Readers Write  February 2010 | issue 410

Borrowing

The complete text of this selection is available in our print edition.

This page contains a photograph which requires the Flash plug-in to be viewed. You can download it for free, here.

I have no children. I’ve been contentedly single for most of my childbearing years, and I haven’t really wanted kids. People have told me I’d make a good mother, but being good at something and wanting to do it are two different things. A few years ago I found out that I suffer from endometriosis, the top cause of infertility in women, so I probably couldn’t get pregnant even if I tried.

I’ve chosen to borrow other people’s children instead. My two best friends and my sister have all invited me into their homes after the births of their first children to help with chores and offer support where I could.

Three times I have washed bottle nipples with tiny brushes, changed diapers, felt spit-up run down my cleavage, fished boogers from tiny nostrils, patted out burps, sung lullabies, slept with a newborn on my chest, and stared deeply into a baby’s eyes. Three times I have fallen in love. Three times I have returned to my own home, heartbroken.

I live hundreds of miles from the children I once helped care for. This distance sometimes feels like a physical ache. Though I have not shepherded a child into this world, I have learned one of the lessons of parenting: how to love and let go.

Jennifer R. Myhre
San Mateo, California

In the early seventies I left academia for life in the country. I bought a raw piece of land and struggled to build a cabin, till a garden, and put up fences. I made friends with the locals, particularly Clyde, an older farmer with a hair-trigger smile. I’d drop by his place and help him with his projects just to be entertained by him. When I mentioned I was going to fence my meadow, Clyde offered to come over and drill the post-holes for me. I was thrilled. After that we regularly helped each other repair barns and care for animals. No money was ever exchanged.

I had been raised never to ask for anything; borrowing had always caused fights in my family. As Clyde and I went on helping each other, I felt obligated to keep it fair between us, and I pointed out that I had many more needs than he did. Clyde smiled and said, “If you need something, ask. If I can help out, I will. And if I need something, I’ll ask. You can help me if you can. But don’t ever keep track.”

We helped each other for the next thirty years without issue.

J.W. Lawrence
Friday Harbor, Washington

The complete text of this selection is available in our print edition.

Personal. Political. Provocative. Subscribe to The Sun and save 55%.