Family visits

 On a day to day basis, I don't get too many "triggers" about not having children. I don't get nasty comments, I'm not around a lot of kids - most of my friends and family now have adult children who have left home, are working elsewhere maybe, or are raising their own children. The "No Kidding" factor of my life is not up in my face 24 hours a day. Most of the time.

The last few days my sister, niece and brother-in-law visited us. It was lovely. But I saw again the difficulties of life with kids. Especially the difficulties of life with a teenager, and a child who has special health needs. My niece is, I can hardly believe this, about to turn 15. Old enough to feel independent and that she knows best, but too young to know what she doesn't know (just about everything!). We had a very nice time. It was nice to talk to her about school, and chemistry, her new favourite subject. I showed her around the university (well, until I got lost) and we talked about decisions she'll have to make in just a few years. We had some good conversations, and I got to be a good auntie. We went shopping together, and the niece mentioned she loved going shopping with me. That was nice to hear, although of course it might have been motivated by the fact that Auntie (Mali) is - to quote my sister - a bit of a soft touch, and usually buys my niece something! I did this time too. More than I intended to spend, but then her mother ended up doing that too! Teenagers know how to work the system.

But I saw the challenges of my sister's daily life. On top of the normal issues of raising a teenager, she has a constant battle to get her daughter to remember her medications (and there are multiple - morning, night, nebulisers, medication with every single thing she eats). Now, with a new life-saving medication available, there are strict time frames in which to take it. And it needs to be taken with food - separate to the medication that helps her digest the food. But does the teenager care? She wants to be "normal" of course. She's thrilled that she's feeling more healthy with this new medication, after only a week. I could hear the difference in her lungs. But she is at the age where she's always pushing back, so if her mother reminds her to take the pills, she almost deliberately waits to do it later. Then, because she's a teenager, she forgets! So they are always at loggerheads.

It's exhausting for all of them, but it must be so difficult for my sister. It must be heart-breaking at time, to have to do this. She's doing a great job, and they still have an excellent relationship, which is lovely to watch. (Even if it makes me a bit wistful.) But it was a good reminder too that it is not easy at all to be a parent. And I will admit, after they left yesterday I enjoyed curling up on the couch with my ipad, reading a book, then having a bit of an afternoon nap on a warm autumn Sunday afternoon. It may not have been my preferred life. But it gives me freedoms and positives in this life, just as my sister has positives in her life. And I am thankful for them.

Realities of No Kidding childlessness

I have a good friend here who has no kids. We socialise together quite a bit, and it is a relief to go out with her and her partner, and not feel we have to deal with the kid issue. That said, I'm interested in the kids of most of my friends, and like hearing about their adventures, as they've almost all left home, or at least are finding some independence. That's a freedom of age, when our friends and family who have children once again have time (and inclination) to focus on something other than their offspring. But I acknowledge too that I'm very lucky, and all of my friends have always been able to focus on the wider world, as well as their children. 

Still, there is something about socialising with other No Kidding people that brings a quiet understanding. However, not all No Kidding people are the same. We like talking about our siblings' (and in-laws') children, and their children. But my friend's family lives mostly in the same city. I've met some of them, been to plays and dinner together, and have celebrated when they've achieved milestones. I popped over to her house before Christmas and the kids were showing me the gingerbread houses they had just made with my friend, a family tradition she has been doing with her relatives that is now in its second generation. Her wider family is very close, and she is an integral part of that. She won't be moving any further than the beach.

I don't have that. I have one adult niece who still lives in New Zealand. All the others, on both my side and the Husband's side of the family, live overseas. I have one teenage niece and one adult great-nephew in the country. That's it.  So our present, in terms of relationships with children, look very different, and a lot lonelier. As do our futures, despite the fact that we are all childless.

Too often, you'll hear people suggest that we volunteer with children to fill the gaps in our lives. But this doesn't work. I'm not someone who could work with children, I have no skills to do that, and I'm not sure it would be good for them, or me! I wanted kids, but I didn't want to work with them! Besides, it doesn't necessarily create lasting relationships.So my involvement with children is and has always been very limited. And because of geography, it will continue to be limited. I can deal with that. But from time to time, it is a painful reminder.

I know I am not alone, that many of you may not have siblings, or other children that you live close to and have relationships with. There are no simple solutions. No real solutions to this at all. It's just a fact that reminds me of my situation occasionally. It reminds me that, as a result, I have greater independence to choose what my life will look like, but that independence has both benefits and burdens. We have the freedom to choose where and how we might spend the rest of our lives, and there is no obligation to stay close to family (or no feelings of rejection if we choose to move). But we also know that our choices are the only ones we will have to live with, that we will have to choose what our ''old old age" will look like, and we have to cope with whatever life throws at us on our own. Just another reminder that I can't stick my head in the sand and pretend everything will be okay. But I can plan to make it that way.

The Childless Aunt

For the next few days, I get to be an aunt (and a sister, and sister-in-law). I know I’m lucky to be an aunt, even though I bemoan the fact that I only see her once or twice a year (and I see other nieces/nephews/great-nephews much less frequently). I also know that right now, it is a privilege to be living in NZ, where we don’t have COVID-19 in the community, and so when school holidays arrive (the winter two-week break has just begun), people can travel, stay with friends and family, and socialise. So I don’t know what my suddenly (it feels like) 12-year-old niece will want to do the next few days, but there’s possibly a trip to the zoo (or will she think she’s too old for that?), to Te Papa (our national museum), some walks, definitely some shopping (there’s a birthday present to purchase together), and some eating out.

It’s always strange to meet up with nieces and nephews as they grow into pre-teens and teens. I love that age, when we can have interesting discussions about all sorts of things. So I’m looking forward to that. But it makes me feel old too, because it doesn’t feel that long ago that I was a teenager!

I know I’ll be exhausted at the end of the week after their visit. But I know I’m lucky to have another niece to get to know at that age. I was thinking recently about another niece that I had a close relationship through her pre-teens and teens, as I used to be able to visit her and her parents in Singapore on my way to/from international business trips, and they also used to come back to NZ every year. I was often the chief “clothes buyer” with my niece, preparing her for her next year at school (she was in international schools as an expat), and she had an active interest in international relations, so we would talk a lot about different issues. Now she’s almost 30 (!), is not a regular or particularly forthcoming correspondent, and whilst we are great when we see each other in person, we don’t share our lives in the same way as 10 years ago. That change was sad for me for a while, but now I’m okay with it. I know that for a while, I was a very special person in her life. And she was (and still is) in mine. I’m hoping to have a similar relationship with littlest niece, but I know I can’t force it. Still, I will enjoy seeing her grow, and be grateful for that.

Being a childless aunt

I’m enjoying having our twin nieces and their parents in town for the first time in over eight years (see my post Scattered Families on A Separate Life). I’ve bemoaned the fact (many times!) that we have no siblings living in this town, and my husband has no siblings in this country. It makes it harder as we have sole responsibility for caring for his parents, we won’t have the companionship of siblings here when we age so will be faced with decisions (friends vs family – perhaps another post to come), and we lose out on relationships with nieces and nephews too.

I was keen to spend as much time with them as I can. And then got thinking the other day about the depth of feeling I have around spending time with and getting to know the girls during the all-to-brief time they’re here in New Zealand. Mostly, in the past, I’ve put this down to the fact that they live so far away. After all, missing them and wanting to see them is a perfectly normal emotion. It’s not just on my side either. I know they feel the loss of not having any relationships with their father’s side of the family. Aside from us and their grandparents, the girls have never met any of them, including their cousins, and I find that really sad.

Then I stepped back, and thought about it some more. Do I feel this way because I don't have children? Or because I don’t have the luxury of having many other children in my life? If I had children myself, would I feel this real need to get to know them, and for them to know me?

I know that I would always want to get to know them, to +an extent. But I doubt that the need would be the same. If I were a parent, my primary relationships with children would be as a mother. But my primary relationships – actually, my only relationships – with children are instead as an aunt through my nieces and nephews, and through a few children of my friends. (Though as friends’ children grow, their parents’ friends see them much less. With nieces and nephews, that relationship always exists.)

And so I feel the loss. I’m not so much mourning the loss of my own children, because I’ve come to terms with that. But I do feel the loss of the relationships with nieces and nephews. They’re my only connection with the next generation, and I value that, when I can get it. They’re the only people who will remember me when I’m gone. I’m not sure that worries me too much – being forgotten, I mean. But it is nice to know that there will be some people after I’m gone who might have valued having me in their lives.

Still, I can’t do much about it. And I know to try to fill that void by pressuring myself or the girls (or other nieces and nephews) to intensify our relationships wouldn’t work for any of us. The best is to take it naturally, and enjoy it when it happens. Which is what I’ve been doing over the last few weeks.

Two aunt-related things that made me smile

When looking after my niece recently, my husband and I headed to the big indoor sports stadium to watch her play her last game of basketball for the year. As we both love sport and were very good at different sports when we were children, we have felt that we missed out sharing that with children, but I was pleased that I wasn't wistful at all when I was there; in fact, I found it totally lovely to see hundreds of children and their parents and siblings and supporters in this huge stadium involved in such a healthy activity on a Friday night.

A woman sat next to us, and when she asked if we had a grandchild playing, I cringed a little, thinking that my sister probably gets this a bit too (and her older husband definitely does). I had to laugh, though, because I am the age I am, and I have friends my age who are grandparents too. Still, perhaps one of the advantages of not being a grandparent is not feeling quite as old as the word "grandparents" would make us feel.

On another matter, my sister mentioned to me that she and her husband had recently talked to Charlie about their guardianship arrangements, saying that, amongst other options, they could choose my husband and I.

She thought about it, and said, happily, and with satisfaction at solving a problem,

"Mali and Uncle Mali, please. Oh, and that would be really good, too, because they couldn't have kids."

 

The Keepers of Memories

I now have no-one living anchoring me to the past, but no-one anchoring me to the future either. You might think that I would feel cast adrift, lost and alone, but I don’t. Even through the stress of my mother’s last days, and of the funeral and its aftermath, I was surrounded by family, by sisters and brothers-in-law, by nieces ranging from a mere seven to a worldly thirty-six years old, by N, a cheeky and much-loved great-nephew, who at such a young age knows and understands loss himself (having lost his Dad not quite two years ago), by the husbands and partners of my nieces, and by little P (whose Dad loves N's mother). He too had lost his own mother, and I was conscious of that as he said so sweetly and sincerely, “I’m sorry for your loss.” I love them all dearly.

As we sorted through my mother’s things, I realised I was fast becoming the “Keeper of Documents.” My cousin D (also without children after loss, and an only child so no nieces or nephews either) found herself taking some family things too, because she felt they should be kept. Another cousin also without children is the family genealogist (although I am always forgetting to raise that with her). Cousin D wondered aloud,

“are the childless the Keepers of Memories because we look back, not forward?”

I thought about it, and agree that it is possible this is the reason. Perhaps we look back simply because we have the time to do so. But I prefer to think that, as keepers of memories, we’re doing it out of love and a feeling of connection, a belief that the past will matter to the future. That without the past, there is no future, even if personally, I am not going to be part of that future. 

And so I took great pleasure in seeing things pass down, my littlest niece inherit the cute little rabbit figurines I remember so well from the mantelpiece when I grew up. I was thrilled to see a medal from my great-uncle go to my great-nephew. With no skin in the game, I was keen to see certain sentimental items stay together, rather than any motivation to ensure that my child wasn't missing out. But more important, I was happy to see that the family treasures and memories were valued, and would continue to be valued.

Ultimately, I prefer to think that we’re the Keepers of Memories because we know how precious they are, how easily people and memories can be lost, and that once they’re gone, they’re gone. That it’s not always about the family tree, but more about the memories and connections and links.

My cousin stayed for several days, not because we are cousins, but because she thinks of me and my two sisters as her surrogate sisters, because she loved my mother, because she has fond memories of spending time with our family during her childhood. She was there because of shared experiences, and a need to maintain and nurture those connections that have been there all our lives.

I hope that one day, one of my nieces will become a Keeper of Memories. I suspect I can guess which one, but I won’t name her and put that burden on her now. I know that when she comes to do it, when it comes naturally, it won’t be a burden – whether she has children, or not.

Coastal celebrations

A much-loved niece’s wedding in an exotic location (well, as exotic as Australia gets) took me away from the real world for a while. I remember her sister’s wedding (also much-loved, in my much-loved exotic Thailand) three years ago. I felt a little pang at seeing the joy in my sister’s face as her daughter got married, but it wasn’t as bad as I had feared, because I actually felt so happy for my niece and for my sister. This time I felt no pangs at all. I felt secure in my role as aunt, and maybe because this time my other sister was able to go too, I didn’t feel isolated at all, rather I felt part of a loving extended family, all there to celebrate this so very happy occasion.

The fact that we were doing all this on the beach in the Queensland made it easier. We were focused on the sun, sand, and surf, the fun we were all having – and being from New Zealand, we complained (some more than others) about the heat. My status as a childless woman was irrelevant. I was another family member there to love and support my nieces, and to get to know further my delightful great-nephew, and to swim with my littlest niece, Charlie. It just wasn’t an issue.

We then escaped further south, to hippy central Byron Bay, where we didn’t feel childless. Just old!

Queensland's Gold Coast

#MicroblogMondays: Being an Aunt

I was busy being an aunt this time last week, travelling north to go to a dance recital (and to support my sister who is launching her photography business). It was lovely. I do envy you if you have nieces and nephews who live close by, though I know too that I'm lucky to have a niece at all. Still, when I visit, it is a Big Deal in a way it probably wouldn't be if I lived just around the corner. Both DH and I got to read bed-time stories, and I got to take her to school one morning too. Though that morning, when she got in bed with me to chat, her main concern was whether I knew where to go! I look forward to when she is older, and can come visit on her own (though with some trepidation too). 

I've spent the week since recovering. See more about it here at A Separate Life, with a few photos.

Gifts of Infertility Series - #17 – The joy of being an aunt

When I was growing up, I had five aunts living near me, one who I saw about once or twice a year, and another aunt who lived on another planet. (Actually, she lived for a long time in the Solomon Islands, which in the 1960s was like living on another planet, then she lived in the North Island of New Zealand, which was a long way from us). I saw the four who lived near me reasonably regularly, at family gatherings, and sometimes local or school events. But they were always relatively distant characters, organising the family gatherings, or taking a rare moment to relax and chat with their sisters and sisters-in-law, whilst my sisters and I played with their children. The same happened with my other aunts, on a less frequent basis. But as they were my mother’s sisters, they would stay with us, or we would stay with them, and we spent more quality time together. Still though, we were mostly the children who were better seen and not heard, playing or talking or reading or walking with the cousins, out of sight and earshot, as they had adult time together.

Now I'm an aunt. Actually, if I'm honest, I'm also a great-aunt. My first niece was born when I was 17 (my sister being quite a few years older than me), and many years later she was actually pregnant at the same time as me. (My great-nephew is always a reminder of how old our child might have been.) I've enjoyed being an aunt to her and her sisters. For much of their formative years though, I was the aunt living on another planet. But I always kept in touch, always sent them birthday and Christmas presents (even if they were never quite sure when these might arrive), and enjoyed spending time with them. I remember returning from Thailand, telling my littlest niece that I had met a princess on my travels. “Was she flash?” she asked, wide-eyed. That niece is now discovering the joys of travel herself. I like to think I might have had a little to do with that. One of the joys of FB to me is that I have been able to reconnect with my adult nieces, developing a closer relationship with them than I ever could without it.

I've had much more to do with another niece, who I sometimes mention. She grew up near me till age eight, and I loved having her close by, but then her parents took off overseas. I was lucky though, and my many business trips saw me able to stop by to visit her in Singapore several times a year, lavishing attention on her, snuggling with her in bed in the early morning before anyone else was awake, talking about school and books and friends. On her visits to New Zealand, her mother would send me shopping for clothes with her – it was something we both enjoyed doing, an annual ritual that only really ended when she lived in London at university, and no longer needed to shop in New Zealand. Since then we've maintained a close relationship, though these days at 23 she is a poorer correspondent with her old aunt than I would like! I have been a confidante to her in ways my aunts never were to me, and none of her other aunts have been, and I am pretty sure she feels comfortable telling me almost anything. (“Almost,” I said. I'm not blind or stupid!) I'm a non-judgemental ear, and I treasure being that for her - even if she did once describe me as her “eccentric aunt.” Despite that comment, or perhaps because of it, I love her dearly.

Other nieces and nephews are living overseas too, and I have much less to do with them. I’m sad about that – I talk about it often. But there’s little I can do. Their parents don’t/won’t skype, and we see each other rarely.

Then there’s my littlest niece. She is my younger sister’s daughter, and at six is a delight. I write about her visits on A Separate Life, in a series called “What Charlie Taught Me.” Again, this is a relationship that I treasure. Unfortunately she doesn't see me enough to know me well yet, but I (and her mother!) look forward to the days when she can be popped on a plane and sent down to stay with Auntie Mali for the school holidays, when we can develop (I hope) a relationship that is ours and ours alone.

Women who are mothers may I think miss out on these close relationships with their nieces and nephews. In my observations, they are busy and focused on their own children – parenthood is in so many ways (these days at least) a nuclear-family-focused activity. There is little time for other children, when time is already so stretched for their own. I've heard so many mothers say confidently that their child would never do X or Y, or declare with certainty that their daughters tell them everything, when I know for a fact that it simply isn't true. No kid tells their mother everything, certainly not as they get older. So they need aunts. After all, children know that their mothers will judge, will have expectations, might be disappointed, and they don’t want to be on the receiving end of those emotions. It’s natural, after all – that guilt-both-ways relationship between mothers and their children is pervasive throughout cultures, I think.

Whereas we, the unencumbered aunts, can spread our wings and be an alternative confidante, without obligation or fear, to another child, or teenager, or young adult. We don’t hear their stories with fear that our own children might do X or Y, we don’t react as a mother might, sometimes worried, sometimes defensive, sometimes judgemental. I've certainly seen aunts-who-are-also-mothers react this way towards their own nieces and nephews. I think that being a mother pervades many of their relationships, and influences how they think and interact. They mother the children who come into their houses, because that’s what they know how to do, and probably because that’s all they have time or energy for. But we are free of this.

We don’t have to be the “cool aunt” but we can be if we want to. We can also give gifts such as noisy musical instruments, or pretty clothes that are impossible to launder, and – my favourite - we can put ideas in their heads that make them see the world differently.

In the end, as aunts, we can nurture a relationship with our nieces and nephews that is very separate from that of their parents, yet one that is loving and growing and yet constant too. For that gift, I am very grateful.

You could always ...

I'm shocked to see it has been so long since I posted.  My sister and six-year-old niece came to visit for six days, so that will be my excuse.  And as of this morning, I now have their cold, but I'm not using that as an excuse.  It does remind me though that by not having children, who pick up everything going, we do stay a lot healthier!

We had a lovely time together (I blogged about it here), despite the miserable (but expected) midwinter weather, which meant that some of our planned trips (the zoo, the bird sanctuary, etc) did not come off.  It did mean that our time was more relaxed, and we had more time to get to know each other. I played many games of snakes and ladders, and baked chocolate chip cookies, and watched movies, and made pancakes for breakfast, and got lots of cuddles.

As I was giving my niece a big hug ... another one ... I told her that I needed to give her lots of hugs because I don't have a little girl, and I don't see her often enough.

"You could always adopt one!" she declared, as she escaped from my clutches and raced off to do the next exciting thing.  I shrugged, and laughed.  I mean, what was there to say?

The joys of a niece

I have just spent the last four days visiting my sister, brother-in-law, and five-year-old niece.  Since I saw her before she has started school, and on Friday morning I was able to go to school with her, see her classroom and meet her teacher.  She read her reading homework to me (her mother realising they'd forgotten to do it the night before when we arrived) in the classroom, and I saw all these five-year-olds get onto the classroom computers to sign in for the day.  

We spent a busy weekend together, and we had some lovely bonding moments.  I read her bed-time stories, and taught her to play Noughts and Crosses.  She played teacher and I sat obediently on the mat, as she rapped her wand on the whiteboard easel to get my attention.  Her uncle (DH) filled her paddling pool and almost gave himself a hernia making waves in it, to her delighted giggles.  We watched Tangled and Rio with her (and probably enjoyed them more than she did).  And we took walks with her and Jeff The Dog.  I felt sad that we don't live closer, that she really doesn't have a strong sense of who we are.  

But I didn't come away with a sadness that we don't have a child.  Not really. I saw my sister struggle - struggle with working and time and energy, struggle with a five-year-old who knows what she wants and DOESN'T want, and struggle with the particular health concerns that come with this particular child.  And I didn't envy her.  I felt compassion for her.  And I wished I lived closer - to help out, babysitting or cooking meals - to help make their lives easier.  And to have the little one in our lives.  That said, getting home last night, to peace and quiet, was quite a relief.

Staying young

“My kids keep me young” - a comment I have often heard from parents.  It is a comment that makes me cringe, that smug implication that a parent is by definition more youthful than me, that assumption that I am old before my time, that I can't relate to the youth of today, because I am not a parent.  It’s a comment we have probably all heard, and I know that those of us without kids have often wondered, and sometimes blogged, whether not having kids has either prematurely aged us, or at least prevented us from keeping up with "kids these days."

As I mentioned in a previous post, over the last month or two I have had my 21 year old niece (and her cousin who is around the same age), staying with us for a few days here, a few days there, as she’s been exploring the country of her birth.  We’ve always been close, and can pretty much talk about anything.  So having her in the country for so long has been a joy to me.

I was thinking about our relationship, and realised that maybe I am able to relate to her in ways the mothers of my generation* might not be able to relate to their daughters, simply because they have that generational mother-daughter relationship, a relationship full of responsibility, of power and authority (whether intentional or not), of duty and guilt, of role behaviours, of punishment and reward.  Whereas our relationship is, I like to think, much more that of two people who have decided they like each other.  We don't slot into generational roles. We talk openly about life and aspirations, and about things that she feels unable to share with her parents.  Seeing her off at the airport the other day, I joked about “our generation.”  And she corrected me –whilst I’m the same generation as her parents, she doesn't include us in the generational stereotypes she applies to her parents.  She feels we understand her and, I think, the world she lives in.  (Which is not to say she doesn't think we're ancient! She is 21 after all.)  Or at least, I think she feels we make an effort to understand her.  And she knows I don’t have any judgements or expectations of her behaviour, and that I’m there for her, to support her, in whatever she decides to do in the future.  All I want for her is for her to be happy.  I don’t have any “standards of success” she has to live up to. She doesn’t have to worry about disappointing me, in the way she might fear disappointing her parents.   Our relationship simply doesn't have that "parent filter."  And so it feels more equal.  Age doesn't come into it.

And when I think about my own lifestyle, without children, I realise that I don’t live my life any differently now than when I did when I was 30.  We keep up with technology because it is something my husband and I are interested in.  And we don’t have children to rely on to reprogramme the TV, or fix the laptop, or set up the iPad, like some of my friends whose knowledge of technology has stalled since they had children.  We have to do it ourselves, or not at all.  And “not at all” is not an option for us.  Likewise we stay aware of modern music – I work out at a gym and see the music videos on the big screen as I sweat; we keep up with all the modern movies and TV programmes (OK, we might not have known who Shaun the Sheep was until my sister/niece introduced us, but I can live with that as I chuckle away at Glee or The Big Bang Theory); and we try to remain very aware of the world.  It is an attitudinal thing – not having children has nothing to do with staying current, being aware of modern society, or enthusiastically embracing new technology.  In fact, not having children is a great motivator to stay current.  Because if we don't, we have no-one to drag us back into the 21st century.  

But having a 21 year old around has also made me feel very old. Explaining (as I mentioned in a previous post) to her that 1998 was not the dark ages in terms of social policy, and trying to get her to understand that in many ways I fear that young woman have less freedom now than I did in the 1980s or 90s, has made me feel positively ancient.  Try telling a 21 year old that 15 years is not a long time, let alone getting her to understand that the 1980s were relatively recent!  I've felt very middle-aged; I feel as if I’ve aged 10 years in just the last two weeks.  In ways, it has been a rude awakening.  Is this how my friends with kids feel? Without children around, I don’t have that constant reminder that I am no longer young (until I look in the mirror, that is).  I don’t have the label “mother of adult children” or even scarier, “grandmother” as some of my circle have already.  I don’t look at my children and remember them as babies or their first day of school, and feel the intervening years.  I don't feel the passing of time in that way.  I just feel the way I feel, as old or as young as I feel on any given day. I feel just like I did when I was 30.  And that is quite liberating.

* I know this is a gross generalisation, and I can think of at least one friend (also a blog reader) who seems to have a very candid relationship with her daughter (of the same age as my niece).

No kids/busy kids - is there much difference?

Those of us without kids often think about our old age.  Lisa recently wrote some thoughts about it here.  I'm very conscious of this, as my elderly mother is deteriorating fast, and her condition could possibly be passed on to me.  (I'll find out in due course, no doubt!)  I'm visiting her this week as I won't see her at Christmas, and the last few months my sisters and I have been looking at what provisions we need to put in place for her future. The head in the sand routine would be tempting, to avoid all the complications and sibling issues and guilt.  But we can't do that, and we won't.

So yesterday, as part of the week I'm spending with her, I took her Christmas shopping.  She has always hated Christmas shopping, especially as she has aged, finding the decisions too difficult, and keeping track of everyone is too confusing.  I, on the other hand, find it fun (mostly).  And we knocked it off in about an hour.  On the way home, we stopped at the supermarket and ran into one of my mother's friends.  When she heard we'd done all the Christmas shopping, she sighed with envy.  "You could make a fortune coming down here every year and offering your services to Christmas shop for us oldies," she said laughing.  Turned out her three daughters live quite close but, as she said, her face dropping sadly, "they're very busy."

Now of course if my mother's friend needed her daughters badly they'd be there I'm sure.  As I'm sure if I desperately needed help and was alone, my nieces would be there too.  But it was yet another reminder that the elderly can be alone - and a bit lonely - even when they have family, even when their family live close. 

Blogging urges and infertility

I try to post at least once a week.  Usually I manage to do so without problem, finding that I often have the urge to post on Friday afternoons, and that at least is a regular pattern that keeps me posting weekly.  But I see I’m overdue.  Somehow, time has overtaken my urge to post.  Somehow, even though I’m not working full-time, I and  struggling to post at the moment, and I marvel at those of you who have less free time, and still keep your blogs up to date.  I mean, my last post was a big cheat.  (When in doubt, resort to lists! – that’s my motto.)  So today, after a busy (though non-productive) day, I thought I’d better check how long it has been since I posted.  “No problem,” I thought.  I’ll just check the file I keep, where I have a bunch of potential blog topics, and quite a few drafts written.  But not one of them inspires me at the moment.

And you know why?  Because right now, being infertile just isn’t part of my being.  I don’t feel infertile.  I don’t feel lacking in any way.  I'm sorting out a number of things - finding a decent income source, working on a writing project, helping my sister-in-law plan her trip to France later this year, planning my own significant birthday trip (that's probably another post), getting fit, keeping up with my volunteer work, and working my way through Jamie O's 30 Minute Meals cookbook.  Not to mention, trying to keep up with the Olympics.  So my mind is flitting all over the place, and life is busy.  Infertility?  What's that.  It's disappeared, for the moment at least.  The usual triggers are firing blanks.  This morning I had a quick coffee in a local cafe (actually, it was breakfast, after rushing out to post a passport renewal application and a letter to a US friend), and smiled at a little Indian-NZ girl who wanted to use one of the chairs at my table.  (She was insufferably cute!)  Later, at the airport with my mother, I noted another little cutey, with red curly hair just like my niece, and grinned.  A baby stared at me over the shoulder of their parent.  No twinges.  Nothing but pleasure at seeing these lovely little children.  A momentary pleasure, quickly dismissed.  It’s the way I want to be able to react to kids all the time.  Sometimes I can, sometimes I can’t.  But when I can, which these days is most of the time, I feel normal.  I don’t feel infertile.  I just feel like me.  It is good.

Will you be my friend?

No, this is not a post about Facebook. 

One of the main topics of conversation on fertility blogs, or pregnancy loss/trying to conceive message boards/websites, is the issue of friendships; how they change, how we deal with friends who have children, how they deal with us.  It’s a difficult topic, and I’ve read countless blogs and forum posts about friendships that change.  The pain, anguish, anger and hurt in these posts are almost palpable. 

I’ve also been considering a post about one of my own friendships that has irreversibly changed over the last ten years.  But I’m a bit nervous, fearful that my friend might find her way here, and that I might ruin what we stil have.  It’s also too painful, still too raw, even though I’ve been mourning the loss of this close friendship for several years now.  I go through phases I guess, and recently I’ve been feeling it again.

So I know there is still much more to say than what I’m about to say here.  But I want to keep it brief.  (As you can see, three paragraphs in, I’m failing dismally.  Brevity is not my strong suit!)

One of the friendship issues that I see women face is how they cope when they are the only one in their circle of friends who doesn’t have children.  I don’t know how they cope with that, as it is not something I have had to face. Yes, I know how lucky I am.

Nicole posted about this in “Who will be our friends wheneveryone has kids?”  Even back when I was in my 20s, I was determinedly NOT trying to conceive, fiercely resisting the expectations that, as a woman, my first job would be to procreate.  I never said never, but quite definitely said “not now, not yet.”  I was going to do it when it was right for me.  Not when people thought I should.  And so I found it hard to think of our other friends having kids, when it was so far from my own immediate thoughts at the time.

By the time I was 30, only a few of my friends had children.  And it really didn’t affect my life.  One of my oldest friends had children but really didn’t change her (outward) lifestyle much at all.  We got to know the children well - G spent his first birthday at our apartment in Bangkok - but we never felt that we could only ever talk about the children.  Our relationship continued with little change.  And there was never any judgement about our choice (at the time) not to have children, or any pressure to do so.  (Well, with the exception of obnoxious brothers-in-law).

I made new friends, friends without children, and friends with children.  But again, these parents were people who had wider interests, who were intelligent, curious, and had more to talk about than their children.  They all adored being parents, being mothers, but they never pressured me, and when I did try to conceive, and had losses, they supported me, and some of the parents were the people I was able to talk to most openly. 

This wasn’t the case with everyone in my life though.   Some friendships/relationships did change.  But most didn’t.  And even if they did, they tended to be staggered.  Not everyone in my life got pregnant at the same time.  They very thoughtfully spread their child-bearing over about 20 years.  So I never felt completely isolated at any one time.

Now of course I am in my 40s (not for much longer – argh!), and in a different phase of life.  I don’t expect any of my current friends or immediate family (or in-law family) to have any more children.  (Although the youngest child in our life will only be 4 this year).  But any new children in my life now will be in another generation – the children of nieces and nephews, or the children of children of friends.  Yes, my friends and sisters and siblings-in-law will most likely be grand-parents.  That has started already.  I don’t expect it will be too painful, simply because these are the same people who were sensitive when they were parents.  I don’t expect them to change their personalities and become painful, insensitive grand-parents.

So I’m pleased to report that this is a time when I am reclaiming my friendships.  Children grow up, parents discover babysitters, and even if they did withdraw from your life for a time, most of my friends/family have returned with a vengeance.  And that’s something to look forward to.  My sister-in-law and I are even planning the day that my niece can be the “designated driver” on a trip to the wineries of the Barossa or Margaret River Valley!  She’d better hurry up and get her drivers’ licence.

Baking in the sun

Just a quick note. I've blogged in A Separate Life about why I'm not posting this week. I'm feeling good so far, but wondering if seeing my sister watch her daughter get married on Friday will bring unexpected emotions. Not that I'm tempting fate - more an intellectual curiosity. And in the meantime, I'm enjoying being back in Thailand. Now, for another frozen mango daiquiri ...

Thoughts about daughters, nieces and mothers-in-law

I actually wrote about this a month or so ago, when Mother’s Day was being held in the UK.  Yesterday of course it was held in NZ, Australia, the US and Canada, South Africa, and probably a whole bunch of other countries.  I was congratulating myself around 5 pm for getting through it okay.  I realised I had seen little advertising, as these days – like so many people – our TV/internet/newspaper consumption is on demand, and we don’t have to sit through schmaltzy advertisements reminding me what I’ve missed out on.  So I was feeling okay, as for the second weekend in a row I was a dutiful wife and daughter-in-law and spent the time with my in-laws.

My mother-in-law loves Chinese takeaways, and only gets them if we visit.  So it’s easy for us to go out to their suburb, pick up dinner just down the street from them, and then have the meal with them.  It’s a real treat for my mother-in-law, as for some reason she never walks the five minutes to buy them on her own.  (That’s a whole different blogpost, that I won’t inflict on you!)  Picking up the Chinese food, the lovely old lady who served us chirped, “Happy Mother’s Day!”  I nodded (it wasn’t her fault), then grimaced – ouch - as we got outside.  It took me by surprise.

Then, as we arrived at the in-laws, the MIL was so excited that her son had come to visit again.  I should feel sorry for her – and I do – that all her grandchildren live overseas, and that three of her four sons do.  Later, we chatted.  She bemoaned the fact that she never had a daughter.  That she used to commiserate with her next door neighbour (mother to two sons) that they never had little dresses hanging on the washing line.  How sad it was that she couldn’t dress up a little girl.  And she does all this in front of me.  And her son.  What I wouldn’t have given to be able to hang up little boys’ shorts and T-shirts on the washing line!  I tried not to let it show.  But of course, she doesn’t notice. 

When her first grandchild arrived (a girl), she never bought her little dresses.  She never did girly things with her.  She doesn’t do that now with her other three grand-daughters, even when she visits them overseas, or they visit here.  And I figure “maybe my life isn’t that bad?”  My nieces know that Aunty “Mali” buys them cute clothes, fun girly things (without being too stereotypical).  An older niece remembers me teaching her to wear mascara, and taking her shopping every year for all her school clothes once she turned 13.  (Her mother would hand me a cheque, and send us off, knowing we both enjoyed doing it together).  A friend’s daughter was delighted when I bought her a bunch of ear-rings for her newly-pierced ears.  And I take pleasure in their pleasure.  My mother-in-law has four grand-daughters, and it is no-one’s fault but her own that she doesn’t have the fun of going into a kid’s clothes shop to buy the most adorable little girls’ clothes.  Besides, one of the benefits of being a gran or an aunty is that you don’t have to worry about how to wash or iron the cutest little outfits.  That’s a mother’s problem, after all.

And finally, I’ve been a member of her family for over 20 years.  So has my closest sister-in-law.  My other sisters-in-law have been around for at least 10 years each.  She has had the opportunity to have daughters, to learn from us what it means to be a young-ish (well, compared to being 87!) woman today and to share life with us.  She doesn’t recognise the role we all play in the family.  It’s not easy to communicate when the family is in five different countries, and most of the sons are dreadful correspondents.  But we – the daughters-in-law - arrange family reunions, we talk and share issues and concerns, we keep that family together.  We may not be daughters – but we’re the nearest thing she’s got.

It seems that this is an exercise in writing as therapy, rather than just a moanfest.  I felt sad last night, but in writing this, I realise how lucky I am.  I take the opportunities I have - I love buying my nieces presents and clothes, spending time with them, relating to them, sharing what I can of myself.  I’ve nurtured a lovely relationship (albeit long distance) with one niece in particular, who is now emerging so beautifully and confidently into adulthood.  Of course it’s not without pain.  But as I said in my previous post, I’d rather have that, than the inability to relate at all.