Up until about 5 years ago I didn't think anything of being an only child. Actually I still don't think much of it. What's the big deal? Sure it's slightly uncommon, but what's with all of the negative stereotypes associated with only children? Blah blah blah, spoiled and self centred - I get that . . . in theory. But the pity? I'm increasingly surprised to hear pity in peoples voices when they hear I'm an only child. Q: "Don't you wish you had a sibling growing up?" A: "Not especially . . . no." blinking*
This recently tainted perspective was driven home after I read a Globe and Mail article by Lauren Sandler. Being "self centred", I desperatly want to read her book One and Only. Not everyone thinks they have the best parents or upbringing, but I think mine was pretty damn great and I believe part of the reason was that I am an only child.
Sure, I was either very well planned or a colossal mistake. In the mid 70's, after nine years of marriage my folks decided to have a baby. Lucky for everyone I was a girl. As the person who sent me an ExpressPost envelope including the Lauren Sandler article and a handful of Baby-Bels, my mother continues to dote on me (even at age 37). She was a born mother, but only ever wanted ONE. My folks were the only couple in their group of friends who had a child. They were undoubtably those annoying people who took their daughter everywhere. Fortunately I was far better behaved then than I am now. Those were still the days of "seen and not heard". Fine by me. I always had a supply of coloring books or Hot Wheels to keep me entertained should the "adult conversation" extend beyond my elementary ears.
I used to have a friend that complained that I had never been to the end of the island that we lived on. I used to answer: "No, but I've been on safari." That shut him up. As Lauren Sandler mentions, the finacial ease is significant with only one. My parents could afford to globe-trot and take me with them. Plus they knew:
a. I'd be well behaved b. I'd appreciate the experience c. It wasn't going to bankrupt them.
Sadly it's not 1984 and any unequipped moron can have as many kids as they bloody well please. I don't know if I'll have one, three or zero children. All I know is, only children are people too . . . except smarter, more independent and better looking.
As the Cottonwood continues to propel itself into the air with reckless abandon , my sinus's continue to suffer. Week two: and although it's miserable and rainy out somehow those pesky allergens are still macheteing their way into my nasal passages. Here's another excerpt from one of my 10 year old London publications - Enjoy.
In other news. I’m in love. Hard core love. Seriously the mere thought of him sends chills up and down my spine. Melvin, Millicent and I went to the movies the other night. We saw Batman Begins. Yes. Yes. Christian Bale *car tires screeching to a halt* Actually no. How about Cillian Murphy? His “piercing blue eyes” paralyzed me when they first appeared on the big screen. I shit you not, when I say drool was pooling at the corners of my mouth every time he flashed across the celluloid. There’s something to be said for being dangerously attractive AND a sinister mastermind devoid of morals with a love of hallucinogenics. In a word. Wow. He can contaminate my ground water supply any day.
It’s nice to have a new crush. Damon has been most elusive since I no longer work 4 doors away from his house. Odd?
Only slightly less boring than my imaginary love affairs are…….
My allergies. Which are marching along nicely, thank you very much. If I could rip my eyes out of their sockets and scratch the remaining bloody holes with a scouring pad, I’m sure I’d be left feeling satiated and in less discomfort. I’m an absolute mess. And the stupid London Plane trees (clearly put on this earth to torment me) just stand there laughing as they continue to thrust pollen in the air on a regular basis. I did some reading up on this thing the English have called a Pollen Count. Right now is when we are infested by tree pollen (read: The LDN P. tree) this debilitating infestation should last roughly…. till the end of august. By which time I’ll be happily resting in a nice cool grave or I’ll be in Canadia, where I belong. I’m miserable. There’s constant sneezing. The past 3 days I’ve been favoring about 5-8 annoyingly loud repetitions of sneezes in a given second. There’s constant nose blowing, with careful attention not blow one too many times and end up with a gusher of a nose bleed and half a tampon stuck in my nostril for the remainder of the day. And there’s constant eye rubbing. I try to get my fists as far into my eyes as they’ll go, but I still end up puffy and red and scratchy and unsatisfied. Some new developments are the sore throat, and the cough. These are 2 very new symptoms. And may I say, a nice change from the monotony.
So your fella isn't paying as much attention to you as he should? Well, have a I got a system for you*.
Nothing says "Pay attention to me." like a borderline indecent skirt and indignant stamping of feet. When and if that fails, simply drop everything. Literally, and preferably in the middle of the street (watch out for oncoming traffic**). Begin whimpering. Pouting, although effective when face to face, is silent. Even if said fella manages to make it a few blocks without noticing you (because a girl in an even shorter skirt riding a bike rolled by) he will eventually hear your high pitched squealing which devolved from the initial wimpering. Keep going. It's working. He'll roll his eyes, turn around and wander back in exasperation. He's pissed off, and you look like a Grade A Imbecile. Success!
*disclaimer: this does not work.
**although speaking from personal experience an impromptu hospital stay can really solidify a floundering relationship.