The Value of Life, Part 1

When did I stop being God's gift?

People often say children are a blessing from God. Well, I was a child once, and therefore a blessing from God, right? So, at exactly what point did I cease to be a blessing from God and became something less? When did my life begin to have less value than that of a child?

The attitude that the life of a child is more valuable than the life of an adult is a prevalent one. It's a common belief that in raising our children, we must forgo our needs, we must sacrifice everything and anything for the “good” of our children. (“Good” is in parentheses here because I question whether all of the sacrifices made are actually to the benefit the child.) We’re pressured to make every decision with our child’s best interest in mind, we’re called selfish if we dare do things that are just for us. People stay in lousy marriages “for the children,” people don’t spend money on things for themselves so their children can have nicer toys, people put family time over “me” time and their marriages. Every day, people sacrifice their own happiness for their children’s.

This all sounds rather irreverent, I know. It's probably important to note, before I go any further, that I would die for my children. I make lots of sacrifices for them, just like the next parent. I made lots of sacrifices just to bring them into existence. I will continue to make sacrifices for them, and in no way am I saying children do not have value or that they aren't worth putting in front of ourselves.

I would die for my children – but not because their lives are worth more than mine.

Societally speaking, my life has more value than that of a child. At the very least, my value is quantifiable where a child’s is not. I contribute services and tax dollars to the greater good. I have more knowledge and a more highly-developed grasp of the social mores that are essential to the function of our society. The only value a child has in society is potential. Certainly, that potential is limitless - but while each child has the potential to cure cancer, each child also has the potential to be a serial killer. And who says my potential is expired just because I'm an adult? At this point in my life, I have just as much potential to cure cancer as my six year-old does.

And so, as far as contribution to society goes, as far as today goes, I am vastly more valuable than a child.

I find fault with the notion that we must put our lives on hold for the sake of our children. Suppose I were to sacrifice my happiness, be a martyr for my child, to help him grow to be a successful, happy, healthy and well-adjusted adult...why? So that he can then sacrifice himself -- the self I helped make by sacrificing myself -- for his child? So he can set aside that success and happiness I helped foster for his child ... so that his child can set aside that success and happiness for his child?

It’s like the sign I saw at a Renaissance Faire a few weekends ago: “Free Beer Tomorrow.” “Hello! Yesterday I saw a sign there would be free beer today!” “Oho, sadly, the free beer is tomorrow.”

I’m absolutely going to invest a large chunk of myself in helping my children become happy, healthy, successful, well-adjusted adults. But I’m also going to enjoy my free beer today.

"But then you wouldn't have _______"

When reflecting upon the disaster that was my first marriage, and saying things like, "I wish I had never met that douchenozzle," I am inevitably met with, "But then you wouldn't have your son."

I really dislike that argument.

No, I would not have my son. But I wouldn't know any better. Just like right now I don't know what it's like to be married to Johnny Depp, be a neurosurgeon, or what a peanut butter and pickle sandwich tastes like - all of which I may have experienced had I chosen different things in my life. I love my son, but it would be a fallacy to believe I would miss him if I never had him in the first place.

The only good, persuasive argument against going back and un-meeting my husband I can find is this: I am happy. I am truly contented in my life, very close to fulfilled, and thinking about the state of my self and my life right now makes me smile.

Of course, there is the chance that, had I never met the narcissist who will plague my life until my son is eighteen, I would still be happy with whatever life I ended up with on that path. But there is a chance that I wouldn't.

And so, it is a sure bet to continue to live the life I have made for myself, even with the regret of those four years spent completely ignoring my better judgment, and not taking the risk of building that time machine I've been drawing up, returning to the past, and preventing my fateful first encounter with Captain Conceit.

I'll take happy for sure over possibly happy with a 50% chance of regrets any day.

The Importance of Titles

What's the first thing people read? The title. If they don't like the title, why would they keep reading? I'd be much more likely to read something entitled The Fetid Fungus of Frederick's Foot than I would Athlete's Foot: A History.

You know, I only just realized my probably unhealthy obsession with alliteration.

I have been wanting to start a "blog" (I hate that word) for ages - probably upwards of two years. What was holding me back? A meaningful, creative, and descriptive title, yet one that didn't pigeon-hole me into certain types of topics. I'm a parent, I'm interested in politics, but naming a blog The Political Parent pretty much guarantees I'm going to feel like I need to stick to topics that are both political and relate to parenting somehow.

Oho, there's that alliteration again.

And so finally, today, with much help from thesaurus.com (thank you, internet, by the way, for saving me from hours poring over a dusty reference book), I have arrived at the perfect blog (shudder) title - one that is only marginally descriptive, but most certainly does not limit me to any realm of topics, and one which is rife with delicious alliteration.

What more could one want in the title of a blog? (I'll need to think of a new word to replace that, seriously.)