Teaching My Baby Dog to Swim at Beaver Creek

I might have sounded like a crazy person at the beach yesterday. The weather was perfect. I decided to take an afternoon off and help my dog Annie learn to swim. At Ona Beach, just a little south of where I live on the Oregon Coast, Beaver Creek ends in a wide, relatively shallow finger of water that runs into the ocean. To get to the beach, you have to walk a long trail from the parking lot through the picnic area and a bit of woodland. Then you cross a small wooden bridge and finally hit sand.

I talked to Annie all the way along. I usually do. In between discussing my life with her and giving commands—No! Off! Don’t eat that! This way!—I found myself teaching her. “This is where we had that picnic. That’s Salal. Those people are from New Mexico. That’s called a velella velella (blobby creatures on the sand that looked like yellow Jell-O).

And then we got to the water. Annie’s a little nuts, so I don’t dare let her off the leash. If she swims, I swim. Annie splashed into a shallow area that isn’t deep enough for swimming and flattened herself in among the rocks. I urged her up and led her to deeper water. She got anxious and pulled me back out. Standing on the shore, I pointed out tiny fish swimming along the edge of the water. She was busy with a smell in the weeds. Eventually I lured her back into the creek and started toward the deep part.

The cool water rose up my shorts, but I didn’t care how wet I got. I was busy shouting encouragement. “Come on, girl. You can do it. Just a little more.” As her paws left the ground and she started to dog-paddle, I was screaming, “Oh, look! You’re swimming! Look at you! I knew you could do it!”

A family nearby watched us. “She’s swimming!” I called. Soon everyone within earshot was watching. Some teenagers came down close. I know it’s not that big a deal. Most dogs can swim. The human kids were having a good time in the water already. But this was Annie, and I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time. Our weather is usually too cold, and I’m usually so busy I don’t get to beach nearly as much as I’d like to.

Annie clambered out, shook water and sand on everyone, and accepted some petting from her admirers. Then she led me on a long walk across the sand. I felt wonderful, young, alive, and happy. I did not miss having human children or even a husband—Fred didn’t like the beach much anyway. Too sandy.

Walking back across the bridge, I got into a conversation with a woman from Los Angeles who was hunting for agates. “I guess the dog needs her walk,” she said.

“Oh yes,” I replied. “And so does her mom.” It didn’t seem the least bit weird.

Dear friends, I’d love to have children and maybe you would, too, but life without them doesn’t have to be all grief and regrets. I would love it if you would share some of your happy childless experiences here in the comments.

Being without children is not always a bad thing

I sat alone at a table at Georgie's restaurant yesterday reading a book and occasionally looking out at the ocean as the waves roared and crashed not far away. My salmon sandwich on focaccia bread was delicious. I didn't mind the mayonnaise-pesto sauce running down my fingers. The iced tea was crisp and cold, and my waiter was handsome and helpful.

At the two big tables nearby, mothers and grandmothers wrangled children under age four, talking them through the menu, then entertaining them as they waited for their food. The men admired the view or talked about sports while the women played 20 questions with the kids. "Shall we color a picture?" "What color do you want? Red? Blue?" "Do you want French fries with your hot dog?" "After we eat, do you want to go look at boats or go play on the beach?"

At one table, the kids were pretty well behaved, but at the other with one infant and two high-chair kids, it got a little noisy. One boy screamed as he was lowered into the high chair. As soon as he quieted down, his brother or cousin started screeching "I want! I want!" every 30 seconds. Nobody shushed him or suggested he say, "Please." Meanwhile, I enjoyed my lunch and my book and my ocean view. I did not wish for one second that one of those kids was mine.

After lunch, I drove to the nearby Yaquina Bay State Park, where I settled with my notebook at a warm picnic table overlooking the beach and wrote for a while. I could see a large family having a picnic at another table. All ages, lots of food. I do miss family picnics. But I was glad to have my quiet time in the sun.

Sometimes I wonder if I ever had the patience to do the mom thing. I'm sure I would have figured out how to handle my children's needs along with my own, and I know kids don't remain toddlers forever. With luck they grow up into self-sufficient adults with their own children, and they go live in their own houses. But maybe God knew what he was doing.

I cried a lot about not having children back in my 30s and 40s, the ages of most of you who write to me here. It hurt. Still does sometimes. But I can assure you from the perspective of almost a decade past menopause, that it's okay. Life without children can be good, especially if you have other interests that keep you happy and busy. And there are other ways to mother.

If you're in a decision-making mode, go with your gut. Great life partners are not that easy to find. If you have one and all is well except for not agreeing about babies, consider that life can be all right even if you don't have children. But if the relationship is not good, for God's sake, get out of it and look for someone who will make you happy and, with luck, also have children with you.

I welcome your comments. 

What Should This Childless Woman Do?

Dear friends, 
Every day I receive comments from readers about their childless situations. More than 230 people, mostly anonymous, have responded to a 2007 post titled "Are You Grieving Over Your Lack of Children?" It is the most popular post on this blog, and there's an ocean of tears behind these comments. Sometimes the comments are so troubling I don't know what to say, and I hate to see them buried in the comments of a seven-year-old post. Today I'm offering this comment and my response. I hope that you readers will chime in with your own experiences and advice.

Anonymous said...

I've just turned 35 and have been with my partner for 13 years. I always knew he didn't want children, and I always said that I did (although in practice I feel like I've never really decided either way, because my opinion has never mattered). We talked about it, on and off, for years, never finding a solution to our different wishes, but staying together anyway.

Then last year I met a wonderful (but emotionally damaged) man who I fell in love with, much to my distress. I felt strongly that I wanted to have children with him (despite some really obvious, serious flaws in his suitability as a partner!) and although he says he couldn't have a relationship with me while he's so emotionally messed up, we did once have a quiet, nervous conversation about how we would both like to have children and... maybe... together.

I haven't started a relationship with this man, although I still long to, however misguided I know it would be. But the feelings have overwhelmed me and the relationship I have with my partner. I've talked to my partner again this weekend about the long-term issues in our relationship, including children. He's adamant he doesn't want them and is prepared for me to leave him if I feel I have to. I'm left with trying to decide whether to stay in a good but definitely imperfect relationship with a man who I love, without children, forever, whether to leave him and pursue the man I know will break my heart, but who *might* just give me children in the meantime, or whether to give up on all of it and live in a little house on my own with a cat. I have time left, but not much, and the pressure is making me insane. If anyone has tips on making childlessness feel like your own decision... those would be very welcome.

June 15, 2014 at 3:33 PM

Sue Fagalde Lick said...

Anonymous June 15, it sounds like the relationship you have and the one you are considering are both unhealthy and destined to give you lots of heartache. I know you want children, but I wouldn't advise pursuing a relationship with a man who says himself that he's too messed up just because you might have a child together. As for making childlessness feel like your own decision, you can't force that. Either it is your decision or you do your best to accept that circumstances didn't work out for you.
I'm feeling old and cranky this morning. Anybody else have more encouraging advice?

Dear readers, what do you think?

Take a Lesson from Dolly Parton

Today while I'm busy with other things, I just want to share this article with you. It's about country star Dolly Parton, who puts a happy spin on not having children. "Dolly Parton is Aunt Granny to her Nieces and Nephews."  She's living proof that even if you don't have biological children, if you reach out to others who do have kids you can have children and grandchildren in your life. I know it's not easy. I spend plenty of time whining about being alone. But it is possible. Enjoy.

We childless do not have to end up alone

We’re taking photos this week for our church directory. I volunteered yesterday afternoon to check people in. That gave me a front row seat to watch people getting their pictures taken.

In past directories, I have always been painfully aware of my lone face sticking out among the family pictures. Some were just couples, but others had so many kids crammed into the shot that they barely fit in the little square.

This year’s directory will be no different, except for one thing. I am much more aware of the individuals who get photographed alone. Men and women. Widowed, divorced, never married. Some have grown children and grandchildren, but they don’t live here. The men were pretty matter of fact about flying solo, but the women would say, “Just me” and sigh. Busy filling out forms, I would nod and say, “Me too.”

Ending up alone is not unusual, whether you have 10 children or none. But the beautiful thing was the way friends connected while they waited for their turns in front of the camera. Some people have been going to this church for 50 years. Our parish is like a big family. Once you enter, you don’t have to be alone.

I know everyone is not religious, and I’m not here to convert anybody. But people can create family relationships in all kinds of groups. For many, their co-workers become a family. But you can also get involved in whatever interests you. Here on the Oregon Coast, people volunteer at the aquarium. They join the therapy dog group. They sing with Sweet Adelines or volunteer at the homeless shelter. They help with programs for kids at schools, churches, and sports organizations. I’ll bet there are plenty of opportunities wherever you live.

I know one of our biggest fears is ending up alone if we don’t have children. And we might. It’s just me and the dog at my house, and sometimes I hate it. But we don’t have to be alone. When somebody needs help, be the one who says, “I’ll do it.”

What do you think about this? I welcome your comments.

Have you lost friends because you don't have children?

Yesterday I received the welcome news that an essay I wrote about losing a close friend when she became obsessed with her babies will be published in an upcoming anthology about women and lost friendships. They're calling it My Other Ex: Women's True Stories of Leaving and Losing Friends. I like the title. For me and I suspect for many other women, my best friend growing up was like a spouse. We did everything together, spent all our time together, called each other on the phone five minutes after we got home. In many ways, our relationship was as intimate as a marriage. But sometimes when we grow up, life takes us in other directions.

Actually, my childhood best friend, Sherri, is still my best friend, even though she had the audacity to move to Texas. Whenever we call, we pick up right where we left off. The fact that she has a daughter has done nothing to interrupt that friendship.

It was different with the woman I wrote about for the anthology. We met as young adults. We worked together and we hung out together in our spare time. We looked so much alike people thought we were sisters. When we met, she was married but didn't have any children. I was recently divorced. We were so close that I asked her to be my matron of honor for my second wedding. But then she started having babies. She quit her job to become a full-time mommy. Suddenly we didn't speak the same language. We tried for a while, but our friendship faded away. I hate that.

These days I have other friends who have children. On Memorial Day, a friend invited me to her house for a potluck. All afternoon, the center of attention was a six-month-old baby girl, and much of the conversation focused on the other women's children. I didn't have much to say. Nobody asked about my children, which is good because then I'd have to say I didn't have any and there'd be that awkward thud in the conversation. Luckily we also talked about a lot of other things, but it always came back to that baby. And why not? She was fascinating. I like all these people and I plan to continue hanging out with them, sharing our love of music, dogs, and life in Oregon. But I'm older and wiser than I was when my lost friend was having her baby boys. I know that sometimes we are not going to connect because I don't have any experience with babies, and we just have to work around it.

Interestingly, another woman wrote an essay for the anthology from the other point of view. She was the one who had a baby and lost her friend because of it. I'm looking forward to reading what she wrote.

The book is coming out in September. For information, visit http://www.herstoriesproject.com.

Meanwhile, I have a question for you. Have you lost friends because one of you had children and the other didn't? Please share your stories in the comments.

Should you gamble on a partner who says he or she doesn't want children?

Back in my grandmother's day, things were pretty simple. You grew up, got married and had babies. Period. No birth control. No legal abortions. No vasectomies or tube-tieing. The only people who didn't have children, aside from priests and nuns, were the ones who were physically unable. And everyone pitied them. "Oh poor Aunt Martha, she couldn't have children."

There was no choice, no changing of minds, no "do you want to have children?" "Let's wait until we have more money" or "I don't think I want to have children." People just had babies, and if it made their lives more difficult, if taking care of the kids meant sacrificing something else you would have liked to do, tough.

Sometimes I wish we were still back in those days. With all the sex my first husband and I had, I'd have at least three children now, maybe more because we might not have gotten divorced. I'd still be attached to a husband who drank too much and didn't believe in monogamy. Instead, we split up, and I married Fred, who was the best husband ever, except for not wanting to have children with me. Did it turn out for the best? I think so.

Every day I receive comments from readers struggling with the baby question. In many cases, they and their partners completely agreed when they got together about having or not having children. Then either one of them changed their minds or one of them proved to be unable to make babies. And now they don't know what to do. They're broken-hearted. They're talking about breaking up, but they're still in love and don't know if they'll ever find a better mate. I don't know what to tell them. Things happen. People turn out to be infertile. People who said they didn't care about having children suddenly realize that they can't bear living their entire lives without experiencing motherhood or fatherhood. People who thought they wanted children discover they really don't.

What it comes down to, I think, is making a commitment to another person and sticking to it, no matter what. Relationships are a gamble. Marriage is a gamble. He/she might die, might get sick, might get fired, might not be able to get pregnant, might decide he'd rather have a puppy. People change their minds. If you truly love that person, you don't leave when things get tough. You talk it through and find the best solution for both of you. When it comes to having children, if one wants them and one doesn't, somebody's going to get hurt. So the question it always comes down to is: Is this person worth taking a chance?

What do you think? Please post your comments. I'm running out of answers.