My Million-Dollar Family

“Will you be trying for a girl next?”

The first person to ask me this was an L&D nurse, mere hours after my second son was born. Considering my baby was at that moment on oxygen in the special care nursery, having another child of either sex was the last thing on my mind. But circumstances aside, I resented the implication that having another boy must be a disappointment to me.

Family members, friends, co-workers and even strangers seem to have a vested interest in the sex of our children. It all started when my husband and I announced our first pregnancy. We were immediately told by certain people who shall remain nameless, “It better be a girl!” An off-hand remark, to be sure, but we knew we were having a boy. Well, we didn’t “know”, because we’d chosen not to find out the sex prior to the birth, but we had a strong feeling. And we were right: Boy #1 was born in 2004. If anyone was disappointed, they hid it well, and I am convinced he could not be more loved.

However, when we announced we were having another child, what did the same people say? You guessed it: “It had better be a sister for Boy #1!” After all, one boy + one girl = the Million Dollar family! Right?

This time we decided to find out the sex of the baby – in part so we could talk to our first born about his new brother- or sister-to-be. But we had another reason for finding out: we didn’t want to spend the rest of the pregnancy hearing that those around us were wishing for something – someone -- they might not get.

I cried when I heard that I was carrying a boy. The ultrasound technician asked if this was a good thing or a bad thing. I assured her, mine were tears of joy. I had always had a feeling that I would have two sons. A psychic even told me I would (so she was wrong about the twins thing…) Boy #2 was born in 2007.

Don’t get me wrong. I would have loved a little girl. Or two. Just as much. And trust me, I know this sort of thing goes both ways: I’m the third of three daughters, so my parents got their fair share of rude comments! But I have sons. Two amazing, adorable, loveable, wonderful boys, and I would not change a thing. Nor do I feel my life is lacking because of the dearth of pink in our house. So why does it seem like others feel sorry for me because I don’t have, and probably never will have, a daughter? I for one don’t look at families with “only” sons or “only” daughters (or “only” one child) and think, “how sad!” But apparently some people do. Otherwise, how to explain these assumptions and questions?

Now our family is complete, but the comments continue: “Sons are great, but…”; “This family needs girls, girls, girls!”; and of course the ubiquitous, “Will you be trying for a girl next?” Worst of all, these things are said in the presence of my boys. I am worried my sons will grow up thinking they’d be loved more, if only people could buy them pretty pink dresses. That my husband and I are the ones wishing one of them had been a girl. That there is something wrong with being a boy.

I won’t be having more babies, but please, don’t pity me because I haven’t got one of each. I am beyond thrilled with my two happy, healthy boys. In the words of my father, who was often asked how he ended up with three daughters: “I’m just lucky I guess.”

Take a Deep Breath...

I love my job. Three weeks ago, I started working part-time at a women’s clothing store, something I never thought I’d do. Me? Retail? But, don’t you have to be outgoing and be comfortable invading the personal space of strangers, and know how to hustle and sell and, and, and...the very idea used to cause me serious anxiety. But life happens and I needed a job, both for the money and for my sanity after more than four years as a stay-at-home mom. I had a really hard time finding a job at all, mostly because of the aforementioned shyness - getting my resume out there was no trouble, but following up? That would mean phoning a stranger. Ugh. I figured the odds would eventually turn out in my favour, though, and if I got a million resumes out there, I’d probably get at least one call, right?

Fast-forward a year, and I finally landed an interview. I connected with my prospective boss instantly and started work the following Tuesday. I fully expected to hate the job with every fibre of my being, until I was fired at the end of my first week. Instead, this job has proven to be the perfect fit for me. I get to dress up and be creative and chatter with sweet little old ladies. I get to satisfy my urge to shop without spending a dime. I get to practice approaching strangers and making small talk without any negative social consequences if I make an ass of myself. It’s been 3 weeks and I feel like a new person, like the dynamic me that I always suspected was hidden behind my nervousness and negative self-talk.

That’s the good news.

The bad news is that every night I lay awake thinking I should quit because it’s not worth the hassle and expense of child care. My husband’s schedule is flexible and he promised to be “accomodating” when I was offered my job because it’s important to me that the kids are in the care of a family member most of the time, but reality is proving to be much more complicated. My hourly wage is less than half of my husband’s, and for me to work a 4 hours shift, he has to take off the whole day to stay with the kids. The way he sees things, it costs us over $100 a day for me to work.

So now the pressure is on for me (yes, me) to arrange daycare for the kids, which should cost less than that $100, BUT the trouble is that my shifts are a little longer than my 2 year old can handle being away from home. Now, I know that he would get used to it quickly, but that’s not the point. The point, well, the first point, is that this is not what I agreed to when I started working outside the home. I agreed to my husband becoming a part-time stay-at-home parent - a minor redistribution of responsibilities.

Another point is that I barely make enough to cover the cost of daycare, even with the BC Child Care Subsidy contributing (an extra $9-$14 a day per child depending on what kind of care we/I choose). I like my job, but not enough to do it for free.

The final point (for today) is this: Why on earth am I the only parent in this house kept up at night worrying about this? Is it because I’m insane and am letting this bother me way more than it should or is it because I’m a woman who is making the mistake of trying to have it all?

I know that I am the last in this little collective to start working outside the home, and I know I am not the first to come up against this wall. I have watched my friends struggle to make the “right” decision only to come to the conclusion that there is no right answer, but a least-bad solution. I know that we’ve all had nights of tossing and turning, worrying about how we can do the things we want and need to do without causing our children to suffer or compromising our values. What has me frustrated is that my partner doesn’t share my concerns. Sure, he cares, but he sleeps soundly every night and he is quite content to let this be my responsibility. I also have a feeling my husband isn’t the only loving, involved dad who acts this way.

How did I get here?

This question enters my mind every single day. The question sways back and forth between the philosophical and the physical. I mean really - HOW did I get here? Here, alone at my computer twelve hundred miles from home. Here, on a blog with a group of women I've never met In Real Life? Here, in this place of reflection and sharing? Here, surrounded by people who respect and admire one another for the fortitude it takes to get here. OnLine, and InRealLife.

(I've just typed the word here enough times that I'm no longer sure it's a real word.)

Some days the voice asking this question is little more than a fleeting whisper. Other days it's a screaming banshee. Every day this question helps to shape my life, and ultimately the life of my family. Acknowledging the voice (whether loud or quiet) leads to me acknowledging the question. And acknowledging the question begs me to try to answer it. And trying to answer it requires me to reflect. And reflection is good. Reminding myself each day how I got here also reminds me to be aware of where I'm going. It reminds me never to become complacent. It reminds me to live with purpose. It reminds me to raise my children with purpose. So here I am, raising my children with purpose.

And that's as much as I can write before someone wakes up and asks "Mumma, can you take me for a pee?"

The birth of a blog

As a group we are all pretty crunchy by mainstream standards, but otherwise, we haven't really got much in common. We were all brought together by being sidelined by our sometimes-unpopular views on the world, but this has also caused some friction between us. But friction can generate heat and in our case, a degree of warmth, that we haven't always found as readily in the real world. Online we can be our best selves, or our loudest selves, or our empathetic selves, but a part of ourselves we have few opportunities to show to the rest of the world.