Thursday, December 9, 2004
"I think I'll go ahead and have a baby."
Mom had arisen from her nap maybe 15 minutes prior to uttering this sentence. I was teasing her hair, getting it ready to style. "Really?" I said.
"I was going to wait, but I think I should go ahead and have one now."
"What made you decide not to wait?" I asked.
"Well, if I wait any longer I'll be past the time when I could have a baby."
"Well," I agreed, "that's true. I mean, you had me 53 years ago, so you are pretty far along in your reproductive years."
She didn't bat an eye at this, just nodded her agreement.
"Do you have someone in mind to father the child?"
She gave me a sharp backward glance. "I would hope it would be my husband."
"So. You're going to embark on a man hunt," I said.
She laughed. "Not exactly; the men are supposed to come to me."
"So, you want to raise the child within a marriage."
"I don't know," she mused. "Maybe not."
"You know," I suggested, "artificial insemination is a reality, now. You could do that."
"No, no. Then I'd never know who the father is."
"Yes you would. Or, at least you might. At the very least, you'd know the genetic traits, including things like height, eye color, genetic predisposition toward disease, intelligence, background..."
"Really!" Her interest lit at this. "I didn't know that was possible."
"Oh, yeah, and pretty common, now, too. There are sperm banks, you know."
"Well, that's certainly a possibility!"
"Would you consider raising the baby without the father?"
"I...," she drew the vowel out, "don't know..."
"Well, if you had a baby by artificial insemination, the likelihood of you being a single mother would be high."
"Oh, that doesn't bother me. That would be fine."
"I don't imagine it's any easier now to be a single mother than it might have been when you had your first four children but these days there's a lot more attitude support. There are lots of single mothers and no one bats an eye. There are lots of blended families, too...you know, where a child is living with two parents, one of whom is a step parent."
"I didn't realize that."
"Oh, yeah. The family you had years ago is a pretty temporary arrangement, now."
"That's too bad."
"I know. We had a good family, didn't we."
"Yes, we did. We had a lot of fun. And we really seemed to enjoy each other."
"I know we did. We still do."
"Yes. We do."
The conversation slipped into a general discussion of the desire to have babies. We talked about how we'd take care of the baby. It became apparent, and finally verbalized by my mother, that she expected me to take care of the baby. She grinned at me, naughtily and nattily, when she announced this.
I laughed. "Whoa, there! You're the mother. I'm not. I've never even wanted to have kids! If you have a baby, you get to be the mother."
"I didn't want to have kids until I had them," she said, in retort.
"Yeah, you did," I reminded her. "You've told me many times that from the time you were a young child you wanted two things, to be a teacher and to have 'a passel of kids'.
She looked thoughtful. "That's true," she said. "I think, now, you'd be better at taking care of it than me."
Again, I laughed. "Hey, if the only reason you're having a baby is for me, please, don't bother! I've got enough people to take care of." I actually considered saying "babies" instead of "people", but quickly substituted. Taking care of my mother is not "baby care".
My mother laughed, too. By this time her hair was styled and I was fixing her lunch. I noted that the news was on, asked her if she wanted to watch it and she took the suggestion with interest.
It seems that these episodes in which she (and I, just to keep up with her) straddles time and place zones happen most frequently within an hour after she arises from sleep.
Why don't I barge in with "the truth", as I do in several other situations? When my mother initiates an episode like this my consideration is that we are talking truth, deep truth. Since we've lately had three such episodes in three days (one initiated by me), it may seem as though they're happening more frequently than usual. Not so. We've gone through periods when she's in dynamic phase (like The Traveler in Star Trek: Next Generation) before and I'm sure we will again. We're probably still in the middle of one of these periods. The first couple of times we hit such a period I was sure that it meant she was close to death. It seemed reasonable to me that such dynamic phasing periods would be a means of gathering one's entire life around one outside of time just before death. Well, it's been at least four years, maybe more, since the first one. I no longer consider them harbingers of death. I do, though, always look forward to them. If you've been following us for at least a couple of years you've noted that I always take advantage of them, rather than freaking and trying to steer her immediately back into The Present wherein those of us who aren't considered senile congratulate ourselves on living. Sometimes I learn history about my mother from them. Sometimes I learn the content of one of those psychological secrets mothers keep from their children either without thinking or by design. Sometimes, my favorite times, I sit back and marvel at that of which my mother is psychologically capable and how delightfully magical is the "senility" we're taught to dread, in ourselves, our loved ones, acquaintances and strangers.
I'm glad my mother is living in a situation where she is not only safe when she practices dynamic phasing but she's got someone traveling with her who can fill in detail, ask the right questions, someone with whom she feels comfortable and whose presence more or less guarantees a safe return; and, I'm glad it's me.
My mother is as quietly amazing as an Ancient One as she was during other periods in her life. Tonight I'm overwhelmed with gratitude that I'm in her orchestra pit during this last and most mysterious of her ages.
"I was going to wait, but I think I should go ahead and have one now."
"What made you decide not to wait?" I asked.
"Well, if I wait any longer I'll be past the time when I could have a baby."
"Well," I agreed, "that's true. I mean, you had me 53 years ago, so you are pretty far along in your reproductive years."
She didn't bat an eye at this, just nodded her agreement.
"Do you have someone in mind to father the child?"
She gave me a sharp backward glance. "I would hope it would be my husband."
"So. You're going to embark on a man hunt," I said.
She laughed. "Not exactly; the men are supposed to come to me."
"So, you want to raise the child within a marriage."
"I don't know," she mused. "Maybe not."
"You know," I suggested, "artificial insemination is a reality, now. You could do that."
"No, no. Then I'd never know who the father is."
"Yes you would. Or, at least you might. At the very least, you'd know the genetic traits, including things like height, eye color, genetic predisposition toward disease, intelligence, background..."
"Really!" Her interest lit at this. "I didn't know that was possible."
"Oh, yeah, and pretty common, now, too. There are sperm banks, you know."
"Well, that's certainly a possibility!"
"Would you consider raising the baby without the father?"
"I...," she drew the vowel out, "don't know..."
"Well, if you had a baby by artificial insemination, the likelihood of you being a single mother would be high."
"Oh, that doesn't bother me. That would be fine."
"I don't imagine it's any easier now to be a single mother than it might have been when you had your first four children but these days there's a lot more attitude support. There are lots of single mothers and no one bats an eye. There are lots of blended families, too...you know, where a child is living with two parents, one of whom is a step parent."
"I didn't realize that."
"Oh, yeah. The family you had years ago is a pretty temporary arrangement, now."
"That's too bad."
"I know. We had a good family, didn't we."
"Yes, we did. We had a lot of fun. And we really seemed to enjoy each other."
"I know we did. We still do."
"Yes. We do."
The conversation slipped into a general discussion of the desire to have babies. We talked about how we'd take care of the baby. It became apparent, and finally verbalized by my mother, that she expected me to take care of the baby. She grinned at me, naughtily and nattily, when she announced this.
I laughed. "Whoa, there! You're the mother. I'm not. I've never even wanted to have kids! If you have a baby, you get to be the mother."
"I didn't want to have kids until I had them," she said, in retort.
"Yeah, you did," I reminded her. "You've told me many times that from the time you were a young child you wanted two things, to be a teacher and to have 'a passel of kids'.
She looked thoughtful. "That's true," she said. "I think, now, you'd be better at taking care of it than me."
Again, I laughed. "Hey, if the only reason you're having a baby is for me, please, don't bother! I've got enough people to take care of." I actually considered saying "babies" instead of "people", but quickly substituted. Taking care of my mother is not "baby care".
My mother laughed, too. By this time her hair was styled and I was fixing her lunch. I noted that the news was on, asked her if she wanted to watch it and she took the suggestion with interest.
It seems that these episodes in which she (and I, just to keep up with her) straddles time and place zones happen most frequently within an hour after she arises from sleep.
Why don't I barge in with "the truth", as I do in several other situations? When my mother initiates an episode like this my consideration is that we are talking truth, deep truth. Since we've lately had three such episodes in three days (one initiated by me), it may seem as though they're happening more frequently than usual. Not so. We've gone through periods when she's in dynamic phase (like The Traveler in Star Trek: Next Generation) before and I'm sure we will again. We're probably still in the middle of one of these periods. The first couple of times we hit such a period I was sure that it meant she was close to death. It seemed reasonable to me that such dynamic phasing periods would be a means of gathering one's entire life around one outside of time just before death. Well, it's been at least four years, maybe more, since the first one. I no longer consider them harbingers of death. I do, though, always look forward to them. If you've been following us for at least a couple of years you've noted that I always take advantage of them, rather than freaking and trying to steer her immediately back into The Present wherein those of us who aren't considered senile congratulate ourselves on living. Sometimes I learn history about my mother from them. Sometimes I learn the content of one of those psychological secrets mothers keep from their children either without thinking or by design. Sometimes, my favorite times, I sit back and marvel at that of which my mother is psychologically capable and how delightfully magical is the "senility" we're taught to dread, in ourselves, our loved ones, acquaintances and strangers.
I'm glad my mother is living in a situation where she is not only safe when she practices dynamic phasing but she's got someone traveling with her who can fill in detail, ask the right questions, someone with whom she feels comfortable and whose presence more or less guarantees a safe return; and, I'm glad it's me.
My mother is as quietly amazing as an Ancient One as she was during other periods in her life. Tonight I'm overwhelmed with gratitude that I'm in her orchestra pit during this last and most mysterious of her ages.
