December 1, 2020

Baby Makers and Biology

Just becasue you can reproduce doesn't mean you should.

An honest and candid post from Nyx (@Nyxks on Twitter) called “Women Are More Then Baby Makers” warrants sharing:

I 100% disagree with the statement “its embedded in every womans biological makeup to be a mother, to carry and give birth to this beautiful baby.” … I know that there are several of us who… have chosen NOT to have children we have chosen to be Childfree by choice… many women out there in the general population who have no ticking of the biological clock… Having a child… is a choice that one makes, it does not come down to the simple deal of it being a biological necessity… Being childfree or childless makes you no less a woman or man then being a parent makes you “all grown up”… I am no less a woman because nature took my ability to have children away or because I chose to be childfree… (Nyxks Musings)

Tick, tick, tick. My biological clock is ticking. But when the alarm sounds I hear, “Windsurf before you’re too old to enjoy it!” Or “Wander the globe while you’re still young and energetic.” Or, “Less wine tomorrow night, you don’t bounce back like you used to…” Nobody’s immune from the biological clock. But its alarms are diverse. And, for some of us, they don’t include, “Make a baby. Make a baby. Make a baby!”

An Unmet Need for Family Planning

Undecaplets

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I’m reading a magazine to pass the time in my gynecologist’s office when I stumble upon the incredible “historical record” of one 18th century Russian peasant woman who reportedly gave birth to sixty nine children between the years of 1725 and 1765 (without fertility aids, of course).  Apparently, she did this with 27 multiple birth pregnancies and with only two lost in infancy.

“Not possible,” says my gynecologist when I share the figure with her.  That was my reaction too.  Nonetheless, even if the figure was doubly exaggerated, that still leaves a staggering number of children that the human body can create, and a puzzling question as to why any woman would want that many children.  Was she looking to start her own sports league or productive work force for the family business?

According to Yahoo, the “modern” record for the most number of children born to one woman goes allegedly to a Chilean woman (now in her mid 60’s) who delivered 64 babies, though the article qualifies that Chilean birth certificates are “something of a less-than-serious concern in Chile.”

Most number of children to one father, you ask?  The last Sharifan Emperor of Morocco, Mulai Ismail(1646-1727) reportedly sired somewhere around 800 children with 500 wives – a busy man indeed.  One wonders how he had any time to run an empire and one can well imagine many other legendary rulers throughout history who must have had impressive fleets of children as well.

Here are a few more staggering reproduction figures:  The youngest woman to give birth was, in fact not a woman at all but apparently a five year old Peruvian girl who delivered her baby boy by cesarean in 1939 in a small Andean village.  The community thought she had an abdominal tumor.  A pituitary malfunction was speculated to have caused the onset of her menstruation at three years of age.  The baby lived and welcomed his brother thirty three years later.  If this story is true it is disturbing by so many accounts but what I wonder is did they find  the man who molested her and cut off his nuts?  Unfortunately not –  the father remained a mystery.

The youngest father on record?  A twelve year old boy from England who had a son in 1998 with his fifteen year old girlfriend.

Oldest Father? A ninety three year old Australian man who died at one hundred. The oldest mother was a Spanish woman who had fertility assistance in producing twins at sixty seven in 2006 (which of course sparked international controversy).

Here’s another disturbing statistic:  According to Guinness World Records, in 2010 the “youngest identified group of drug addicts:” Unlucky babies born to young mothers in rural Afghanistan who are addicted to heroin and opium from the abundance of poppy crops in their country.  In addition to passing the drugs along to fetuses in-uteri, mothers are known in rural regions to blow heroin spoke at the babies to calm them and relieve pain.  The U.S. State Department “has categorized them as the youngest drug addicted group ever found for which there are no established treatment protocols.”

Finally, according to Nicholas D. Kristof in an Op-Ed article of the New York Times this past Mother’s Day, “215 million women worldwide have an ‘unmet need’ for family planning, meaning they don’t want to become pregnant but aren’t using effective contraception.”  He continues: “The Guttmacher Institute, a respected research group, estimates that if all the unmet need for contraception were met, the result would be 94,000 fewer women dying of pregnancy complications each year, and almost 25 million fewer abortions each year.”

I ask you:  Do these figures not call out a need for affordable birth control and accessible family planning education worldwide?

 

The Right To Breed Again and Again and Again…

Me During a Polar Plunge Defending the Right to Birth Control

Me During a Polar Plunge Defending the Right to Birth Control

My friend’s neighborhood is awash in whispering.  The local mothers are passing along word that their neighbor is having – gasp — her tenth child.

“She is a wonderful mother and her kids are all quite lovely and well behaved,” my friend qualifies to me, but adds: “but honestly, what was she thinking, having another child?”

There it is, out in the open:  Mothers chiding mothers for taking things too far.  The local mothers gossip amongst themselves, wondering what would possess an educated 21st century woman in a well-to-do suburb to have so many children?

The answer?  Religion, perhaps.  The woman is apparently devoutly religious.  They mothers settle on religion as the likely overriding push for their friend to continue her own baby boom.  But can her decision to continue the growth of her family at an exponential rate come from some other psychological yearning?  Maybe.

Here’s what I wonder:  If I stand for a woman’s right to reproductive freedom, which I do (see picture above) must I commend a woman no matter her choice – no children or ten?  Shouldn’t a woman have the right to birth control – or not-  if she so chooses?  How many children are too many?  How man children can a family have before it taxes the parents to the point of incompetent parenting or irresponsible civic member?  How many children should one community have to support from one family?  Should public schools impose an extra tax on families with more than a certain number of children in the local system? Moreover, when a woman has ten children (or more – I’m picking a random number here) is it always her choice, or is it sometimes her husband’s or her religion’s or her family’s or culture’s choice?

As always, especially here, I navigate some tricky waters.  Isn’t this all worth some debate though?

I have had many friends from large families (of five or more siblings) and they all defend their experience in a those families as very rewarding.

With fertility treatments on the rise and on a technological fast forward treadmill, should we expect multiple births, or multiple multiple births to be the norm?  Will huge families make a comeback?  Are they already making a comeback?

Okay, I’ll stop asking so many questions.  My take:  This all needs to be discussed and debated.  Public institutions, communities, friends and neighbors should review the merits of very large families (or for that matter, childless families).  More research should be done to understand the physical, emotional, psychological, and civic consequences of multiple offspring.  Only then can parents make informed decisions about the number of children they should (or shouldn’t) have for the benefit of themselves, their offspring, their communities and the world at large.

 

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Get Your Freakon(omics)!: “The Economist’s Guide to Parenting”

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Freakonomics » Freakonomics Radio, Hour-long Episode 2: “The Economist’s Guide to Parenting”.

Unless you have a lot of time to geek out on Freakonomics, you can skip the radio show and just skip to the text below. Taken from a transcript of the show, this exchange serves as an appropriate follow-up to the Freakonomics on fatherhood post. According to these economists, the increase in parenting duties for college-educated mothers, and the cause, is even more freaky/intriguing:

RAMEY: So, in the 1980’s, the average, young, college-educated mother spent thirteen hours per week on childcare.

DUBNER: That’s Valerie Ramey again. She and her husband Gary, also an economist, analyzed data from the American Time Use Survey.


RAMEY: Now, it’s 22 hours a week. So, the amount of time has increased by nine hours a week.

DUBNER: Nine hours. So, that’s about a seventy percent increase, that’s a huge increase.

RAMEY: It’s a huge increase.

RAMEY: Now, what’s interesting is over this same time period, the wages of college-educated women have really increased. So, the opportunity cost of time has increased at the same time they’ve decided to spend more time taking care of their children.

DUBNER: So, to an economist, like you, that has to be a little bit baffling, yes?

RAMEY: Yes, it is a puzzle.

DUBNER: After declining for decades, the amount of time that parents spent on childcare started to rise in the 1990’s and then skyrocketed in the 2000’s, especially among college-educated moms. Why? The Rameys found a surprising answer: college. Specifically: the increased competition for kids to get into good colleges. These high-end parents weren’t simply babysitting; they were chauffeuring their kids to the kind of extracurricular activities that look good on a college application. The Rameys called it the rug-rat race. You want to know the strangest part? Valerie Ramey was a prime offender — until her family put a stop to it.

 

 

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Permissive Parenting


Interview with LZ Granderson on taming your toddler from: www.cnn.com (share this clip)

LZ Granderson tackles a sensitive topic in “Permissive Parents: Curb your brats“, reminding parents that consistent, ongoing discipline is critical to good parenting. And to preventing your friends from hating your kids!

We’ve all experienced it, even the most kid empathetic amongst us. You’re waiting to see the dentist, and a three year old is spreading magazines all over the waiting room floor. Or you’ve just settled into your seat for an overnight flight across the Atlantic Ocean and the ten year old in front of you starts playing video games with the volume cranked, bouncing back and forth in his chair, gradually pounding your knees to oblivion. Every day we come across absentee parenting scenarios that frustrate, annoy, even anger us. But can you parent somebody else’s kids? The verdict’s still out on that one.

“The rest of the world should not have to be subjected to your bratty kids.”

I’ll second that! And yet we do. Every day. “Kids are not the center of the universe,” Granderson reminds us, and we shouldn’t allow their whims, urges and needs to dictate our social interactions. And yet so many parents do exactly that. And in the process they allow their kids to alienate others in their social circles.

So what should parents be doing differently when it comes to raising and disciplining kids? I won’t try to armchair quarterback the question, because I don’t have kids of my own. I’ll admit up front that the best ones to answer this question are parents, and ideally parents with well behaved kids. Nevertheless, I am an uncle four times over, and I told middle school and high school students for enough years to learn a few things.

I agree with Granderson that discipline must start early and never waver. It must be real and fair and reliable. And infractions aren’t mortal sins; they’re learning opportunities. But discipline’s an easy out. As Granderson acknowledges in this interview, discipline means different things for different families. And I don’t think that there’s much merit in arguing what universal yardstick could be applied to all families and all situations. It’s probably also worth admitting that I’m not a fan of physical punishment.

I submit to you that even more important than discipline is ongoing instruction. Teach your children what is appropriate again and again, and most will eventually grok the big picture. Create consistent, inalienable expectations and parameters. Kids need boundaries. They need to test them and even need to break them sometimes, but they need boundaries. I’ve literally had students tell me this. I’m not kidding! Exceptions are confusing to kids, and your “nice” exception today blurs expectations tomorrow. I also believe that parents often neglect to teach their kids that different domains/situations demand different behaviors. So many youngsters operate in only one mode. No good. Help your kid understand the difference between interacting with children and adults, informal situations like play dates and formal situations like school or church, home and school, etc. Vocabulary, voice, gesture, physical interaction differ in all of these contexts. Help your kid recognize and understand these often subtle differences, and the world (and my day) will be better. Thanks!

Toddler used as weapon on Toronto streetcar

Toronto Street at night, including one of the ...

Image via Wikipedia

Now here’s a bizarre Canada Day parenting update from Chicago’s neighbor to the north: “Toddler used as weapon on Toronto streetcar“!

I’d like to start out with a hat tip to kids is crap for notifying childfree couples the world over that we’re more vulnerable than our child wielding friends and neighbors. How’s that you say? Frankly, I’d say we’re nothing short of disabled! No child; no weapon.

Police have identified a woman who they say used her three-year-old daughter to hit a passenger on a Toronto Transit Commission streetcar. (CBC News)

You read that right. When I first saw the headline, I anticipated a highly effective threat: “Give me your seat or I’ll change my newborn’s nappy in front of you!”

But no cold war tactics here, no metaphorical arms race, no brag and bluster. This baby-armed momma apparently baby-bopped her victim.

“She gets into an altercation with a [woman] on the streetcar and then she uses her child and takes her child and starts hitting the woman with her child,” said Toronto police Const. Tony Vella.

So, if I see you walking up to me on a streetcar, airplane or train brandishing your baby, don’t be surprised if I run away. Or bust some fancy ninja moves from a really bad movie I watch in middle school. (Yes, they had movies back then. And ninjas.) Where exactly does this fit into my childfree flanifesto? Not sure, because until this morning “Afraid of babies!” wasn’t even on my list for why I’m not a breeder. Actually, I guess I’m just afraid of breeders on streetcars

You can’t make this stuff up, folks!

“Some day you’ll regret not having children.” A common refrain for childfree couples, right? “Oh, they’re a pain in the @$$ most of the time, but really, it’s the best decision we ever made!” Another familiar refrain. And you know, finally I’m beginning to understand. Next time I’m getting mugged I have a growing suspicion I’ll finally have that cathartic ah-ha moment: “I wish I had a baby with a soiled nappy to bonk the gun out of this jerks hand!”

Oh, and the good news?

Police believe the child was not hurt. But they are concerned for the little girl’s well-being.

You think?

Family Planning In African Poverty (part two)

Living in rural Cote d’Ivoire, running a development program I tried to educate the local women of the reproductive freedoms they could gain.  I often failed to find the words, however, to inform them of their choices in social contexts outside of our structured program sessions.

When, for example,  my neighbor, who struggled to feed and care for her seven children, announced she was pregnant with her eighth child, my heart sank.  How can I tell her that she doesn’t need to keep having children if she so chooses?  Is it any of my business?

She hadn’t come to any of my public meetings on family planning, health or sanitation.   She knew I was the woman responsible for the condom wave in town.  If she wanted to know more, I figured, she’d ask.  She didn’t so I kept quiet on the issue.

“I need more money,” she declared, over the wall of my courtyard.  Selling plantain bananas was not earning her enough to feed all the children or herself for that matter.  I was happy to share my meals  with her and her children but I wasn’t going to be there forever.  She had no husband or boyfriend, and had somehow alienated the female relatives and friends who normally would have helped her care for her children.

“Can I wash your clothes?” she quizzed.  I was very uncomfortable with the idea of a woman standing outside over a metal basin for hours scrubbing my clothes by hand, but my own knuckles were starting to bleed from doing so, and she was already washing all of her kids’ clothes.  I consented and it afforded her a solid extra income.

The new baby arrived without fanfare and life returned to normal, as it had been during her pregnancy – no baby shower, no well wishers, or delighted onlookers at the new arrival.  No gifts or photos or time off from work.  No beaming grandmother or mother-in-law desperate to show off the new prodigy.  She was washing, cooking, cleaning, mothering, selling plantains and mashing them with a six-foot stick, a wooden bowl and great rhythmic heaves in her courtyard as she always had.  The rhymes of her life remained, with the addition of another dusty fly-covered baby, dangling from her breast as she worked.

The Children of Cote D'Ivoire

I am so lucky, I thought, as I drifted into a nap on my porch to the beat of the yam pounding women.  I have so many choices.  Choosing not to have a child is a luxury not afforded the women of the developing world and having children gains them no extra attention or applause for their heroic efforts at raising them in difficult circumstances. The women of Cote d’Ivoire that I knew never complained about the burdens their children, but spoke of their sweetness instead.  They loved them, they cared for them, they delivered them in make-shift conditions and got on with their lives.  Children to them were an unavoidable, but fully embraced, gift from God – simple as that.

Family Planning in African Poverty (part one)

“No women meetings in village,” the chief asserts to me.  I translate here his broken West African French.

“Male village elders must be there.”  He concludes.

I am running a development program in a rural village in Cote d’Ivoire, five hours north of the Abidjan capital.

“What if only the female elders were there and report back to you and the other male elders after?”  I muster my sweetest smile.  I know he is partial to and fascinated by my western ways, but baffled by them as well.

“As you like it,” he concedes.  “But babies good”  He asserts, confidently.

“Oh, yes, we just want to space the babies, so that the men can get more rest.”  I flash another straight toothed white American smile at him.  He nods in surrender.

I have won this battle and it is an important one.  My colleague and I are initiating a family planning program in thirty six villages (eighteen of which we regularly visit).  It is part of a larger health care and small business program that we are operating.  Living and working in this West African community, we notice fairly quickly, the problems with the spread of AIDS and the proliferation of unintended pregnancies.

Since we are both women, we decide to initiate a woman-to-woman program to educate the local women on the merits of birth control for family planning and disease prevention, but, like most projects in rural villages, change doesn’t come easily.  The men in charge are nervous about western schemes to limit African populations and to empower women.

We are tinkering with loaded dynamite.  If the all-woman meeting is not a resounding success by the locals’ standards, then all our development initiatives will be regarded with suspicion, particularly ones that relate directly with women.

I was twenty three at that time and had so much to learn, which, living in the middle of an African jungle, I sure enough did.  Before leaving for Africa, I feared that I wouldn’t have enough knowledge to share with the people in my program, but having recently exited college — birth control  — now that I knew about.  I hoped I could empower the women to take control of their reproductive freedom as I had.

The meeting took place, and thanks to some enterprising kids on bicycles, bribed with an invitation to a home made American dinner at our place, word of the unprecedented woman only meeting spread across the community like the rainy season mud.  They came in droves.  Some walked over thirty miles, some caught rides in the back of passing trucks, mopeds or motorcycles and on top of buses.

We are astounded. We scramble to make room for all of the attendees.  The village female elders sit with us at a front table displaying posters about AIDS and breast-feeding amongst an assortment of condoms and tubes of contraceptive foam.

This was an historic moment, for our program, for the village, and for the women who dared to come that day.  For one hour we spoke to the women about the importance of spacing their children.  I had never spoken French in front of a crowd before but my roommate assured me that my skills were sufficient enough for the task.

“Children are a gift from God,” I begin in my best assimilation of West African French.  The opening scores rounds of approving head bobbing from a largely Christian crowd, though the northern and foreign Muslim woman seem to agree as well.

“Your ancestors practiced child spacing because the men had multiple wives.  The men would let the new mothers rest and care for the baby for a while before they would partner with them again.”  Again, more nods, especially from the elders.

We continue with a talk about the physical, economic and emotional merits of spacing children, and the importance of preventing diseases like AIDS hotly on the rise in their communities thanks to improved roads and visiting prostitutes from the city.

The most popular part of the meeting is the frank talk about the contraceptive devices.  Many questions ensue, and waves of giggles emerge when we passe around the condoms.  When we encourage them to open the packages and blow the condoms into balloons the fun really begins.  The laughter that erupts unsettles the village chief who peeks into the meeting.  I motioned to him that all is well and the women elders shoo him away.  I suppose no one had ever seen women having that much fun before.  The women’s laughter was a favorite topic for some time to come.

The meeting succeeded, and we achieved our goal: the women felt comfortable enough to talk about birth control and to ultimately handle the paraphernalia without too much embarrassment.  That was real progress for the community.  We started a door-to-door woman-to-woman birth control program (modeled after the Avon cosmetic concept except that the women selling goods were trained volunteers) and it worked.  While the men were in the fields, the women could comfortably and privately have all their questions answered and discreetly purchase contraceptives.

The meeting was favorably reported in the Abidjan newspaper which hopefully gave the idea to other communities in the country and I gave all the credit to the male village chiefs and local government officials (who had signed off on the event, but did nothing, of course but show up in the villages to show off their fancy western cars and gold jewelry).  I had quickly learned what it took to get things done in that community, and giving credit to local officials was a great way to succeed in important work.

What I couldn’t do that day is tell those women that they don’t even need to have a child if they don’t want them.  That was a message not to be told.  In a region where childless women were suspected of having a curse cast on them by some improper action on her behalf, how could a woman have any true reproductive rights?  When working in the developing world, though, you take the small victories where you can.

In a community where the mentally ill were chained to trees in the center of villages, where very few marriages existed, where young women were encouraged to be sexually active as soon as they reached puberty, where the concept of “love” and “romance” were silly western concepts that evoked confusion when witnessed in foreign films, and where women often conceded that they didn’t think they had  the right to refuse any man who made a sexual advance at them, or the right to ask him to wear protection, how much of a difference could we really make?

By introducing the idea to the women that they could control the spacing of their children, I’d like to think that we empowered the women in a small way.  By teaching them about the dangers of AIDS, hopefully we averted some senseless deaths.   But where a woman doesn’t feel that she had the right to say no to a sexually interested man, how empowered can these women really be?  It was heart-braking in many ways to witness their plight.

The women we saw the most, the neighbors who frequented our porch, the ones who sold us food and goods in the market, the ones who volunteered in our health care program and received small business grants, spoke at length with us, watched us and learned from us and hopefully were the better for it.  I certainly learned a great deal from them.  However, the end of the 1986 film “The Mission” comes to my mind where Jeremy Irons, an 18 century Jesuit Priest, wonders if the indigenous peoples in South America that they came to “save” wouldn’t have been better off if they, the missionaries, had never come at all.

How does a foreigner work with a vastly different culture not accidentally, sometimes, change it for the worse?  Development workers ponder this often.  Was it helpful for the women of an African village to witness the freedoms that upwardly mobile feminist women from America take for granted – freedoms that they may never gain?  I’ll never know.

Upcoming Posts:

  • Friday April 1st: Family Planning in African Poverty (part two)

Forging My Own Kid-less Path

Me with my first dog and only sister

I’ve never been a follower, so it’s not surprising to most who know me that I’m willing to swim against the childbearing current. Or perhaps having children is more like a fashion that never goes out of fashion?

When I was young, my teachers would find me working on a project not related to our assignment, and most of them would surrender to the fact that I flourished more when I did my own thing.

Which one more irreverent?

In my age five ballet photos I’m the tall skinny girl doing the opposite moves from the rest of the class.   When the instructor suggested to my mom that perhaps another kind of class would be more appropriate for my free spirit moves, my mom assured me not to worry about being kicked out and reminded me that there’s nothing wrong with dancing to my own music.

I’ve been dancing ever since, and though my moves are no more graceful than age five I still can’t sit still when music plays.  If you don’t look a little like a fool when you dance, how much fun could you really be having?

In college, my creative writing teacher and advisor would give an assignment and then usually qualify by saying to me: “Susan, you do what you want. It’ll turn out better that way.” He knew that artificial parameters would always limit my creativity.

In the 70’s everyone in my school decided to wear Topsider shoes. I pleaded with my mother to get a pair.

“But Evvv-er-yone has them mom.  Everyone but me.”

“Since when are you such a follower,” she said. “They don’t support your high arches, and for the last time, no.”

Right, I thought, don’t be such a follower. That’s not like you.

I’m proud of myself always dancing and for not blindly following most of my friends into motherdom.

which mom? which non-mom?

For many it’s the right choice.  For me it was not, and thank goodness I took the time to critically analyze my needs and capabilities to make an informed choice.

A look at some of my childhood photos reveals the rebel in me.  Can you tell which one of these girls became a super-mom and which one remained irreverent and childless?

What did your childhood photos reveal about your breeding future?  Do share!

My sister, the super mom

My sister, the super mom

Hanging Out With Moms and Why are Dads Having More Fun?

Dad at Play

I’ve learned some things from hanging out with moms and their kids. As we all know, if you want to spend time with mothers, especially new ones,  you’re going to spend a great deal of time with their kids.

Wading through the feedings,  cleanings, clothes changes and scoldings, I’ve gathered along the way an unedited (if slightly abridged) view of motherhood.

What I’ve learned most of all from spending uncensored time with moms and their kids is that I don’t want their lives or anything remotely resembling them. While I admire them immensely, envy them I do not. Okay, in many ways I’m in awe of them because, frankly,  I’m dumbfounded at how they manage, but I’m sure not interested in giving up the freedoms that they surrender.

On the bright side, I’ve picked up from moms (and some nannies I also got to know) some very helpful kid tips which I pass along to new mothers, who look at me in amazement, wondering how a kid-less woman could know so much about how to calm a colicky baby or the best breast-feeding positions.  I have to talk about something at baby showers after all.  You don’t think the ladies are talking about politics at those events, do you?

I also get a great deal of shock when moms see that I actually know how to hold an infant, and that I’m quite comfortable with them.  Well, I’ve held so many of them, that it has become second nature to me, but don’t mistake my comfort with a longing to hold my own.

By the way, why are their husbands having so much more fun? Oh, they’re often exhausted too, but it seems to me that they’re still willing to play more than their wives.  Is the parental division of labor not as equal as we had expected in this era of sexual equality?

Why, for instance, when guests visit us, are the men usually game for swimming and water sports, while their wives are often content to sit on the shore in case a little body might need drying, a mouth might need water or a nose might need blowing?

“You don’t even want to swim in this heat?” I quiz them. No, they seem to prefer the safety of shore. These are sporty women, women with whom I used to climb trees and party all night. What happened here? Is there some unwritten consent that mothers make not to have any more fun?  Must they always sublimate their family members’ needs over theirs?  Does anyone else out there notice that mom’s don’t seem to be getting much more of a break than in the 1950’s and 60’s?

Now, moms are also expected to earn a solid income and agree to multiple volunteer roles, in addition to being the household chauffeur, cook, doctor and maid (even if she has such employees).

We’ll explore more about all of this later.  Maybe those moms have something to say about the benefits of “surrendering” certain freedoms, and Dads, are you really having more fun than your wives, or do I have the wrong impression here?

Upcoming Posts:

  • Friday March 18: Forging My Own Kid-less Path
  • Monday March 21: Dog Mom and über Aunt Will Travel