, and they won't like it.
My medical history can only be described politely as Fraught. My insides probably look like each organ has been knifed open and sewn back together - in fact at least one was when I was a baby. My distinct lack of milk-intake would be of great concern to midwives; although my eldest brother is a great example of many peoples' attitude to my life-long Galactosemia - he thought it was a joke, and claimed never to have known I was Galactosemic in all his 39 years of putting up with me as a sister. Our dad and I educated him at his wedding dinner, when I was yet again given something inedible at the feast. And there's my complete inability to digest red meat and poultry fat; I'm OK with fish, eggs, soya stuff and veg. But I'd raise hell if any midwife started to nag me about eating red meat and poultry, I'd even demonstrate its effects on my digestive system if she didn't shut up. It's your call, honey...
As for emotional/psychological suitability, forget it. I would be like my maternal grandmother (whose guts I'll always hate by the way, and no one has ever taken me seriously about her either. Let's not go there. Goodbye): pedantic, smothering, megalomaniac, a complete control-freak. No child should ever have a mother like that. Good discipline is one thing: Emotional blackmail, religious dogma-driving and emotional suffocation is something else. As I've already had at least two emotional breakdowns and have seriously considered suicide several times since 1992 (wonder why.....) motherhood would surely push me over the edge completely. I'm just not made of the right material and don't feel at all maternal.
You know that thing about how women supposedly get broody when they smell the aroma of a baby, that sickly scent? Well, it's a myth. A great sweaty, sicky, piddle-soaked myth. That smell makes me feel like bringing up the contents of my poor beleaguered stomach. And the sight of pregnant women - that's supposed to make us swoon in admiration? - reminds me of my distended belly when I was little, stuck in GOSH and having countless needles stuck in me, in addition to being repeated cut into. Yes, GOSH saved my life, but don't let anyone imagine that a baby's mind cannot be forever scarred by that sort of experience. Believe me, my memory is too damned long. Then there's the noise, the continual slavery, the financial side and the 'green' side. There's the having to child-proof the home and everything in it; our mouths, reading matter, viewing matter on TV/DVD/VHS, musical choices. This self-censorship just makes me want to - and I'm trying to think carefully of how to describe my disdain, with difficulty - use less than Kosher language. I'm no fan of covering the sofa in PVC and having turn the kitchen into a nappy-change room. We're talking 'Hell freezes over'. No, I'm not remotely attracted to any of this. And don't call asking for a sitter...
I was prescribed the Pill to alleviate my ghastly PMS, which I had always endured without complaining to my doctor because I was brought up just to accept the pain, the psychological screwing and emotional rip-up month after month and year after year. This was how it was, just deal with it. So I did, month after month, year after year, until suddenly (three years ago) I cracked. My PMS was wrecking my relationship with my husband and he really had to push me to make an appointment to see the GP. After talking me into a horrific run-in with Prozac (to get me out of the office, I'm sure), our GP retired. The new GP was a woman - a major factor in how things turned out - and she prescribed the Pill. A miracle!
No PMS, no Period and no Pregnancy. The triple-whammy! I'm on the Pill and and staying on. Hey girls, want to hang on to what freedom your mother never had and have some self-respect that she wasn't allowed either? Get yourselves the Pill. It's magic. Of course I was never given the low-down on the Pill when I was younger. It just wasn't done, not proper, not what a good little Jewish girl was supposed to be told about. Well, I'm through that now. I'm staying on the Pill! I'm Child-Free and proud of it.
So there it all is. Deal with it. I have and I'm doing great, now it's everyone elses' turn.
My medical history can only be described politely as Fraught. My insides probably look like each organ has been knifed open and sewn back together - in fact at least one was when I was a baby. My distinct lack of milk-intake would be of great concern to midwives; although my eldest brother is a great example of many peoples' attitude to my life-long Galactosemia - he thought it was a joke, and claimed never to have known I was Galactosemic in all his 39 years of putting up with me as a sister. Our dad and I educated him at his wedding dinner, when I was yet again given something inedible at the feast. And there's my complete inability to digest red meat and poultry fat; I'm OK with fish, eggs, soya stuff and veg. But I'd raise hell if any midwife started to nag me about eating red meat and poultry, I'd even demonstrate its effects on my digestive system if she didn't shut up. It's your call, honey...
As for emotional/psychological suitability, forget it. I would be like my maternal grandmother (whose guts I'll always hate by the way, and no one has ever taken me seriously about her either. Let's not go there. Goodbye): pedantic, smothering, megalomaniac, a complete control-freak. No child should ever have a mother like that. Good discipline is one thing: Emotional blackmail, religious dogma-driving and emotional suffocation is something else. As I've already had at least two emotional breakdowns and have seriously considered suicide several times since 1992 (wonder why.....) motherhood would surely push me over the edge completely. I'm just not made of the right material and don't feel at all maternal.
You know that thing about how women supposedly get broody when they smell the aroma of a baby, that sickly scent? Well, it's a myth. A great sweaty, sicky, piddle-soaked myth. That smell makes me feel like bringing up the contents of my poor beleaguered stomach. And the sight of pregnant women - that's supposed to make us swoon in admiration? - reminds me of my distended belly when I was little, stuck in GOSH and having countless needles stuck in me, in addition to being repeated cut into. Yes, GOSH saved my life, but don't let anyone imagine that a baby's mind cannot be forever scarred by that sort of experience. Believe me, my memory is too damned long. Then there's the noise, the continual slavery, the financial side and the 'green' side. There's the having to child-proof the home and everything in it; our mouths, reading matter, viewing matter on TV/DVD/VHS, musical choices. This self-censorship just makes me want to - and I'm trying to think carefully of how to describe my disdain, with difficulty - use less than Kosher language. I'm no fan of covering the sofa in PVC and having turn the kitchen into a nappy-change room. We're talking 'Hell freezes over'. No, I'm not remotely attracted to any of this. And don't call asking for a sitter...
I was prescribed the Pill to alleviate my ghastly PMS, which I had always endured without complaining to my doctor because I was brought up just to accept the pain, the psychological screwing and emotional rip-up month after month and year after year. This was how it was, just deal with it. So I did, month after month, year after year, until suddenly (three years ago) I cracked. My PMS was wrecking my relationship with my husband and he really had to push me to make an appointment to see the GP. After talking me into a horrific run-in with Prozac (to get me out of the office, I'm sure), our GP retired. The new GP was a woman - a major factor in how things turned out - and she prescribed the Pill. A miracle!
No PMS, no Period and no Pregnancy. The triple-whammy! I'm on the Pill and and staying on. Hey girls, want to hang on to what freedom your mother never had and have some self-respect that she wasn't allowed either? Get yourselves the Pill. It's magic. Of course I was never given the low-down on the Pill when I was younger. It just wasn't done, not proper, not what a good little Jewish girl was supposed to be told about. Well, I'm through that now. I'm staying on the Pill! I'm Child-Free and proud of it.
So there it all is. Deal with it. I have and I'm doing great, now it's everyone elses' turn.
Labels: Child-Free, difficult history, motherhood, the Pill
