Little Kids, Big City: Tales from a Real House in New York City (With Lessons on Life and Love for Your Own Concrete Jungle) (2 page)
Authors: Alex McCord,Simon van Kempen
BOOK: Little Kids, Big City: Tales from a Real House in New York City (With Lessons on Life and Love for Your Own Concrete Jungle)
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Once they were born, I couldn’t believe how often I would find myself either laughing or crying. I had no idea of the indignities that parents of young children deal with, both from their own offspring and the holier-than-thou people who always have an opinion about the quality of one’s parenting. I began to write things down in 2004 when François was just a few months old. Initially these stories were just for him to keep and laugh at later, and I kept it up when Johan arrived two years later. Fast-forward a few more years to a time when I had the opportunity to put it all together in a book, and here we are. I hope that when you read this book, if you are like I once was, adamantly single and childless by choice, that you’ll see you can become a parent without losing yourself. Your sanity is another matter, but we’ll get to that later. No one is a good parent all the time—nor is anyone a bad parent all the time. Anyone who tries to say they are is lying to themselves. If you’re in love and thinking of having kids, here’s a taste of what’s to come. If you’ve already had yours, I hope you’ll laugh either with us or at our exploits.
Simon
For three years Alex and I lived only for ourselves and had an amazing time doing it, but as my clock ticked ever closer to my 40th birthday I began to feel like our union and our intense love needed to be shared. Soon after François and then Johan were born, they made us both richer and rounder as people and as parents.
Nothing can prepare you for having children other than one’s innate instinct. However as Alex and I both found, reading others’ experiences made us realize that we weren’t too far off track with how we adjusted to parenthood. There probably is nothing more rewarding than watching life bloom and six years in, each day brings surprises, some magical and some less so. If you take nothing away but a wry smile after reading our little tome, then we’ve done our job. This is not some how-to book by experts but simply a take on what we’ve discovered along the way by having two little kids in a great big city, and what a GREAT city NYC is.
WELCOME TO OUR WORLD: A PRIMER ON PARENTHOOD6:15 a.m. -Awaken to a kick in the face. Sleepily remember that a six-year-old boy crawled into our bed at some unknowable hour. Think he is ours but can’t be sure until looking. Open eyes. Yes, that’s François. Sigh as he begs for a “bouncy train ride
”
on Dad’s legs as the cat attacks his stuffed shark, complete with hissing and growling. “Cats don’t eat sharks,
”
Simon whispers as we all try to untangle the mess.6:30 a.m. - After fielding repeated entreaties for ice cream(?) and brightly delivered interrogations (“Why are you still sleeping? I’m awake!”) stumble out of bed with François noting that Simon has rolled over and gone back into a mild coma Explain why a shoulder ride up the stairs is not a good idea this early Pour freshly squeezed OJ and high fiber organic cereal for child and turn on espresso machine Try not to die while it heats up6:45 a.m. - With caffeine, outlook begins to improve. Welcome four-year-old son Johan as he sleepily trudges out of his bedroom, on the hunt for his egg-shaped whisk with which he is intent on making pancakes. Find whisk, make just enough batter for one or two pancakes each. Allow two happy boys to flip pancakes. Pull another latte.7:15 a.m. - Hear rather large feet hitting the floor downstairs; turn on kettle for Simon. French press is ready as he appears. Discuss varying experiences during the night—being pounced on by cats and children. Recall hearing the cat being sick during the night. Examine bottoms of feet for traces of cat vomit; none found. Remind Simon of the deal forged years ago: Alex takes care of poo and Simon is in charge of vomit Leave pancake eaters in care of husband with a proclamation that the crayons don’t come out unless everyone is completely dressed and ready to leave Hit the shower7:45 a.m. - Dressed and ready trade places with husband and begin making school lunch and snacks Slice homemade bread look for organic peanut butter (discovered inside the lobster pot in the oven) Pack lunch into François backpack Ensure various bits are in order: karate uniform signed permission slip for aquarium trip etc Ooh aquarium reminds me to feed the fish. Yes, I have parental ADD.8:00 a.m. - Suddenly recall Johan needs a crazy hat for Crazy Hat Day at pre-K. Find a cloth box in playroom, create a hat with strategically placed scissor slices. Result is actually better than if we’d spent loads of time on it; feel (perhaps unwarranted) pride in this. Johan is thrilled. Simon finds the offending cat vomit and cleans up.8:15 a.m. - Nanny Coleen arrives to take Johan for a morning walk before pre-K starts Simon and François leave for school; I head downstairs to my home office for another day of madness ahem work
Chapter 1
Does a German Shepherd Need a Birth Plan?
Why Childbirth is Not an Intellectual Activity
Simon
When Alex and I first fell in love and decided to marry, children were definitely not on our agenda. However as time wore on, and with me then in my late 30s with my 40th approaching, my mind started to wonder if fatherhood was something I sought.
I had been born to a 50-year-old father who unfortunately had died before I realized that he was somewhat “old” to be my dad (this was in the early ’60s when most parents of newborns were under 30). And so if I was going to parent children I wanted to be young enough to see them through college and, more importantly, be able to run around the backyard with them without the aid of a walking stick.
Remarkably 10 years on, Alex and I are still as attuned today as we were then. I remember rapidly broaching this with Alex not more than 24 hours after the thought entered my head and delightfully and simultaneously she’d been thinking the same thing. Our love was strong, we’d had a ball living the DINKY (Double Income No Kids Yet) life and now almost four years into our relationship, parenthood was beckoning. In October 2002 Alex stopped taking the pill and within four months she was pregnant (or using the now common vernacular,
we
were pregnant!) and our life was about to change, more than we ever thought it would.
we
were pregnant!) and our life was about to change, more than we ever thought it would.
Alex
The best way to describe our change of heart about kids is that our love grew, and we thought we might want to share it. While my mother had counseled me not to have a baby unless I couldn’t sleep at night because I wanted one so desperately, I knew I’d never get to that point. I do, however, remember clearly thinking, “If I’ve become ambivalent, may as well try and see what happens. We’ll never be
more
ready than this.” When I look back on that time and think that these two kids might not be here, I’m so happy we changed our minds.
more
ready than this.” When I look back on that time and think that these two kids might not be here, I’m so happy we changed our minds.
At the time I became pregnant with François in 2003, we had been going to a family practice doctor whose pregnancy and childbirth expertise finished at pap smears. When the little double line showed up on the pregnancy test, I called her and she directed me to Dr. Blank (yes, that was his name!), a rather dour obstetrician whose first line to me after his nurse had me take another test was, “So, do you want to keep it?” He went down a list of his requirements for birthing mothers, including “when to decide on a c-section,” and by the end of the 15 minutes we both knew quite well that we’d never see each other again.
Simon
The meeting with Dr. Blank was the only significant appointment I missed for either birth. In the early stages of pregnancy it seems at least for the man a pretty abstract phenomenon—sure, I’d been there for conception, but now, at least initially, I was a bit player as the embryo grew both in size and significance. After missing the initial appointment I was determined to be with Alex and the then nameless embryo for every step of the way.
Alex
My next appointment was with a female OB in Park Slope, home of the
ParkSlopeParents.com
message board made famous in 2007 with a so-ridiculous-it-got-headlines discussion on gender-specific baby hats and where feminism can be taken to extremes. This OB lost me as a client (the word patient doesn’t seem right here), however, when she stated that insertion of an IV was a deal-breaking requirement and refused to ask for my permission before performing an episiotomy. Not only would she not agree to ask first, but she seemed surprised that I even knew what it was and that I would question her absolute authority to perform one. Sorry, but I’m not interested in being sliced and diced against my will. Also, because my blood type was negative, she immediately wrote in my chart that I needed RhoGAM, an “antidote” that can be administered to a mother if the father’s blood is positive. Turns out Simon and I are both negative, something that only happens in 4 percent of all pregnancies. The doctor just assumed that it wasn’t possible for us to both be negative, and looked at me funny when I stated that if I didn’t need medication, I didn’t want it. Don’t get me started on the vagaries of our 21st-century health care system and its lack of support for mothers, or that intervention-free natural childbirth is barely tolerated by the medical establishment because the timing can’t be controlled and it doesn’t make the hospital or the providers any money.
ParkSlopeParents.com
message board made famous in 2007 with a so-ridiculous-it-got-headlines discussion on gender-specific baby hats and where feminism can be taken to extremes. This OB lost me as a client (the word patient doesn’t seem right here), however, when she stated that insertion of an IV was a deal-breaking requirement and refused to ask for my permission before performing an episiotomy. Not only would she not agree to ask first, but she seemed surprised that I even knew what it was and that I would question her absolute authority to perform one. Sorry, but I’m not interested in being sliced and diced against my will. Also, because my blood type was negative, she immediately wrote in my chart that I needed RhoGAM, an “antidote” that can be administered to a mother if the father’s blood is positive. Turns out Simon and I are both negative, something that only happens in 4 percent of all pregnancies. The doctor just assumed that it wasn’t possible for us to both be negative, and looked at me funny when I stated that if I didn’t need medication, I didn’t want it. Don’t get me started on the vagaries of our 21st-century health care system and its lack of support for mothers, or that intervention-free natural childbirth is barely tolerated by the medical establishment because the timing can’t be controlled and it doesn’t make the hospital or the providers any money.
Simon
While with the Park Slope OB-GYN, we had the first sonogram and saw the little blip on the screen—our child-to-be. They say seeing is believing and as nothing was happening inside
me
, seeing confirmation on the video monitor that indeed my spermatozoa had penetrated and infiltrated one of Alex’s ova made me aware that my days as a footloose and fancy-free guy might be coming to an end.
me
, seeing confirmation on the video monitor that indeed my spermatozoa had penetrated and infiltrated one of Alex’s ova made me aware that my days as a footloose and fancy-free guy might be coming to an end.
Alex
I received a letter yesterday from an organization dedicated to preserving mother’s rights in New York City, and it sort of made me want to grab a big banner and start marching through the streets screaming. The stats they quoted referenced a 40 percent cesarean section rate in the city, and I wonder how can that be acceptable? Are we heading toward
Brave New World
, where babies are scientifically created in petri dishes and gestated in artificial wombs? Oh wait, we’re already there. Are we heading toward a
Wall-E
existence, where we ride around in carts everywhere and do nothing for ourselves so that our bodies break down and we’re all fat, oozy blobs drinking protein from a straw? Somebody slap me, please!!!
Brave New World
, where babies are scientifically created in petri dishes and gestated in artificial wombs? Oh wait, we’re already there. Are we heading toward a
Wall-E
existence, where we ride around in carts everywhere and do nothing for ourselves so that our bodies break down and we’re all fat, oozy blobs drinking protein from a straw? Somebody slap me, please!!!
Not everyone will agree with me. This is one area where I veer toward the radical. Ideally I’d like to have had my babies at home and didn’t only because my midwife wasn’t covered for home births by her insurance. If I say much more about insurance, I’ll give myself a headache. Modern medicine is great if there’s a problem—a difficult pregnancy, trouble conceiving, etc. But if you’re a healthy woman with a trouble-free pregnancy, there is usually no reason why you can’t give birth with a minimum of fuss and bother. It really, really irritates me that women feel forced to give away their power, and allow themselves to be swayed by the medical community’s opinion and convenience when it comes to a hugely significant event in their lives. If you open up
What to Expect When You’re Expecting
, which I feel should be renamed
What to Have Nightmares About When You’re Expecting
, you see over and over again, “If your practitioner permits,” “You’re doctor will advise you,” “Balance your wishes with what is acceptable” and all that rot. Make no mistake, there are problematic pregnancies and high-risk pregnancies where high-level medical involvement is essential; I’m not talking about those. A normal pregnancy is not a disease, and I absolutely hate it that many people treat it as such. My only experience of pregnancy and childbirth has been in New York, a highly urban area, and I wonder if there’s a little more hysteria about the process and desire to micromanage it here. My theory is that people who are type A and perhaps more highly strung in general can swing toward wanting assistance, outsourcing and problem solving, sometimes when there is no problem to be solved. In my experience, there is also a tendency among urbanites to want to be at the forefront of whatever advances technology or medicine make. I remember when the 3-D ultrasound technology became available, many local people I knew started jumping on it. Just because the best and the brightest doctors may be in urban areas, doesn’t mean we need to call upon them unless there’s a danger to the mom or baby.
What to Expect When You’re Expecting
, which I feel should be renamed
What to Have Nightmares About When You’re Expecting
, you see over and over again, “If your practitioner permits,” “You’re doctor will advise you,” “Balance your wishes with what is acceptable” and all that rot. Make no mistake, there are problematic pregnancies and high-risk pregnancies where high-level medical involvement is essential; I’m not talking about those. A normal pregnancy is not a disease, and I absolutely hate it that many people treat it as such. My only experience of pregnancy and childbirth has been in New York, a highly urban area, and I wonder if there’s a little more hysteria about the process and desire to micromanage it here. My theory is that people who are type A and perhaps more highly strung in general can swing toward wanting assistance, outsourcing and problem solving, sometimes when there is no problem to be solved. In my experience, there is also a tendency among urbanites to want to be at the forefront of whatever advances technology or medicine make. I remember when the 3-D ultrasound technology became available, many local people I knew started jumping on it. Just because the best and the brightest doctors may be in urban areas, doesn’t mean we need to call upon them unless there’s a danger to the mom or baby.
Throughout the first few months of pregnancy with our eldest, I read everything I could get my hands on—from Sheila Kitzinger to
Spiritual Midwifery
. I began to understand the anger women felt by having the control of the birthing process ripped from their hands, and hey baby, I’m a control freak. Though I grew frustrated, I didn’t think there was much to be solved by simply becoming angry (à la Naomi Wolfe’s rant on her experiences of childbirth). Surely there had to be a better way. I found it in the idea of natural, midwife-assisted childbirth, something that I had never had cause to think of before. I never planned to be a natural birth advocate, but the process really made sense to me. Use modern medicine to make sure that there’s nothing abnormal going on with the pregnancy, then when the time comes, let nature take its course. The midwives we found had definite rules, such as not letting a pregnancy go more than two weeks overdue and a list of conditions like diabetes and placenta previa that ruled out the attempt, but beyond that, it was pretty much anything goes. I never felt the need to establish a birth plan with my rules, because we were all in agreement. No drugs, lots of food and drink before, during and after, plus good music and plenty of support.
Spiritual Midwifery
. I began to understand the anger women felt by having the control of the birthing process ripped from their hands, and hey baby, I’m a control freak. Though I grew frustrated, I didn’t think there was much to be solved by simply becoming angry (à la Naomi Wolfe’s rant on her experiences of childbirth). Surely there had to be a better way. I found it in the idea of natural, midwife-assisted childbirth, something that I had never had cause to think of before. I never planned to be a natural birth advocate, but the process really made sense to me. Use modern medicine to make sure that there’s nothing abnormal going on with the pregnancy, then when the time comes, let nature take its course. The midwives we found had definite rules, such as not letting a pregnancy go more than two weeks overdue and a list of conditions like diabetes and placenta previa that ruled out the attempt, but beyond that, it was pretty much anything goes. I never felt the need to establish a birth plan with my rules, because we were all in agreement. No drugs, lots of food and drink before, during and after, plus good music and plenty of support.
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