All Souls

Last week Mad wrote about relative death, dying. Checkin' out, kickin' the bucket, the big casino in the sky. Expiration. The end. I left mostly the following in the comments on that post.

"With my children I have, sort of, stopped living. With them I became eternal and yet I have lost all ground to a temporal value to my own life -- in my reference to them. I pray to me they will live forever and from there I have accepted death -- all deaths -- before -- and around -- them. For me it is a liberation.

My great-grandfather died in 1943 in one of those wretched Saskatchewan deaths -- "mangled in a threshing machine". Horrific enough? No. My father was 5 years old at the time and his poppa's namesake. My dad has oft told me it's a bit of a thing to stand in front of a gravestone with your name on it at the age of 5.

My daughter is four. She does not seem to have any profound fears of death (her fears generally few, infact). She is a curious one. In this passed spring she realized everything had died last winter -- and she hadn't noticed. That really annoyed her, I think. Both she and her neighbour-friend (a youngin' of similar vintage) spent a lot of the spring questioning their respective moms about death. What if baby brother fell into the water? What if the squirrel went into the wood chipper with the pruning? etcetera etcetera.

My daughter has been to two funerals in her four years, she has stomped bugs and she weathered the loss of her grandparent's beloved kitty pretty all quite circumspect. She wonders about it all and that is comfort for me. I, on the other hand, tremble and melt. I remember being lifted over my poppa's casket at the age of five to kiss goodbye. I was quite nonplussed at that time. But soon it sets in and by the time I lost grandma at the age of 16 I had been perfected of the unraveling.

I don't think I'm wrong. I can't think either are wrong. The circumspect and distance or the meltaway unraveling. Still, I envy those with the composure and the faith. I imagine that way might be there for my children, to indemnify them. Can't we all see the spin that is just entirely selfish of me in that?

Tonight across the room I spy the terrarium with 4 'saved' ladybugs. We feed them raisins and mist the bowl daily. We have brought them in offering protection from the reality of winter. The silencing of bees, the dropping of the leaves the extinction of blooms cast off for this group. We do for them something while knowing thousands, million are outside possibility of care. It seems a worthwhile conversation in this interregnum of sense and curiosity. This spring will hold little surprise.

Grrrr Mother Bear, and yes that is a stereotype!

As many of you know I am not fond of the 'princessification of girlhood'. This is a capital hypocrisy on my part. Case in point the box of Princess Di memorabilia I have hidden in the basement. Oh to be 9 in 1981!

But for the record. I'm over the princess-phobia.

No longer, do I, eye-roll at my kids's mention of Belle or Ariel. We still do not purchase any of these materials but neither do I destroy them when others might bestow them. I have found my peace with Snow White and Cinderella. Miss Fancy will, in fact, be a truly fancy Snow White this Halloween. (God Bless her grandmother for volunteering to make the costume that my topic sentence might hold true at this point.)

This week we have greatly enjoyed the book Greece! Rome! Monsters!** In opposition I have a new perspective on the Disney brand. It falls into the, you'll like this CC, "get over yourself mo-wo category". I mean look at Zeus, he was pretty harshly branded, wasn't he? Yes, the princesses are insipid, but they are fantastic and ethereal. Just keep the ethereal and fantastic going for her and toss in graver and graver degrees of the moral along with characters with more than one dimension, ta-da! Everyone's happy!

Now let's see if I can remember this the next time someone remarks on my kid's, and I quote, "get-up" just because she got kept wearing her cloak that day instead of being late for their kids Thomas the Tank themed birthday party. Or say, when my big fat feminist ego is jibed repeatedly for 'having a little princess'. Just makes me want to trap them in a room in a tiara beset by my daughter and her bug collection or say the enduring fascination she has with the crucifixion.

Few things can piss me off like assumption, judgment. I'm a libertarian. Don't oppress me! Worse, yet. Don't oppress my kid. Squarepants! Now that I've gotten over the princess phobia, I just left with dealing with parent-intellectuals watching me squirm through my comfort zone. Seriously, some people just seem to have it in for dress-up, but not me. We're talking about a four-year old dress up is good.

I am thinking of changing my tagline. Mother-Woman, an endless array of angst to explore!

ps... isn't child media literacy fascinating?? I mean it's not just me, yanno.

** Also, Greece! Rome! Monsters! is ok but I think it's more a library loaner. Don't buy this book necessarily.

52 reasons: If I was a tree?..

I never really wanted any of the 52 reasons to be why I can't be a go-to-work-parent when I think it's that maybe I should be SAHM but here's the exception. Maybe some days I should be a stay-at-home Mom because I don't work as hard as I used to? I no longer work 10 extra hours every week. Instead I show up late. I don't spring to answer whiny customers. I get enough of that at home.

It is a charm in the end that I didn't change jobs after my leave because back in place I can still feel a bit like my former high performing self. As one compatriot put it... if I suck today at least I have a bank of credibility there. But I can't say I am really at ease with the 'permission to suck' thing.

I do love my work. I am currently reacquainting myself with my vocation and career; this is not just a job to me. I was utterly devoted to it. I believe it helped, helps, me remain utterly devoted to my family. It taught me the degree to which I could devote myself, my time, my identity to something that no other job had ever given.

But it isn't the same as it was those few years ago.

One thing you don't know is that when I started this blog I wanted to call it "Working Mother: like there's any other kind." Back in November 2005 I was in my exploding job share, 2 months **SURPRISE** pregnant, childcare arrangements falling apart; all the while asking asking... "How am I supposed to do this?" and "This is a mess. So I give up. Let me out. I abdicate." I am at odds with the paradigms of mothers with careers. I definitely have one, and while I was away for those 2 years I feared for the health of it still it did not pull me to hurry. Maybe its because I started working at 14 more than 20 years ago and never stopped that now I feel I can. Sure but also it is that I believe what Katherine Hepburn said about motherhood -- you can't do it all, no half measures she said. Me neither! chimes mo-wo (Don't I always want to be Katherine Hepburn? of course). Supermom is crap.

I apologize for every lateness and those in the know just scoff at me. Still, I want to be the one with a work around then in another moment I'm some post-post-Annie-Hall all Baby Boom and crap... my disregard for basic professional standards and etiquette SUCKS! I pine for the pace of production I used to offer and then I question who they might get to do better, anyway. Oh, I'm vain.

Last week I attended a retirement party for one of my superiors a quite gracious man who has worked for the Board for something in excess of 30 years. I enjoyed that lunch after a good morning, one where I had hit all the bases for a change. I looked around at my friends and thought about the work life of the man being honoured. I wondered if he ever sucked like me. I bet he did, ya know except he's a man -- but that's another post. Generally, I don't worry that I am denying my kids anything by working, they are supportive and at this point they are enjoying their very active lives in daycare and with their grandparents Monday to Friday. I think they don't do math the way we do. They have enjoyed having me home for two years great but this is good too. They don't see less they see different. What is different now is not about hours or minutes but rather about commitment. I am now otherwise occupied and that's really about it from their end. I have commitments at work that I must keep. I am doing my best to keep them and that's the big deal, but that's my big deal. I think it will get better.

Experiencing and expressing the commitment intrinsic with my job is about as hard as I thought it would be. But the example it shows my kids can't be all bad hey?

And if you tire of my 52 ponderences, I was very flattered to see the topics getting chewed over here by one smart chick!

**Further to the Hepburn thing... I'm not quite sure what species of tree I am but they way I vacilate you can bet it's deciduous.

Childcare Vancouver

Last month I said something about childcare and my dear AlphaDogma was all WHAT?? The assumption she had had was that there would be a good range of childcare choices in this fine metropolitan locale; for a number of reasons there are not.

1. Social Credit
For many many many years BC had a legion of the white plastic belt types managing our provincial affairs. It is my belief that while the 70's and early 80's brought actual public or at least group daycare to communities of women in Saskatchewan, the Maritimes, Ontario (obviously) and even Alberta not so British Columbia. Public money was expended to break ground for nice bridges and fancy highways, world expotitions, and BRIC shares.

No ground was broken for things like daycares and the ground that could have been gained there has now been permanently lost. Building childcare services from scratch are, like my business of libraries, EXPENSIVE. Too expensive really for the post-social-safety-net economies of North America. I have a range of micro-daycares run out of family homes that I can call, make that about 75 outstanding phone calls on my to do list. These centres can be great but they inevitably have downsides (challenging children at home belonging to the caregiver, short hours, fickle landlords, poor facilities, long vacation closures and even complete service cancellations). I will use one of these for my two year old, probably part time. To be honest I found them a bit unsuitable for kids over the age of 3. They just become a pay-as-you-go clique with a jeopardy of waaay-hay-hay too much TV.

2. Not a family City and Mo-Wo the Ad Hoc Urban Geographer
Vancouver is expensive to live in. I love being a city dweller. I liken my neighbourhood more closely to the rural-come-newburb small village feel of the town I was raised in back then -- even more than said town is nowadays. It seems odd to me but daycare is much cheaper and more plentiful in the burbs.

I live in on Sesame Street, South Vancouver. It has, in my scientific studies, a high density of SAHMs. It seems a bunch of us bought in here for the same reasons. It was one of the last realistically priced places to buy in Vancouver if you wanted a family home at the turn of the century. There are families with kids under 7 about every 3 doors on the 3 blocks surrounding me. This has created a vibrant and happy parenting environment and it has fostered more courage, may I say, to stay home longer and/or part-time through the pre-school years. I get a different story from my friends in Richmond, Coquitlam and Kerrisdale.

3. Nanny come lately
I could hire a nanny I guess. I am not a nanny fan and truth be told it is June... There will be no pre-school after next month and my 3 year old might commit hari kari if stuck home for the summer staring at her brother and an in-home care provider. Also, nannies in Vancouver are too plentiful for me to deal with. Every Jane, Agnes and Melodica his just migrated here from Manilla, Bogata, Nelson, Chetwynd and Provost thinking hey I CAN LOOK AFTER CHILDREN! It is a needle in a haystack to find good people.

I am interviewing and think I might do a nanny share with another family 3 days a week. But how long will I hire the person for? People I know with nannies often invest a lot into hiring a nanny they keep for only 12 months. What is the point of this?? All that search time, training and then getting accustomed just to do it all over again, and over again and over again.

There was a time when I told people I would go back to work when I had good childcare. I have in my 4 year parenting career had about 7 childcare scenarios. For the most part no scenario has lasted more than 7 months. I would clearly label one of those as a 'good childcare scenario'. Based on the conditions and my own experience I might never work. I don't think I have ridiculously high standards I just prefer my kids are not bribed with candy, barraged with gender sterotypes/division or are left with TV's for hours on end while I am at work.

Though my husband might be surprised to hear this I do think it is a form of discrimination. I like working but I like my children to be safe, secure and developing normally more. I have one friend with good childcare and I think if I could have beat the odds as she has of finding daycare I would be a different mother. She has her kids in a quality, managed, group settings that are continuing. These are centres care for kids for the periods of age 1 to 3 and then 3 to 5, adding preschool content to the latter program. I have 1 friend with quality care like this. Remember I am Mother-Woman!!! I know hundreds of mothers in Vancouver and getting spaces like these are a long shot. (Getting them in a single centre, by the way, is nearly impossible, my buddy still faces dual drop-offs cross town). If I had to make my work decisions solely based on my desire to go to work and not on a blend of work and available childcare services. I would be a different mother.

And just saying that I could be different as a mother at all seems a bit strange to me.

In the end I might be getting somewhere. There has been some luck on my part but nothing that will be simple. I am currently entertaining putting my Girl Friday in a full-time play-based daycare, one she was in before. I'll register my son in a family daycare twice a week and then book on for a nanny share with another two year old three days a week. Maybe I'll find a ft daycare for him by Fall? I will try and hang it all together for at least a year. We'll see.

This set up offers the kids a good bit of social time and development while I work. That is very important to me. I found when I was working before that I want the off work hours to be family time and the work hours I have to be work hours for them, too. It also gives us a bit of flexibility, for my after hours teaching and errands help and so forth by using a nanny part of the time. Both of the daycares by the way are within a block of my home so that gives us both time and the sense of community that I think is important for little people as their independence in the world grows incrementally.

So what do you think? Is this a crazy blended solution? As you know I can tend to over-think things. I have not been happy that I need to go to work now. I want to find a soft-shoe solution, one that the kids think is fun and not one that puts the emphasis on fancy parental goals for development and programming. I have done that before and have not been pleased with the results. I know they are only 3 and 1 so their opinion might not be the most elaborate but as you know those are not always the most accurate opinions in matter like these anyway.

Reckless Mothers

When I reflect on my quality of parenting the scab I pick at most is of a basic form. Variations on the theme: risk, isolation, change, recklessness. I have to get off book more I think. I have to stop punishing myself because of the elusiveness of control. They are not bad children and I need not perfect them. Perfect parenting is a cruci-fiction.



On Friday I walked the two kids to school, about a block. It was a struggle and a triumph. I was stressed with my little guy by the hand and his sister free to run off and on all around our street, down the new park sidewalk where we inspected two backhoes and a digger. I was afraid. They were at risk. More than when I take them in the wagon on contain one of the two in a stroller. They could fall. A car could...

I look at moments like these with contempt convinced that, in fact, this has much more to do with stroller salesmen, such as they are, than with me. Still, I resent the knowledge I am a pretty easy mark.

We did it. All parties visibly enamored of the outcome of freedom and independence. This is it, I realize it now. The scabs, scraped knees even the dangers are the point. It is what I embrace and want for them. I have, of late, managed to let go of their birth. I have till now fully worshiped their coming to me. The separation of our bodies and those brief moments in which they were pure and new.

I see the stains (sorry to sound so New Testament about this) and am delighted. I am now suddenly open to their errors. Dreaming not of what has been but instead of the deep blessings (see there I am at it again!) of their having a future I can see. Imagining how when she is 14 covered in pimples and feeling insecure I might be the only one in the world to see deep inside. The one to say, as my mother did, you are so beautiful, if only you could realize. Knowing no matter she is as beautiful as that day she was born. I will sneak a hand hold of the little big guy when the little part drops. I will embarrass him, and enjoy it.

I don't know where I get this sort of wisdom.. but it feels good. I guess it comes from lots of places. Including the chance to move myself to dust off my dress shoes and look into the eyes of reckless mothers I know. To think a little about how I am different from them and vice versa. To move to common ground -- and that ground is spotted with a cheap merlot and some nerds. Reckless mothers might be the best kind? Who knew?

Last night I saw..

Bite My Cookie and THE Girl's Gone Child right here in Vancouver. Me and the radiant and clever CC went to the book event and hooked up. Wicked!

Only thing better is to follow up with a free afternoon to go read her book.
A hoot and bite with a real cookie? How lucky am I?

Thinking of you Chickies next time I see Anthony's bony ass dart across the club.

Bad Parenting Confessional: Away

I wrote you last week about my vocational challenge now that my old job has come up again. I really appreciate all the witty and wise commentary on that post. Helped enormously. If you ask me this is just what I need this blog for; my friends and family thank you all, too, for your contributions to my sanity.

The saga will continue. I don't have to do anything right now but a lot is suddenly on the table again. What about being a two income family? Do we need it? And, childcare what do you do anyway with kids three and a half and almost two for care -- is there a slam dunk to see them through school starts? Or is it really not worth it at this point with kids 22 months apart? You have to remember Vancouver childcare options are abysmal.

And, staying at home? Wasn't I just committed? (pardon the pun) I was and I wasn't. I mean I feel I can make anything of these choices they are stressful and, in my opinion, too numerous for those addicted to tranquility but I have found out I am not among that group. My family though entirely plain in many respects is not static; we have our chaos. Blessedly benign chaos. It will ever be thus, I expect.

There is really only one outstanding bit of major business. You see back in November when I was sure I was going to work my kids were driving me crazy and vice versa; the bad behavior all around was a concern. I told myself many times that going to work would improve our family. That being away would actually make me a 'better parent' relatively. For shame. Earlier this month when I mentally moved myself to being 'at home' I felt that my previous mind-set was pretty sick. I looked at everything and decided I couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't ever think absence would be a means to my being a better parent. Like a quest for the holy grail I was set to one task; to find something -- and everything -- else available to make me a better parent besides that. One who is better with the full acknowledgement of the impossibility of being good enough.

But now am I back to square one? How will I apply my new found knowledge to this scenario? Am I a stay-at-homer at heart? You know I have never had a childcare arrangment that lasted more than 7 months? Do I sabotage them since I want it to be me?

(A bunch of this goes to the SAHM's myths of perfection. I will still be keeping up my 52 reasons. Who knows maybe those 52 will represent the 12 months service I am supposed to give my employer before I am allowed to resign from work scot-free.)

The Emperor Has No Clothes: A Prequel Bad Parenting Confessional

About a year and a half ago I had ocassion to post a bit about my daughter's emerging gorgeousness. It was a real point of pride.

About a month ago I experienced its counterpoint.

During a night's run-up to bath-time I was charged with the task of negotiating her out of a dress-up get-up . To achieve my desired end I threw in an off-hand comment to move her along and was more than dismayed with the response. What I said was... "You don't need those fancy clothes, you are beautiful just the way you are."

What was the response?

"No. I'm not."

My heart broke in a million pieces right there.

Now if you know me (and of course most of you don't) you would know that I am a frumpy, near-Leninist thinky-type with a ton of 'inner beauty'. I mean this shouldn't bother/intimidate/involve me, right???? But it does. It is about the clothes. It is about the acquisition and the commerce of beauty and the feminine through glittery fabrics and branding. I understand the nuances of influence but still at 3 freaking years old!! she utters this swift demolition of that identity and idealization of her life-loving-dearhearted-growing-nay-blossoming-self so vibrant those posts ago.

I was appalled.
I was sad.

I won't blame Disney. As has been pointed out to do as much would be a cop-out. My point last week (call this the prequel) was to confess my own concern about my daughter for the reasons now described here. But also to register my aghast in this reliance on beauty and material possessions. An aghast coupled with an my recognition of the ages old value of material -- remember I have a not long past work history in museums. The mechanics of material culture should not wholly blindside me.

If I think about the number of reasons "why?" I do believe it is a general issue. It is a paucity of the feminine ideal for my girl. (please note the use of the word my) I truly want to be the best womanly influence on my daughter and to hear her echo the plainness of my identity laid bare my failure in this regard. It cannot be allowed to touch the radiance and potent that is my daughter. No!

Mother-Womanly Confusion Mantra #837
I will not have my children suffer for my inability to hold my shit together.
I will not invest in holding my own shit together to the detriment of the daily needs of my children.

WTF!! I find no solution. But will offer her some consolation in Mommy getting a new dress or two. Mommy getting out of the sweatpants and going somewhere with her self. [sic] Won't be a ball... No won't be a ball necessarily... But might be a start. And, don't get me wrong. I don't think I am 'at fault'... I simply do have to take my part and find a way to move a pretty big issue -- feminine identity -- ahead. Like I say, this Mother-Woman thing is complicated!

Addendum. Dear P-man. Expect a few Visa bills next month beyond normal transaction levels.

Inter-blog Commentary: I feminist, I suck

I'll admit to be ashamed to be admitting it I did watch the Frasier series live and in rerun for a number of years. Ok, so I am not necessary ashamed of it any Bridget Jones sort of way, but still.. Regardless, I have one little gem of dialogue I put on the mental rewind at times. It refers to a dressing down Frasier gets for constantly buying gifts for his family to 'make them into' the sort of people he thinks they should be. Basically, he gets called on giving gifts he deigns his dear ones should have instead of ever giving them the things they actually want.

I did this. My Mom still does this. It is annoying. Somewhere in the the mid 90's I stopped doing it. But now... now I have this growing girl I am at once again. I am reconnecting with my inner social censor. Take the case of Christmas '07. What did my daughter want but a "blue dress with sparkles like Zofia has". I went I shopped; I tried. I could not do it. I knew what she meant. She wanted some gown, some horrendous organza number with rhinestones and a silk rose the size of my head fresh out of the Jon Benet Memorial Collection at Zellers. Frasier might have taught me to comply. If not him then maybe El MetroPadre.

But I couldn't. I didn't. I bought my daughter 3 count em, 3 fancy dresses for Christmas but none of them were what she'd had in mind. I wanted to bend her desires to something I thought was better. And the thought it is quite irrational, I tell you. I want to thoroughly mask my own responsibility for her desperate luxe seeking sex stereotyping. I want to cut a corner. To turn my parenting challenges into a Battle-of-the-Network-Stars-sized social struggle; which it is not. Instead I know in my heart that a goodly amount -- er the majority -- will actually be my stuff. My input, my example.

As I said on the post Chez Metro:
"I hate the princess crap. I hate it. I didn't give my daughter what she asked for Christmas -- which was an organza and sparkles gown like so and so had at school. I tried but I couldn't do it.

That said ... I have had a lot of moments in the last few weeks when I see that I have a much bigger part to play in the self image my daughter has than the Princesses. I have made it a bit of a campaign to actually comb my hair and get dressed just to be with her more often; instead of doing it only to leave her sphere."

I do, of course, fault Disney for what is happening to girls (and boys) in the cult of gender roles polished on every edge. Looking at it critically -- when I think about my recent assignment within what I readily call 'sweatpant nation' when I frame it's occurrence in my own history as a girl who bought into the power associated with androgyny in the '80's (wherefore my double breasted suit and my vintage Dunn's Tailors Cashmere coat)... What does my daughter think is a feminine ideal? When does she even see me put in an earring anymore? Can I give her what she really wants?

What am I afraid of?

Perhaps a little more than just dangling prepositions and the shortness of my rewrite capabilities at this hour.

Bad Parenting Confessional: The flesh is weak... Blank Verse

Another morning.
Another early morning discipline debate.

Soon nanny will be here
Consistent
Firm
Dispassionate.

I should go.

I am not firm enough.
We are not consistent enough.
My care substandard from its inexpensive love-laden weaknesses.
Whatever I want to tell myself...

****I am definitely a big supporter of diversifying childcare. I have often been first in to boost a childcare choice for a friend; keen to validate their distance making as a plus for wee ones. I tend to put it as 'growing the team' and describe how rejuvenating it can be for a family after the long haul of solo care of infants and growing toddlers. But I must admit today all that hides something FOR ME. I gues I feel that maybe, just maybe, I do recognize I -- alone -- am not enough. Especially as training and discipline goes I abdicate my otherwise iron-willed leadership.

Post-Modern Mothering: Fruit of the Poisonous Tree

I tread the path between two rows of beating drums. One row says 'don't make my mistakes' and the other smugly chides me for enjoying it at all. It commands instead for me to resist every urge to take joy in what might, in fact, be a 'bland and futile woman-trap.' I hate this stuff. This is what makes parenting suck and blow as we used to say. It is a scratch at the multi-layer power politics of parenthood.

My source for the crud is my mother and my MILs, for I am blessed with two. In addition I can sometimes count on random strangers to offer it up and then there are a handful of the aunties and etc. etc. Men are not immune, only less effective. All the defeatist claptrap. Isn't this hard enough without all that?

This past week I attended a vacation to my MIL's which was steeped in the propaganda. My own little family living and re-living every resented road trip of my husband's childhood. We worked pretty hard to schlep our way the 6 hour drive to partake of all this so I am a bit piqued just now. I despair at times our imperfection and the dismay over our version of family life from such a key family member.

Am I alone?

I have heard it from others, too. Worst for me is the dialogue of mothers and mother-daughters. Sometimes it is called a sad, uneasy, or tense relationship we feel our predecessors had with being mothers. A hesitancy in the giving, or was it more some regrets, of lives interrupted. As a teenager my mother told me that being a mother ran a weak third to her existence as a worker or friend. Being the sensitive over-thinker I am haven't I reflected on that news about 500 times.

A couple weeks back similar patter was put out around here. I believe what I said to my Mom then was "Could you get some new material?" I didn't have anything so pithy for my MIL who concluded our recent visit with the following: "See I told you so. The family vacation is never any vacation for the mother." I mean 'good to see you too' just didn't seem to cut it. So I stood eyes downcast muttering, "Yes." and "Of course you did." Complicit. Co-opted. Thinking about what others have said already.

I feel there is an overwhelming urge on the part of most parents to mentor. To mentor those who come after. I just don't want these mentors. I prefer the energy from the parenting community online we are more collegial and a measured boosterism is inate here. More in keeping with the unconditional support I crave in my parenting.

I think from here on in I will press myself to forget asking my mother how she ever did it. I will instead think to my grandparents experiences and those before. Those at some distance from the parenting machine that characterised my own upbringing. I am sorry that it sucked for my Mom or p-Ma. I just don't really want to hear it anymore.

***

In other news.. Thanks everyone for all the great input on the bibliography. I hope get to work on the annotations shortly.

Cry me a River

It is a soft sunny afternoon and I am more than weary, nearly tearful. My husband has been working late and I am not up to the challenge. But we are getting by.

I just finished putting down my now 11 month old son for his nap and his sister is 'off to dreamland' ?? maybe... I do enjoy these waning moments of babyhood. It presses on me of late 'the end'. For it is the end for us. Two children was sort of off-hand thing anyway. Three is a no-go. I say often, "I would love another baby. We just can't have another child."

They are fathomless depths, she say endeavouring to avoid the word bottomless for its negative connotations, these children. There is more than everything we can do for them. I don't see the upsides yet you tell me of AlphaDogma. I miss babying. I miss their gaping maws stilled at the breast. The laughable aspresso and the even more laughable streams of assvice. The simplicity of physical needs and the acceleration of being those first twelve months hold.

It's over in many ways. Man we had a good run.