I have read the exclusive interview in GQ with Rielle Hunter, John Edwards’s soul mate (as it turns out), and thought it was all very nice. I must admit I really hadn’t read anything else leading up to this about their infamous relationship. I had seen a few blurbs on television, but I don’t crave anything sordid. The most interesting part, to me, were the mentions of their young daughter. It reminded me how much I enjoy other people’s young children.
I have two of my own. I don’t regret one moment of having children. I sometimes wish I’d had a third. But I don’t necessarily want to go through the continuous stress of having a small child. I never really relaxed, I think, for about ten straight years. Yes I laughed with them, took naps with them, and did a whole lot of nothing with them, as the moment dictated, but I always worry that I’m doing the right thing, and will continue to do the right thing until they are grown.
With other people’s children, I can enjoy their silliness, their quirks, and their problems right along with all of their perfections. I don’t have to worry (too much) about how they will turn out. And I don’t have to worry about how they’ll pay for college. If they poop their pants, all the better.
I don’t think it will be the same with grandchildren, as then there will be the dynamic of my own children’s abilities as parents, and if they suck at it, then they must have learned that from me.