"It would seem that something which means poverty, disorder & violence every single day should be avoided entirely..."

I can’t remember why I thought I wanted to read either Maybe Baby or Susan Cheever’s As Good as I Could Be.

Seriously. No recollection. And for the sake of my blood pressure, I kinda wish I hadn’t bothered.

Maybe Baby is a collection of essays by famous and semi-famous writers debating the merits of having children - or not. I didn’t mind the truly thoughtful, introspective essays – I do believe some people just don’t ever experience a maternal urge or their ticking biological clock, and I am fine with that. (Some days I wish I’d ignored mine.) I understand that children take up a lot of time and resources that many people are not willing to surrender. But is it necessary to be belligerent and rude about MY choice to bear children? I do realize there are parents who have no right having kids, but my boys are sweet and mostly well-behaved, and I try very hard to be a good parent, instilling in my children (I hope) thoughtfulness, consideration for others, the importance of family, and a decent work ethic. H and I work hard for our money and act responsibly with it, and if we choose to spend it on children, that is our prerogative, isn’t it? Why must you be so aggressive and downright venomous about our choice? I don’t care that you have chosen NOT to have children. Yes, there are days when I am exhausted and fed-up, but I love my boys, and I can’t imagine life without them. It might be neater, quieter, wealthier, and less hectic, but it wouldn’t be my life. So, you know, BACK OFF.

As for Ms Cheever – let me put on my Judgmental Hat for one moment now – she married three times, had a child each by her second and third husbands, and then spends several chapters decrying the horror of divorce and the terrible anxiety it inflicted on her son and daughter. She wonders, My kids--a daughter who is now a Freshman at Princeton, and a ten-year-old son--didn't have many of the things that kids are supposed to have--family stability, money, consistency--yet they are fabulous, wonderful children. In thinking about how that happened--what it was they did have that helped them so much -- I began to think about writing this book..

Well, my solution for divorce-scarred children is simplicity itself – don’t do it. I understand the reality of marriages and divorces – sometimes totally necessary – but there comes a point at which it’s just careless to marry/divorce again and I venture to say that three is my magic number. If your spouse dies, or runs off, or abuse is involved, I get it – but to just decide, “You know, we just don’t LOVE each other anymore.” Well, guess what, maybe you should have thought of that before you procreated together.

I realize I am probably in the minority in my views on this, but I am unapologetically a huge believer in staying together for the children. H and I would not still be married if it weren’t for the kids; I love him now, but five years ago, we were ready to not only go our separate ways but as fast as possible in completely opposite directions with nary a backward look. However, this desire was complicated by a couple of little guys, and neither of us could bear the thought of not seeing Primo and Seg every single day, not kissing them goodnight, not waking up to them - in essence, not parenting them, together. We kicked around several ideas and ultimately decided that we would live in our big house as roommates. We hashed out a care schedule so each of us would have a few evenings free, and figured out the money situation, and proceeded to be *very civil* roommates, until H recovered from his premature midlife crisis, and I got my head screwed back on straight, and we tentatively proffered olive branches and slowly returned to the other. And now things are, if not idyllic, good. Happy. Solid. Mostly. We disagree about things, and we fight, and there are days when I could cheerfully clobber him, but I love him. We have history. No one knows me as well as he does. And our boys still have two parents every day, under the same roof, and I would not have it any other way. It hurts my heart to think of my children having to figure out where their bathing suit or stuffed bear or lunch box is – Mommy’s house or Daddy’s house? So I chose to do what was best for my kids, and fortunately in the long run best for me as well, and I am still married to their dad. And I find I have little patience for Ms. Cheever’s selfishness and subsequent cluelessness.

So, here you have it. My eloquent (ha!) review of two “parenting” books I probably should have skipped.

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*Phyllis Diller