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While we're parsing our octuplet obsession, it's worth reading Judith Warner's recent column on child-related panics in general—whether they're about teenagers and sex, or overscheduled kids, or overmedicated kids, or commodified kids. She makes the good point that such panics rarely clarify children's real situations, much less inform good decisions. Instead they tend to blur subtleties and obscure hard choices, while letting adults project their own anxieties and wallow in concern over lost innocence. (Overscheduling, for example, isn't exactly the universal childhood problem you'd think from affluent parents' alarm. Overextended adults, though, are a problem, not least because they're too frazzled to focus on the urgent problems of poor kids with too little to occupy them.)
As for the octuplets, let's hope their arrival prompts a hard, cold examination of assisted reproductive technology rather than endless appalled voyeurism. This isn't the first fertility freak show to unfold during hard times: Remember the story of the poor Dionne quintuplets 75 years ago? Then the government—the girls were born in Canada—did step in, in the name of protecting the babies from exploitation and danger. But instead of helping, the effect was to perpetuate the circus: The girls were sequestered in Quintland, which became a national tourist attraction up there with (or even beyond) Niagara Falls. That's not part of a stimulus package we need, but here is a market that surely needs regulating.
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Noreen, I feel your pain. As the oldest of 11 children, I am no stranger to the raised eyebrows that come with the large-family territory, and I am constantly taken aback by the questions people feel they can ask me (like whether I think my parents are "done" and the ever-popular question of whether I know all my siblings' names). I have even been asked, "Wait, you have 10 siblings and you're not crazy?"
And, yes, people always, always want to judge my parents. (My father's standard response is, "Which one would you give back?") All of which has taught me, if nothing else, to be wary of judging anyone's family decisions, though I'm not sure I would choose to feature those family decisions on television. I don't think there is such a thing as the objectively perfect mother, and I don't think good parenting has anything to do with how many children you have or how many children you can have at once. It has to do with making the best choices for yourself and your children, and it's dangerous to judge someone else's parenting choices.
When the time comes, I want to be able to decide for myself what will make me the best mother to my children, irrespective of anyone else's parenting decisions.
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Jessica, you're right—TLC must be salivating at the thought of signing a reality TV show deal with the mother of the octuplets. (Incidentally, the word octuplets appears in neither my Word spell checker nor in the dictionary Slate uses, though the dictionary does include octuple as an adjective, noun, and verb.) I'd imagine that the mother herself isn't Quiverfull: Couples who follow the principles of the Quiverfull movement vow to accept as many children as God gives them, whether that's 20 kids or four or none, and they reject both contraception and fertility treatments as attempts to interfere with the lord's plan. Perhaps she's a Quiverfull groupie?
I wish I could put a finger on why I and so many others find this story fascinating. Maybe it's because this is one of those places where the right and the left ends of the social spectrum are in agreement. Conservative bloggers have called the mother irresponsible and speculated about what assistant programs she and her children could be enrolled in or eligible for. Liberal bloggers worry about everything from whether the kids will get enough attention to what the family's carbon footprint will be. I don't think I've seen anyone celebrating the "miracle" of this birth—the responses I've encountered have expressed only horror.
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