The "C" Word

Just a few (rambling) thoughts on L’s post the other day re children (which has inevitably turned into one of my feminist rants…):

I TOTALLY get what you are saying, L. I think you’ve tapped into a very pertinent point that few people admit: that sex-for-erotic-pleasure and sex-as-reproductive-function operate on 2 different levels. Children are clearly a reminder of the sex-as-reproductive-function type, so it naturally follows that your erotic perception of Freddy (and thus your own erotic pleasure) will be severely compromised (to put it mildly) by any reminder of his having reproduced.

I remember once reading an interview with Gordon Ramsay, in which he said he had refused to be present in the delivery room for the births of each of his 4 children, as he had felt that witnessing his wife’s labour would have destroyed their sex life. The interviewer appeared mildly outraged by this, but I thought he was making a pertinent point. A friend of mine recently gave birth, and at the last minute, decided she did not want her partner to be present, as she thought it would ruin their sex life. By not reducing her body to reproductive function, but, rather, used it to carry a child, she has been able to retain the dynamic of mutual sexual desire between herself and her partner.

Although: I do think that once you have children, other things in your life necessarily take on a different meaning, and cannot be separated from the fact of parenthood. Your body IS different, and DOES take on new meaning and function. Also, examples of 2 friends, both desperate for a baby. One is about to turn 40, and despite a demanding career, is dragging her husband with her on a business trip to China, because she will be ovulating for the duration of the trip. Hardly the hot sex that these newlyweds should be enjoying. The other, aged 37, approaches all new relationships in an almost militant manner. Gone are the days of enjoying someone’s company and seeing where it might lead to; every new man is a potential father for the child she is anxious to conceive.

I, too, strongly dislike children, although I do reserve a certain affection for one or two of the offspring of some very close friends of mine. I can’t do the cooing thing, and that whole show-off thing that children do seriously irritates me (eg “look at the latest Barbie I have got to add to my pointless, spoilt, over-indulgent collection of 8 identical dolls”). Last weekend, I attended my friend A’s daughter’s 8th birthday party, to whom I am deemed sufficiently close to (a) have to endure being called “Auntie D”, which makes me feel old and suburban, and I can think of few worse sentiments, and (b) be summoned to the party to help make beaded necklaces (it was a jewellery-making party) and generally supervise and entertain. Predictably, the whole event was a 3 hour long contraceptive. I mean really, the likes of the Daily Wail would have you believe that 8 year old girls are out there getting pregnant, but really, they are selfish, demanding brats with no social graces, who insist on being served before anyone else.

My friend A’s children are particularly manipulative, and I cannot believe she falls for their transparent tricks. The youngest, aged 3, has a cunning habit of literally screaming every time she wants A’s attention, regardless of what A is doing at the time. She could be on the ‘phone, or talking to someone or cleaning up someone’s spilled drink, and this child will screech “Mummy! Aaaaagggghhh!” until A gives her her full attention. If that were my child, I would seriously have to rethink my staunchly anti-smacking position. The other child, aged 8, whose birthday party it was, is the biggest hypochondriac I have ever come across. I recognise that I am sometimes unfair about this sort of thing – I disapprove of anyone taking time off work for illness unless they are either (a) dying, (b) in hospital or (c) so ill they physically cannot get out of bed, stay awake or realise proper brain function. Anyway, A’s daughter, V, had a jolly old time at her bday party, and the second the last guest had left, she burst into tears and informed A that she had chest pains. Clearly she was hardly having a heart attack; it was obvious she was trying to get out of going to school the following day so that she could play with her new presents, but A went into panic overdrive, and insisted her husband cancel his plans (he was trying to close a business deal he had been working on for weeks), to go out and buy medication. V of course perked up when she was allowed to open her presents, but suffered a relapse when told to put them away and go to bed. Bloody children.

However, one thing I will say in defence of some children: some of them, even the most irritating ones, are actually easier to communicate with than some adults. Example: I am unfortunate to work on the same floor as a miserable, socially inept, intellectually incapable, show-off-to-compensate-for-vast-inadequacies of a prick (male). Although I am very much a “people person” and get on with everyone, very occasionally, someone will appear in my life whom I simply cannot tolerate, and this runt of a man is one of these people. His basic level of intelligence is so low, it is off the scale, and it has now reached the point where I refuse to communicate with him, as I simply cannot bear to waste my time in that way – he doesn’t understand simple instructions. Of course, as he is so incompetent, he ends up having no work to do; he has already pissed off 2 of my clients and countless members of staff, and proved himself so incapable, it is easier and more effective for him to not be given any projects to work on. And so I am forced, day after day, to see this pathetic little sod trawl the internet, check his Hotmail account and draft long, rambling letters to those people unfortunate enough to be deemed his friends (in Word; he then copies and pastes his essays into an e mail). The previous person in his role was female and about 30 years younger than him; of course about 5 of us sat in on her interview as she was grilled on every area of her personal and professional life and the relevance of her degree. This guy managed to land the job (a) because his manager knows him from years ago – and assumed that because he is a man – albeit a stupid, unlikable person – he would be able to do the job, and (b) oh, um, let me think – because he has a penis. Of course he is being paid exactly TWICE as much as the previous (female) person in this role.

Anyway, after my long rant (sorry; my anger has been inflamed this morning by watching him walk in late and proceed to waste time, paper and ink by printing out colour pictures of his inane family), it really struck me last weekend, as I was looking after A’s 3 year old child, this child is not the most intelligent or intellectually stimulated child. And clearly, I am not the most tolerant person (see above!) and certainly not child-tolerant. However, it still shocked me that I was actually able to communicate more effectively and engage in a more intelligent exchange with this child than I am with this dreadful man at work. And I bet that in 70 years time, when A’s 3 year old is at retirement age, she will not have managed to get as far up the career ladder, or earned as much money as this inadequate, incompetent man – simply because of her sex.

I dearly hope I am proved wrong.