Friday 16 October 2009

Motivations

I've been reading so many interesting pieces of writing on blogs recently. These two have been occupying my brain for the past two or three days.

'so-called replacement child part 1' at klepsydra

'words pouring out' at Fionn

I started writing comments on both occasions but I got a bit carried away. Rather than take over either of these good folk's blogs with my rambling, I thought I would grab (or perhaps more accurately steal?) these topics, bring them back over here and ramble away on my own blog instead.

As I read them (with a thousand apologies to the authors if I have the wrong end of the stick) these posts revolved around two major topics

(a) what motivates us to have children in the first place? Do we have children in order to fill a void in our own lives? In the hope that they will make us happy or give us purpose that we would otherwise be lacking? Or to occupy the void left by the loss of an older sibling?

(b) Following on from the final question, the notion of so-called 'replacement' children.

I've been racking my poor old brain over these questions.

Why did I decide to have children?
Why did I want to have children?
Why do I want to have more children?
Is Jessica Georgina's 'replacement' child?
Are any further children that I bring into my family condemned to be 'replacements' for Georgina in one way or another?

Well . . . . why did I decide to have children?

I suppose you could argue that the decision I took was rather the decision NOT to have children earlier by taking precautions for the past fifteen odd years or so. If I had left it up to nature alone and dithered over taking the decision NOT to fall pregnant my eldest children would be in secondary school by now.

But, having taken birth control for many years, I made a conscious decision to stop taking it and I certainly did this in the hope that I would fall pregnant and have a child.

It seems rather frightening that I conceived two children deliberately - not accidentally, as the result of one too many glasses of wine which I believe is partially the reason for my existence on this planet -  yet I really have no clear explanation as to WHY I did this.

I think I can probably provide some sort of rationale for most major decisions that I have made in my life. This isn't to say that I have made good decisions necessarily but at least I have some vague inkling of why I acted the way that I did, why I took the routes that I took. But having children? Suddenly everything seems much more murky.

I've been trying to peer into my motivations for wanting children but I've actually found it extremely hard to grasp any of the specifics.

Perhaps because I run a pretty fine line in the self deception department? I've often thought that if, through some horrible fairytale type mechanism, all my inner workings were laid bare I would run screaming from the monster that suddenly appeared. Perhaps I don't actually want to know why I want(ed) children? Were my motivations purely selfish? To make myself happy or to fill my aimless existence with something, anything. I hope not but it is very hard to decipher when I stand so close to myself that I can hardly make myself out.

Perhaps because some of my motivation is hardwired into that old, old part of the brain that drives the basic impulses, to eat, to breath, to run from danger, to reproduce?

Perhaps because the decision to have children was one that I made a very long time ago? I have always wanted children or at least I can't remember a time before I knew I wanted them. My mother has always been involved in the care of young children and as I grew up I spent a lot of time with children younger than myself. I loved looking after them, I liked their company and their honesty. I used to daydream about the children that I would have when I grew up.

When I started my periods at the age of about thirteen, I remember crying and crying over the 'children' that I was losing. I thought of it as ' there's that little one's chance gone' in a rush of blood and teenage melodrama. Never mind that I was a million miles from having a boyfriend, even further from having much idea what to do with one if I had happened to come by such a creature and being the kind of teenage girl that actually prefers books to boys at that age.

As I grew older I realised that there were other things I wanted too. I wanted to study, stay out late, have a career, have boyfriends who weren't interested in having children, a house and to be irresponsible. But my future children were always there, I confidently assumed that they were waiting in the wings, definitely part of my ten year plan. I had a notion that I wanted my first child whilst I was still in my twenties. I don't know why? Perhaps in imitation of my own mother.

Perhaps I wanted them because I was, intermittently, part of a large family and then a small one? My mother is one of five children and I am one of fourteen cousins. The majority of my family live in South Africa but I was born and raised in England. I did go back to South Africa many times throughout the course of my childhood and always felt  . . . .hurt? excluded? . . .I'm not entirely sure. I was part of this family that I at once belonged to and did not belong to. The little English girls that huddled on the outskirts of a family that seemed so loving and involved with one another. Different accents, different appearance, different. Just different.
I think it made me want to anchor myself  firmly to something or somebody. My little English family of four seemed so damned insubstantial, a puff of wind could blow us away. One of us could be taken out at any second. Four, three, two, one. Almost a premonition of my own little family of four that disintegrated so rapidly and lost one of its members in a haze of hospitals and machinery.

So there probably are reasons but they are lost in the mists of time, in my befogged and befuddled adolescent brain, made by a person who is no longer.

Perhaps I had my children for all the wrong reasons?
I hope not.
I hope that I had them out of an attempt (perhaps a misguided one) to love them.
I just don't know.

But there is no escaping the fact that it was partly my decision.

To bring these children into being and subject them to this bedazzling, disorientating and appalling experience. What right did I have?
Those poor, frail little scraps of life. Such tiny glimmers of people.
To bring them here and have them stuck full of needles and tubes.
In all the noise and light when they should have been in the quiet dark.
I can only plead that this was not I what I intended. Truly.
I wish I could apologise to them in a way that they could both understand.
My dead daughter and my living daughter. I am so very sorry my dear sweet ones.

Sometimes I think we would have all have been better off if I had just left well enough alone. Kept taking the tablets that stopped my body overproducing babies and then melting down before it had finished the job.

But I can't leave that thought of  'another' alone. Another child, a phantom child, who seems to tug at my skirts and at the edges of my thoughts and dreams. But I'm not entirely sure if that child is a future child, an unknown child or if that child is, in fact, still my Georgina.

My daughter, Georgina.
I want her back so very much, against all possibility and reason.
But she isn't coming back.
Having another child will not bring her back.
I'm worried that my brain has not quite grasped that final fact yet.

******

Which brings me to the idea of 'replacement' but I think I'll have to save that for another day.
This post is getting far too long already.

8 comments:

  1. Catherine, this is an excellent post on a topic that is endlessly fascinating to me.

    Oof. I'm stuck with this one. The thing is, I was so lucky until I wasn't. I conceived Ava on the night we decided to try to have a baby and she was born when she should have been and completely healthy. I conceived Iris when Ava was 11 months semi-accidentally - I hadn't even had a period since having Ava because of breastfeeding. My pregnancy was completely normal until I went into labour and she died. FOr both of my daughters, I never had time to feel the ache, the void, the longing prior to their conception.

    When I thought about having children I thought about a rabble, chaos, a full house, lots of love - for me but mainly for THEM. I was doing it for them, but of course I thought it would make me happy too. But I was already happy. I was already where I wanted to be, I have always been extraordinarily lucky; privileged in every sense.

    Now we come to my 'replacement' child. When Iris died, I wanted to get pregnant right away and I didn't allow myself to analyse it too much. 5 months after she died I became pregnant with Moe, and those 5 months were full of 'the void'. But for her. For my Iris. Moe is not her replacement, although I wouldn't have had him had she lived. I still miss her, still love her, still feel the lack of her.

    As for him, it is true that he has brought a great deal of joy, love, fulfillment, hope and many other happy feelings. But he hasn't fixed me. Just like having Ava already didn't stop me grieving Iris.

    So at the end of this epic comment, I'm still not sure what I'm trying to say. I guess that I don't regret my choice to get pregnant with Moe, and I don't think he will grow up to feel the way Klepsydra feels about his dead brother. At least I hope that with all my heart, and David and I are parenting him as thoughfully as we can.

    xx

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  2. I can not put into words my decision to have children. I too have always wanted a family and I don't think I did it to fill any void in my life. I do now have a void since Sophia & Ellie have left us. But I do know that another baby wll not fill this void. There will always be a gaping hole in my heart. Very interesting post Catherine...as always! xx

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  3. Oh Catherine. I wish I had the eloquence to write my feelings as beautifully as you. I don't know what is the drive to have chilfren, what makes us have the empty ache in our soul. But we do. I think you should not apologise to your sweet daughters for loving them, carrying them in your womb and being their comforter and nurturer. Although you may only physically feel Jessica in your arms, Georgina feels every tender squeeze you give her Sister. I can't pretend to feel the pain you feel, I only feel the pain of a Mother who has lost a baby so close to birth. Who can comprehend birth and death so close together the way we have had to? Much love, xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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  4. I would look at the older members of my family (grandparents, parents, aunties, uncles) and see their kids around them and think - I want that when I grow up. I didn't want to get "old" and have no children. What would Christmas be like? Who would come to my family gatherings if I hadn't built a family of my own? I met Simon young (19) and we married young (25). I'd said for years I wanted my first at 26, when my mum had me (and I'm the eldest) but 26 came and went. We had things we wanted to do. But I did want one before I was 30. I got my wish, but she died. Like Jess, I fell pregnant again pretty quickly after Hope. I was desperate, no question. Not just to have a child to love and hold, but because I loved being pregnant and I wanted to be a real mummy. One with a real, live baby. I see this baby not as my replacement child (sure he would have never existed if not for his dead sister) but as replacing my lost motherhood.
    I also hope to have another daughter one day. A replacement daughter perhaps? Not a replacement for Hope, she was certainly her own little spirit, but a chance for me to get to do that real mother-daughter thing. The special thing I have with my own mum now.
    If I've learnt nothing though, its to stop making plans. Because plans have a way of not working out, as we know to well.
    So you are so understood, Catherine. Great post.

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  5. what a deep and beautiful post...

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  6. Catherine,

    I have no idea what I'm going to tell my surviving daughter about this business when she asks someday...and I know she'll ask.

    I actually have some personal experience in this area. My mom had a miscarriage before I was conceived and she's never been shy about saying that she only wanted 2 children. So, am I the replacement? Was that miscarried fetus some imperfect form of me and I got a second try? I have no idea but I'm damn glad that my Mom tried again.

    I imagine that our surviving children will one day thank us for choosing to have them...at times they'll probably also wish they'd never been born.

    As for the children who aren't with us--we can only hope to meet them again someday and tell them how much they are loved and wanted.

    I wonder if anyone ever really chooses to do anything or if it's all just in the cards.

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  7. Very thoughtful, Catherine. I couldn't imagine ever *not* having children. I wish we'd had George for more than the little while of my pregnancy and I know no other child will ever replace him in our lives or in my heart. I wish our little angel babies were earthbound with us for longer. (((Hugs)))

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  8. Those are deep questions, Catherine.

    I always knew I wanted children, too. In fact, I never wanted to go to college because I thought it was a waste since I planned on being home with my family. I was married young (DH and I have been together since I was 19), and I wanted children right away, But DH wanted to wait, so we did. And waited. And waited. We waited so long, taking the idea of a family for granted, not realizing that for us, that dream would not be easily fulfilled. For 2 people who are used to getting everything they want, that was not easy. Eleven years into marriage, we finally had our little boy. And he is everything I ever hoped for and then some. Being in my mid-30s, I knew that time was not on my side. So back to the lab coats we went, and luck struck us the first try, unexpected, and unfortunately, without the happy ending this time.

    Before I had a child, I wanted one purely for selfish reasons. I wanted to have a big family, to be surrounded by love. I wanted to care for someone else. I needed to be needed. Those reasons were all there the second time, but I also wanted my son to have that feeling of family, and love, and that relationship with sibling(s) (blood is thicker than water, etc.) I wanted to make sure when we were gone, he wouldn't be alone. I wanted another part of him, of my husband, of me. Another bond that can never be broken. Mother and child.

    I still want to add to our family for those reasons. I just wish I wasn't too afraid of losing it to try. No child(ren) can ever replace the 2 that I lost. The places in our lives for them will always be empty and they will always be missed.

    I guess I should have followed your lead and posted to my own blog, sorry for babbling on!

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