Just had a thought. Which is a pity. I wish thoughts had a little control over making themselves known. But, like the Catholic Church ca 1960, they [toughts that is] have no compunction about procreating like rabbits out of control. So you lose track of them. As I just have. Doesn’t matter.
If there is one thing I have to watch big time it’s writing intros to thoughts. By the time I’ve finished intro I haven’t got the faintest idea what the thought was I am introducing.
On a side note: What is sad about the Catholic Church, pro life, anti abortion and contraception is that few people consider that you can only give so many offspring all the love and attention any of us deserve. Which is why it pays to be a FIRST child or an only. I speak with expertise. Whilst the first fruit of your loins will bear brunt of undiluted attention (not for the faint hearted) she’ll also reap all the benefits none of your siblings ever will; neither will you ever know what people mean when they call you big headed. Even my mother once asked me where I take my ‘chutzpah’ from. Come again?
Naturally, since I manage to always have the best of all worlds, I am both (as defined by the imprecise science of psychology): An only and a first. If you were an only for more than the first four or five years in your life (which I was) you will qualify as an only (in psychological make up); the only being compounded, grandised, by becoming an eldest. Shortly after your parents (mine that is) get married, in November, and years after being an only you find yourself an ‘eldest’ . With all the hardship and heartache that entails at suddenly being lumbered with sisters and brother you grow to love to your detriment. (And I will admit to being overjoyed when my first sister was born; less so with my brother since he spoilt my nineth birthday. Will tell that story another time. Great guy. Have forgiven him.) Siblings: Talk about unpaid labour. My mother was shameless exploiting me that way. Grannymar will know what I am talking about. And not only peeling sacks of potatoes.
For years and years and years people kept wondering why I didn’t have children after point of marriage. Well. As far as I was concerned I had had my family (all three of them, didn’t I?) or so my reasoning went. To this day my mother and I, when talking about my siblings, will refer to them as “the kids”. Which is all there is to know. So I had had “my” children early on, and enough of them, till biological instinct took over. Biggest, bestest joy of my life. Felix hung on in there against odds. Strong, healthy, on the upper centile. Head screwed on. Heart in the right place. Of the most laid back temperament. Yet, I guess, you wouldn’t want to mess with the guy; other than at your peril.
Nineteen years later I still can’t believe my luck. Neither do I fathom why I omitted teaching him how to do the washing up. Recently I told him, and I will not forgive myself for this, one of the shittiest remarks you can make as a parent, that this abode is not a five star hotel with room service thrown in for good measure. Five? Make that six.
So I am Only, and I am an Eldest. What do you expect of me. Charity?