Saturday, May 14, 2011

Superheroes in the Waiting Room

So Blogger.com ate my May 12 post the same day I published it. (I won't take it personally, since writers everywhere experienced the same fate.) I've been out of town at the FABULOUS Midwest Writers Workshop Retreat and couldn't deal with it before now.

It has miraculously reappeared in my draft folder, but the handful of reader comments made before it disappeared are gone for good...


Shall we try this again? New--and old--comments are welcome!

Superheroes in the Waiting Room

As they spill through the doctor's office door, every head in the waiting room turns. We crane our necks from the TV and peek over our outdated issues of Good Housekeeping. Those here for our weekly or biweekly allergy injections have learned to expect this procession. Yet we still can't keep our eyes off them: the five blond little girls, all under the age of eight.

We divide our attention for the next half-hour or so between each of them and the mother who every week single-handedly accompanies, corrals and cares for them. We're mesmerized.

Large families weren't once such an aberration. Two of my dad's uncles each had ten children. And even in the sixties and seventies, most of my Catholic school classmates hailed from families of six or seven siblings. My family fell in the minority: I was the last of just three (much to the relief of many of our teachers and our principal, Sister Mary Sadistic).

Whether due to the expense or the physical and mental exhaustion of raising a large litter, even Good Catholic parents gradually caved to the accessibility of reliable birth control. That's not to say big families are fully extinct. The omnipresent media reminds us of the extreme examples, such as Octomom and the Duggar family (population currently 21). The public seems to view those as freakshows. And perhaps some parents do procreate in great quantities for questionable reasons.

Yet isn't it possible some people want a large family simply because they love children? Because they welcome the joys and feel fairly equipped (no parent possesses total confidence) to accept the challenges? I recall a family from my two sons' grade school: eight stair-step children, all who seemed to thrive and excel, whose parents somehow found the time and energy to be engaged in their schooling, their sports and their scout troops--and still keep their sanity.

What does it take to successfully raise a big brood like this? Time management skills? Fortitude? Damn good luck?

The doctor's office buzzes with the sound and activity of the five little girls. Their mother simultaneously assists one with a hand-held DVD player, oversees the oldest's homework, reads a picture book to another and breaks up a squabble between the other two.

The waiting room crowd watches, all eyes riveted. We steal a smile at each other as one two-year-old twin climbs over the back of a chair and the other twin drops her drawers in the middle of the room.

A few of us seem to be awaiting the train wreck: the final crash and explosion. But while the train occasionally coughs and sputters, rocks and shakes, and maneuvers its way over a stretch of rough tracks, no train wreck is in sight. Because this appears to be one well-oiled machine.

We're not witness, of course, to the daily challenges that may erupt from the time their parents get them all dressed each morning until they finally fall asleep each night. But having to haul five young children to a doctor's office each and every week? This must surely rate among the greatest potential nightmares any parent can imagine.

One of the twins wanders across the room to admire a newborn in his carseat. Her mother drops the other toddler from her lap and rushes over, to intercept any unacceptable interaction.

"Sorry," she says in apology to the newborn's mother.

"No problem," the other mother replies. "She's just curious. All of your girls are so well-behaved. They seem so happy. And you're great with them."

The rest of the women in the room nod our heads and murmur, "Yes, they are. Yes, you are. Yes, we're amazed."

She thanks us and sighs. "It's not always easy. But sometimes it's really great. Five is enough though. These youngest two will definitely be our last."

At those words, every smile in our group fades.

When someone appears so successful at something--whether it's making music, running a business or raising children--we tend to hope they'll never stop. One mere mortal becomes our personal superhero. We don't ever want to see them give up their gig, especially when we know few people would be willing or able to put on the cape and take the job.

Superhero capes, especially in the world of parenting, aren't one-size-fits-all.

Not every mother or father is equipped to oversee Metropolis. Most of us peer down at our tiny kingdom of one or two, occasionally don a mask and just hope for the best.

Yet whether we're the parent of one or of ten, we devote a lifetime of love and attention and energy to that responsibility. No matter the size of our own kingdom, surely our own role is equally important--and something to be admired.

And that makes every one of us a superhero.


Any of your own large family experiences to share, as either child or parent? What superhero powers does parenting require? Do you ever get a whiff of baby powder, sigh and wonder 'what if'?



20 comments:

  1. Loved this.

    I am completely ill-equipped and would have more in a heartbeat. But my husband has expressed something about finding him in the basement in a rocking chair with a wine bottle in a baggy which was not a metaphor. His sanity is crucial being that 1)one parent must possess it, and 2) he does all the hard labor.

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  2. We wanted a second child because the first one was such a source of fun and amazement. But two is definitely enough for us.

    People sometimes ask if we're going to try for a son, but I have no desire to collect the whole set. We're good.

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  3. Lyra: Wait, your husband does all the hard labor and yet he's still the sane one? What kind of alien life force did you marry?

    Sarah: Yes, the old Keep Trying Until You Have a Son (or Daughter) Trick. No better way to end up with eight daughters.

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  4. Sarah, as the grateful mum of two daughters (and the wife of a developmental biologist), there have been--and still continue--to be those, "trying for a boy next?" looks and outright questions here too. As Sherry says, and my husband always says too, it doesn't work that way. And frankly, I've never understood that whole mentality--as if you have to have some kind of perfect equation of genders to equal a "complete" family.

    Sherry, maybe it's the allergens in the air or maybe it's just me, but that wonderful post had me tearing the whole time. Hell, I'm still tearing writing this comment. I can see those little girls, that amazing mom, and my heart seeps with it.

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  5. I seriously wrote a really long and probably stupid post....and google ATE it.
    Ugh.

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  6. My father was one of 9, my mother one of 7 (Irish Catholic of course) I was one of 4 and we have two - I'm good with two. But, yes, there is something about the new baby smells... well, most of their smells.

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  7. Erika: I would've liked a daughter, in addition to my two sons, just for the different experience. But it's not reason enough to have another child. Thanks for your kind words (whether allergen-induced or not)!

    Amanda: I'll just assume your comment was artfully articulated, as always, as well as highly complimentary of me. That should work for both of us.

    Downith: Wow! So how many first cousins? And yes, there may be one or two baby smells not quite as appealing as powder...

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  8. I had my oldest two without really thinking about it. Sometimes I wonder whether I would have had the courage if I'd waited until later in life.

    And the scent of Johnson & Johnson's baby lotion still makes me swoon. Mmm. Baby necks are delicious.

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  9. Take two! :)

    We wanted a second child because the first one was such a source of fun and amazement. But two is definitely enough for us.

    People sometimes ask if we're going to try for a son, but I have no desire to collect the whole set. We're good.

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  10. Sarah: Yes, the old Keep Trying Until You Have a Son (or Daughter) Trick. No better way to end up with eight daughters.

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  11. Thank you blogger...

    I have a friend with 3 boys and 1 girl...at least they got their girl after 3!

    It takes some time to learn JUST how to attempt to control the kids when you are in a public setting...especially since they aren't even my kids! My semi-step kids are amazing and they have learned SOOOO much over the past 4 years since I have been with their dad. It takes a firm and loving hand for complete world domination....I am still working on that.

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  12. Stories about my family never stop. Where to start? Sheila, Marcia, Kathy, Maureen, Colleen, Denny, Molly, Julie, Michelle, ME #10, and Marty. Sixteen years of pregnacy for Marcella. A novel in progress.
    Toni Arman

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  13. Amanda: Complete world domination? I can't even control over my pets. Teach me your ways, master.

    Toni: I hope you're busy writing all those stories--I want to read them!

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  14. My good friend has 7 kids, 6 girls and 1 boy. She is an amazing, organized, loving woman. We took her 2 youngest to the movies with mine this weekend and I swear that 7th must get as much love and attention as the first.

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  15. Take two, too. And yes, I'm glad I left Blogger for Wordpress!

    My father was one of 9, my mother one of 7 (Irish Catholic of course) I was one of 4 and we have two - I'm good with two. But, yes, there is something about the new baby smells... well, most of their smells.

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  16. Deb: Now that's truly inspiring--to not only juggle the responsibilities of so many kids, but to make sure every one feels as loved as the next.

    Downith: Wow, so how many first cousins? And yeah, not ALL the baby smells are as lovely as baby powder...

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  17. Over 50 first cousins, but most live in Ireland, so not alot of contact.

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  18. while i'm technically an only child, i come from many a great, anti-birth control, catholic lineages.

    my favorite catholic family story in my history is a great aunt who had 12 kids...ALL BOYS!!!

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  19. It was 2002. I was in the stall of Barnes and Noble on Astor Place in NYC. My toddler had just thrown up all over herself while sitting on the can. My newborn, who was strapped in the baby bjorn, was crying to be fed and my breasts were cracked and bleeding from difficulty with nursing. There was a long line of woman waiting to use the toilet. And all I could think was, how the hell am I going to get out of here? It's a wonder I went for two more babies after that.

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  20. Downith: Wow--so amazing! I only have FOUR.

    Amy: Twelve boys? And who says God doesn't have a sense of humor...

    MSB: Bless you, my friend.

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