Column So are you done? a woman asks
By KRIS BERGGREN
There is a conversation that takes
place in backyards and coffee shops, at playgroups or book clubs -- any place
moms gather. Someone throws out casually to someone else the question,
So, are you done? And we all know what shes talking about:
Are you done having babies? And it implies, of course, that we have control
over the answer.
One woman I know with five children -- certainly a big family by
todays standards -- said shed have another if her husband would
agree. Others who have one child cant imagine having the energy and
emotional resources for more. Lots of us pushing 40 with two or three
school-age kids wistfully watch new moms absorbed with nursing an infant or
walking hand in hand, in deep conversation with a toddler. Frankly, I suspect
we somehow feel we can stop our own aging clock if we could just return to that
place.
I heard an anecdote from the pulpit once. A former pastor said
that years ago he learned that a parishioner, a Catholic schoolteacher, and his
wife were expecting their eighth baby. As he pondered what to say to the
couple, perhaps unsure as to whether he should congratulate or console them, he
reported, the mother remarked, Isnt God good?
This story brings tears to my eyes because it speaks of
unconditional love and unconditional trust in God -- two qualities I aspire to
but mostly fall short of. It also speaks of choice and of culture. Years ago,
many families were large, and most families could get by on one income,
apparently even a Catholic schoolteachers. I think even the most frugal
of families today would be hard-pressed to do that. And families years ago did
not have the option of choosing artificial birth control in order
to have fewer children born further apart.
For every story of a big jolly family full of love and
togetherness, there is a story of a big family in which the children
didnt get their emotional needs met, the parents just got too tired out
to do anything but crowd control, and the mothers had nervous breakdowns
because their needs always came last.
The knowledge of the power, the miracle, of growing a baby is in
me forever. My third childs birth five years ago was fast and furious;
she arrived seven minutes after I checked in at the maternity desk and told the
gum-chewing receptionist I had to push so could they please hurry and get me a
room. (The people on the elevator with me looked really scared.) Yet the very
next morning I watched a couple walking down the hospital hall in active labor,
practicing the breathing exercises. I had them pegged for first-timers. And my
reaction of tears surprised me. The sight flooded my brain, already in hormonal
overdrive, with a jolt, as I realized, I may never have this experience
again.
My own choices, decisions and feelings on childbearing reflect my
fortunate circumstances. I have, in the context of a happy marriage, given
birth to three healthy children, all wanted, loved and nurtured by two parents
who make them a priority and who have tons of support from friends and
family.
I have never faced an unwanted pregnancy, nor been unable to
conceive when I wanted to. Ive made my choices in good conscience and
faith, and I respect others choices. Yet my deep respect for the sanctity
and goodness of life does not mean I believe that reproduction in and of itself
is always the greatest good.
We Catholics accept the reality of suffering and believe it has
value -- very countercultural these days. But is there a limit to suffering, a
point beyond which suffering makes no sense, serves no higher purpose, even if
devoutly offered up? One can summon up historical examples of
mind-bending human suffering -- El Mozote, the Trail of Tears, the Holocaust.
Misery is a choice aided and abetted by circumstantial factors. To know that
some Holocaust victims held to their belief in the goodness of humanity in the
face of all the hate and pain they endured means to me that they rejected
misery, rejected the power of evil.
But what about the ordinary suffering of a woman stretched and
worn by childbirth, who defers her dreams, perhaps all her life, in order to
nurture and sustain her children? I wonder if this is as noble a cause as some
would postulate, or whether there might be something in her that dies in
self-sacrifice.
What of the women around the world who watch their children die in
front of them because they have no food? What of the abused woman tied to her
abuser because she is economically dependent on him? What about a family with
two parents working at minimum wage just to keep a roof over their heads and
food on the table?
I believe that the promise Catholic couples make during their
wedding vows, to be open to children, doesnt need to mean that each and
every act of sexual intimacy be open to conception. Rather, I suggest that each
couple make the promise to be open to welcoming children as they see fit --
whether through using any one of the various, non-abortifacient ways families
can prevent conception; through adoption; through teaching or serving children
in poverty; or through the old-fashioned way of taking it all as it comes. Each
couple needs to decide what makes sense in their circumstances.
I cannot say with certainty that I will never have another baby,
even though I could. Neither can I write that you should, even if you can. It
is a matter of choice and conscience.
Kris Berggren writes from Minneapolis. She can be
reached by e-mail at bergolk@earthlink.net
National Catholic Reporter, October 27,
2000
|