We had a long weekend this past weekend in my part of the world, so I got to spend lovely, lovely, lovely quality time with my darling Pink Peril. I always enjoy that. Two remarkable things happened over that weekend, remarkable because to my mind they represented emotional intelligence way beyond what I would expect from children at the tender age of 17 months.
Instance 1)
We were at some friend’s son’s birthday party and had decided to swim in their pool; being terribly, terribly, poowah, we don’t have one ourselves so on such a hot day it was a real treat. The Pinkies are of an age where laying patiently on their backs while a nappy (of the swimming type), is changed into, isn’t what they want to do. K_____ was performing dreadfully. Wriggling, struggling, protesting, crying – real sack cloth and ashes type moaning. All this despite my pleas that she’d enjoy the swim if we could just get the bathers on and R_____’s sweetest attempts to gently restrain her, we were getting nowhere. We were of course in strange surrounds and using one of the spare rooms (essentially a junk room), we’d found some floor space but piled behind me and out of my vision was a lot of bits of junk on a low bookshelf. A_____ who was walking around exploring and patiently waiting her turn for bather nappies, walked behind me and retrieved something from the pile then returned around to my front and graciously handed to her sister, a small Thomas Tank “Henry” model train. K_____’s reaction was to instantly calm down and examine the new object, whilst having her nappy rapidly changed. Besides being pleased I could now change the nappy I was aghast that someone... anyone; of 17months, could determine what was needed so astutely and move to action to ‘just do it’. Fluke? Possibly; but I nearly burst with pride and mid change was forced to bow my head to the crown of my clever daughter, kiss it and give her praise aplenty.
Instance 2)
The following day, at home; again it was sizzling in the shade so we stayed indoors (pool-less) and tried to entertain ourselves. We ate lunch and feeling still a little hungry, I chose an apple from the crisper and began to share it with the Peril. One bite for me, two bites for you (you all know how it goes).
Anyway after a few bites, I’d had my fill and clearly the way the piranha like feeding frenzy was going, I was going to lose a finger if I didn’t give up the core.
I let go, assuming they’d already got the idea of sharing but K_____ being bigger and stronger achieved dominance and A______ set up a whine that meant I couldn’t hear what came after “C” on our baby Einstein DVD.
I chose to facilitate the ‘share’ process by cutting what was left of the core into bite size pieces. A piece for each hand and the balance of them into a bowl on the coffee table. I then returned comfortably to the lounge – resuming at “G” (damn – I’m sure I missed a letter or two there). A____ came around the coffee table where they were both hungrily hovering over the apple bowl, to climb up and join me on the lounge, so we could watch ‘H’ together.
K_____ hovered in front of the coffee table a little longer before putting down one of her treasured pieces of core on the table top, selecting another morsel from the bowl and proceeding around the table to join us. I thought at this stage there would be another tussle to see whom would sit next to Daddy.
Far from it. K_____ offered the morsel in her hand to A______’s waiting mouth, which scrunched a bite and then put down one of her treasured apple bits (smearing it onto the lounge suite) and took the piece K______ had offered. K_____ smiled a satisfied smile. Was I seeing a ‘gifted’ apology for her taking the core earlier or a thank you for yesterday’s nappy change help? I don’t know.
Again the moment was poignant, tender, wildly bizarre and I felt compelled to give them both the biggest hug and let them know that they are wonderful, wonderful human beings.
Do these ‘early’ displays of empathy mean R____ and I are doing something right? I like to think so. I’m sure everyone of us raising children have these leaps in development that make us smile and wonder. I’m sure that if a child protection worker had been attending our family at any of those points they would have given us a big tick.
Which is why I don’t understand that this week, I’ve heard of a couple applying for a parenting order, being scrutinised in a way that no other kind of parents are. By that I mean, there has been no complaint of abuse or neglect by anyone, there is apparently no legal reason, in that they aren’t applying for adoption of the children or legal recognition of parentage, they don’t have that option.
I can only assume they are applying so that they no longer have to suffer the ignominy of being full-time primary carers, who are put through more time, effort and expense to do so. If we assume and I think we can, that most parents have their children’s best interests at heart, then we have a situation where some of us because of the way we have been forced (yes forced) to have children are under a heavier microscope than others.
The parenting order application I’m talking about lead to a this situation – and I quote,
“Parenting Orders in NSW - has ordered a home assessment on my partner and I to see whether we would make suitable parents. We will have to satisfy a long list of demands including a guarantee that the children will be able to contact their birth mother. She (Judge) has ordered us to get more DNA testing to establish paternity - she was not happy to accept the testing done for the Australian High Commission in New Delhi. She spoke at length of the importance of establishing in these cases that babies had not been traded or pregnant women trafficked across borders. She said several times that she was very surprised that we managed to get Australian citizenship by decent. The court also appointed a lawyer for our children - so they now have separate legal representation. It was a pretty dispiriting experience...”
I just bet it was.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, this process (dispiriting as it is, particularly to the ‘good’ parent) I can understand. I can understand it being necessary, initially. The institutions of this land have to satisfy themselves that they are doing the best thing for children and children’s safety and covering all their international obligations - but if it doesn’t lead to full parental recognition in the end and could be ‘re-worked’ at any stage, again and again... and again at the drop of the proverbial topee, it then becomes institutional bullying and bullying of any kind is ‘bad’. Bad for families, bad for individuals and most certainly bad for the children of those families. It reduces their stability and security.
BUT FURTHER
I note with some concern in this particular case, that a few of the conditions of these parenting orders will in certain circumstances be impossible to adhere to (particularly the contact with surrogate). It feels a lot like the intent is to make the bar so high for families with overseas assisted reproduction children, that they must fall short at some point, so the authorities can claim their only choice was to rip the children away from their parents. The parents they love and who care for them. In reality, it seems more like it’s to set an example to others in the same predicament. A “Do this and we’ll definitely take your kids” message. It’s like the darkest section of Chitty-chitty bang bang movie or a horrid bleak orphanage scene from a Dickens novel. Institutions deliberately turning happy families into ruins.
Is this process done to potential adopters? I think not, because otherwise no child would ever have the chance of being adopted into a secure, caring, loving family. Is this done to people who are too dysfunctional (for whatever reason) to be able to care properly for children (despite their biological ability to have them)? I look down the streets of my neighbourhood and reply ‘obviously not in general’. In fact do we have any sort of ‘licensing system’ for new and potential parents in our country? NO! That would be a limitation on personal freedoms, the right to breed, the right to raise children and counterproductive to the ‘breed for Australia’ message we once heard from a prominent politician on our nightly TV screens. Clearly these messages were meant only for people who were fortunate enough to be biologically capable of having children or were lucky enough to have a surrogate (who wouldn’t shy from the task), here in Australia, not for people like me.
I once before threatened in a surrogacy forum to immigrate with all my assets (such as they are) to another; more sympathetic, country. Where laws have caught up with the times. And if necessary even declare myself and my family refugees. Ridiculous as it sounds, I’m beginning to think that is the more sane option.
And now folks - sadly my personal circumstances mean this will be my last blog for some time, possibly permanently. I hope you have all enjoyed reading my little family’s antics and I also hope I’ve provoked some food for thought in any anomalies I’ve tried to highlight. Get out there, be a family and enjoy every moment with your kids, they grow fast and none of us know what tomorrow will bring. Love, hugs, peace and joy.
