Today’s guest essay comes from “His Take” contributor, Dennis Hong, who writes about relationships and other topics at Musings on Life and Love.
For months after Julie and I broke up, we remained friends. It was a mutual decision. No, really. We still cared about each other, and we still enjoyed each other’s company. We just realized that, romantically, we weren’t all that compatible. We were like peanut butter and bacon: You love ‘em both. Just not together. We continued to hang out fairly regularly, though. In fact, we joked that we were kind of/sort of still going on dates. Except that they didn’t end in anything physical…Wait, they were exactly like many dates I’ve been on.
I was fine with that. We both knew that muddling the boundaries we’d established wouldn’t be a good idea. So, we continued our platonic dates, going out to dinner, chatting about what was going on at home and at work, slipping into deeper conversations about our lives… our hopes…our fears…
That’s when I had an epiphany: I was totally getting screwed in this arrangement.
[Click to continue]
by Wendy on February 8, 2012
· in Essays,Getting Personal,Guest Column
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Oh, dear, I certainly opened a can of worms yesterday with my comments about 80s babies, didn’t I? Honestly, it didn’t occur to me that my comments would be seen as so terribly offensive. I didn’t really say anything that hasn’t been discussed in lots more places than DW. I understand feeling sensitive, but this idea that I’m wrong for stereotyping an entire generation of people is a little … well, silly. Entire generations of people have been generalized for decades — it’s why there are names for so many generations: Generation Y or the Millennials (or, as I call them “80s babies”), Generation X, the Baby Boomers, the Silent Generation, and the Greatest Generation. You also have “depression era kids,” “flappers,” and the “beat generation” as well as many other sub-cultures within a specific generation. Say any of these names and people not only know whom you’re talking about, they have an instant idea of prevalent characteristics among that generation.
Is it a gross generalization to associate specific characteristics to an entire generation of people? Of course. But there’s a reason we all do it: because there are trends among each generation that hold true. Because the generalized characteristics often fit enough people to be considered a trend. Because they help us understand behavior of people we work with, associate with and call family. It’s easy to point to a certain behavioral trait that co-workers of a certain age exhibit, for example, and say, “Oh, that must be a generational thing.” Because, pretty often, it is a generational thing. [Click to continue]
by Wendy on February 8, 2012
· in Essays
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Today’s guest essay is from anonymous writer, “Nancy Isaacson.”
I’m not a bad, evil, soul-less person. I’m not heartless. I’m not strange, or bitter. I’m not unnatural. I am just like any other warm-blooded, passionate, loving, happy, fulfilled, slightly eccentric 30-year-old woman. Except I don’t want children.
Apparently, broader society finds it impossible to reconcile these things: a “normal” woman in a stable, long-term, heterosexual relationship who chooses to be childless.
But there is nothing wrong with me or my life. I have a job I like, hobbies, friends I adore, and parents and a brother I’m absolutely nuts about. I’m in a warm, stable, live-in, long-term relationship with a wonderful man who also does not want to have children. We intend to marry in a few years and have a long, full, exciting life together that does not include strollers and Lamaze classes or diapers and preschool or teenagers and college tuitions. I applaud and admire those who are procreating – I think giving life and raising a child is a wonderful, noble thing that requires endless love and troves of patience. I think people who do it well are incredible. But that doesn’t mean that it’s for me. [Click to continue]
by Wendy on February 1, 2012
· in Essays,Getting Personal,Guest Column
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I feed my baby formula. Exclusively. Here in Brooklyn that’s one of the biggest parenting offenses you can commit. It’s right up there with circumcision and “crying it out” in terms of emotionally scarring your child for life. I didn’t plan to feed my baby formula. Or, I should say that wasn’t my preference. But ever since I had breast reduction surgery when I was 19, I knew that it was unlikely I’d be able to exclusively breastfeed any babies I had. My surgeon told me it was a “wait and see” thing and that I wouldn’t know whether I’d be able to breastfeed until I had a baby and tried to.
When Jackson was born, I didn’t try to breastfeed him right away. The first 12 hours were just so crazy that I can’t remember why I didn’t try. Did I not know I should? Did no one suggest it to me? Was I too tired? Was I scared that I couldn’t do it? I can’t remember. But I do remember about 12 hours or so after he was born visiting him in the NICU, where he was being treated for jaundice and low blood sugar, and attempting to breastfeed for the first time then. Jackson, Drew and I sat in this small private room just off the NICU and with a pillow on my lap to prop up the baby, I tried to feed him. He was so little, though — only 5 pounds — and his mouth so tiny, that we weren’t able to get a good latch. Consequently, that was the first time I failed at breastfeeding. [Click to continue]
by Wendy on January 18, 2012
· in Essays,It's Personal,Parenthood
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There’s a joke that once you have kids, you stop having sex. That isn’t exactly true or there would never be any siblings. Still, there is truth in most clichés, and one of the challenges I’ve found since becoming a mom is simply finding time to be with Drew, just us.
The first three weeks were the hardest. My hormones were so crazy after giving birth and my whole world seemed to turn upside down and I wasn’t getting any sleep and Jackson was screaming non-stop and suddenly I was sharing my favorite person with someone else, someone who, quite frankly, was annoying me much more than he was charming me. Drew hates it when I put it like that, but it’s the truth. I had a hard time connecting to my baby those first few weeks and as much as I loved him and hoped things would get better — they have! — a part of me worried that I had made a mistake, a mistake that was going to really screw up my marriage (it wasn’t and it hasn’t). [Click to continue]
by Wendy on January 11, 2012
· in Essays,It's Personal,Parenthood
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For months after Julie and I broke up, we remained friends. It was a mutual decision. No, really. We still cared about each other, and we still enjoyed each other’s company. We just realized that, romantically, we weren’t all that compatible. We were like peanut butter and bacon: You love ‘em both. Just not together. We continued to hang out fairly regularly, though. In fact, we joked that we were kind of/sort of still going on dates. Except that they didn’t end in anything physical…Wait, they were exactly like many dates I’ve been on.
