Single Mothers by Choice (SMC)

The SMC Blog has Moved!

2011-03-12T15:19:00.006-05:00

Please join us at our new home: http://www.singlemothersbychoice.org/community/blog/. This is the brand new website of the Single Mothers by Choice organization and the blog is now incorporated into our web site. We are very excited about our new website and hope you will visit us there soon. Jane Mattes

Freedom Friday: In praise of the single mother

2011-03-05T05:08:00.004-05:00

Last week I was almost on a radio show. I was asked, by a new ether friend, and single mother sensation, Issa Mass aka SingleMomNYC, and Your Single Parenting, to be the voice of the single mother who celebrates that role and finds the joy in it. I was asked to share things I have learned along the way that make it easier: "What I was hoping you could bring to the conversation were the things that you do (or are discovering), to recharge your batteries, and allow you to find enjoyment, satisfaction and perseverance in this sometimes challenging job of Single Mom. Whether it be mantras you repeat to yourself, physical exercise, time with friends, or anything else be that adds enjoyment to your journey as a single mom, please share your perspective on how you are committed to enjoying your time as a single mom."

Although, as is often the case in the big world, versus the humble world of the blog, things happen, plans shift. Although I was understandably disappointed that the show had been postponed, the offer was a big boost to me in and of itself. The morning before the show, when I was looking out at all this snow I had to shovel, on my own, I felt pumped up. Here was a challenge: how do I remove eighteen tons of snow from the neck of my driveway with a bum foot, and two sleeping children I don’t want freaked out if they wake and I’m not here? The story ends with two sleeping boys, a shoveled driveway, and me sitting with my bare feet in the snow on my front steps sipping my instant coffee, thinking; “I amaze me.”

“What were you doing? There was a man in the house, and you were shoveling snow? Not uh. Not me. You deserve all the pain you get today from your foot. Stubborn!” My southern friend N declared later that morning. Yes. But the whole time I was thinking, this is one reason I LOVE being a single mother. Not because I have a crazy chip saying I can conquer the world (partially true) but because there is so much satisfaction in problem solving, organizing, and when I need, asking for help. (My brother had shoveled the driveway, twice the day before, without me asking. He enjoys snow.) Being a single mother can be for me for me, the opportunity to prove to myself, and my children, how capable I am. And, I love that.

So if you're a single parent by choice, or circumstance, I believe there is almost always reason to celebrate what we can do. Enjoy when people marvel at your resiliency, and success in pulling it all together. Buy yourself flowers after shoveling the driveway, or make yourself a card that says; “Brava!” and tape it by your bed. Take great joy in your ability to do what some partnered people can barely pull off with two on good day.

It’s not easy, but one thing I have learned to do, is sit with the success of it, and tell my children often, how proud I am of myself. And, they’ve learned how to play right along; “Way to go Mom!” I often hear. “Your really parallel park well!” Hey, I’ll take it.
Catherine/Mama C For more, go to:
http://mamacandtheboys.com

Modern Family

2011-02-26T10:01:00.000-05:00

Years ago, when I made the decision to become a SMC (Single Mother by Choice) and began perusing the profiles of dozens of potential sperm donors, I was clear about one thing: I planned to use an open donor. Like most people, I’d heard plenty of stories about adopted kids who yearned for details about their biological parents, and I wanted to make sure that if my child ever felt like one of those kids, she’d have the information she needed. An open donor is a sperm donor who is open to meeting the children whom his sperm produced, and when my daughter, Jayda, turns 18, she can contact the bank I used, and they will release contact information about her donor to her.

  After I gave birth to Jayda, there was an onslaught of media attention directed towards the Donor Sibling Registry (DSR). As the DSR website states, “the focus of the Donor Sibling Registry (DSR) is to assist individuals conceived as a result of sperm, egg, or embryo donation who are seeking to make mutually desired contact with others with whom they share genetic ties.” For most of the members, this means connecting half-siblings (children of the same donor), and some SMCs swear by this site. As a result of this website, Yahoo groups have been created for parents of half-siblings, people travel cross-country for yearly reunions, intense relationships are fostered between half-sibs, and some say their half-siblings share a strong bond and interact with each other much like cousins do. I, for one, have never had any interest in joining the DSR. While my family is quite small, I believe it’s enough for me and Jayda, and our lives are so rich with wonderful friendships that I don’t think Jayda will ever feel like she’s lacking love or companionship. Why would she ever need to know her half-siblings? Of course, if at some point when Jayda is older, she disagrees with me, and wants to find her biological half-sisters and brothers, I’ll be happy to share the DSR’s URL with her; but for now, I see no point in becoming a member and posting on this site.

  Last weekend, I was at the home of a SMC friend who is a member of the DSR, and she told me she’d be happy to share her password with me if I ever wanted to peruse the site; I took it. And the other day, I hesitantly logged on and searched for the bank I used, as well as my donor’s number. I then discovered postings from parents of seventeen kids whom Jayda’s donor had sired…most of who were within a year of Jayda’s age! I later found out that my donor is retired (his sperm is no longer available because he’s reached his maximum number of allowed births), but that didn’t make me feel much better. I’m overwhelmed; the postings I found mean that Jayda has more than 17 half-siblings, since not everyone (me for example!) joins the DSR.

But what disturbs me is not the fact that all of these children exist…but that all of these children will have the option of contacting the donor when they turn 18. And what if they do? What if dozens of these kids get to the guy before Jayda makes her potential call? Will he still have time for her? Or any interest in meeting her? Will he be able to give her what she needs (assuming she even needs his attention)? I know I did the best I could do, and if I could do things differently, I wouldn’t; I selected what seemed like an amazing donor (and Jayda is, indeed, an amazing kid)—and I made sure that Jayda would be able to meet him if she ever desired—but clearly, sometimes the best-laid plans go awry. And while I know I can’t worry about things that may or may not happen 14 years from now…I do still lament this news. How could I not?

Surprisingly Thinking my Family is Complete

2011-02-19T05:40:00.003-05:00

While I've talked about having three children for as long as I can remember, and taken action to prepare for my 3rd attempt at trying to conceive, I've surprisingly found myself thinking that maybe I'm really done. That thinking doesn't actually sit well with me because it's such a radical shift, and that makes me question it, but I keep coming back to the same place.

Maybe it would be nice to stick with two, two who are close enough in age that they will be able to go to the same school until my daughter starts middle school, allowing me, when she starts K and he starts pre-K, to live the life I've always dreamed of; working part-time, being the one that gets to pick my children up and take them to their activities, having their friends over after school and really getting to know them, being the primary one to help with their homework, etc. But the cut in work hours needed to do those things wouldn't be possible if I needed to pay for child care for 3, at least not until the littlest one could go to pre-K, when my oldest, best case scenario, would be in 3rd grade.

It just doesn't feel right, knowing that I have a choice to be more available to my children sooner. That, and the fact that I really want to make a change professionally, and that the direction I'm leaning is one that will require a couple of years of schooling. I will be meeting with a career counselor to make sure that it's really likely to be the best path for me, but I simply can't make the changes I think I need to be happy in my career if I am still paying for full-time care for one kid, in addition to the summer camps, after-school care, and the like, which I will need for my older two.

I'm not closing the door to another, but right now I'm thinking that my family works the way it is (ironically, at a time when my daughter is telling me nightly that we need another baby) but I wonder, for those who also found themselves
surprisingly thinking their family was complete, who had previously thought they would like to expand it, what was it that brought about that shift and did you stay
there?

Karen, 39y5m, Annie, 4y2m, and Mitchell, 2y4m

Alone -- But Not Alone

2011-02-12T03:26:00.001-05:00

When you become a Single Mother by Choice, you expect to do a lot of things alone. In fact, a lot of the thinking and trying stage seems ALL about being alone. Deciding alone to go for it. Attending fertility appointments alone. Being alone with your doubts and disappointments. Being pregnant alone. Most of us have supportive friends and family, but when we hang up the phone, log off the chat, close the door, climb between the sheets, lay in the dark, we are alone again.

Thank God I'm one of those people who think that's a good thing. Being alone through my journey has meant I've been able to take it at my own pace. I've been happy when I wanted to be happy, grouchy when it felt right, pregnant and lazy and elated and calm. Whenever I wanted, I felt what I needed to feel, did what I needed to do, with no one to second-guess my decisions, resent my emotions or influence my thoughts.

Which is all well and good until I needed to put a leaf in my dining room table for my daughter's 3rd birthday party. I do a lot of things alone. I made the cake alone – double layer chocolate, in a strawberry shape, with pink and green icing. Masterful. I hung the streamers from corner to corner to corner to corner alone. Blew up 23 balloons alone, bravely continuing even after balloon number eight burst in my face after one breath too many. I wasn't quite alone when I did the fruit and cheese trays, but the presence on my hip of daughter #2, seven months old, is less helpful than you'd hope. I cleaned the house alone and wrapped birthday presents alone – no problemo. But the dining room table stymied me. To open it to insert the leaf, you have to pull from both sides of the table. Pull it from only one side and the whole table simply slides toward you. The last time I'd opened it had been for a family dinner, and said family had been there to help. This time, well, not so easy. The table is solid and stiff, with one broken leg that falls off when the table is moved so much as an inch. I tried to pry the table open with a screwdriver, but risked damaging the wood. Finally, the kids long since in bed on the night before the party, I lay on the floor under the table and put my toes in the crack in the middle of the table, with my back against the floor. I braced my hands on two of the table's legs and pushed with my feet, slowly prying the table open like a weightlifter doing a leg press at the gym. Voila! Genius.

The party was a roaring success. Seven preschoolers decorated sugar cookies (that I'd baked ahead of time, alone) and played without conflict and sang happy birthday, and my girl was thrilled by it all – the cake and the candles, the balloons and streamers, the presents and the song. She said please and thank you and expressed only delight even when she got two books and a play-doh set that we already have. (Having requested previously loved and regifted presents only, getting doubles is guilt-free for me, too). The other parents helped hold the baby and serve the cake and clean up afterward, and it was a lovely two hours.

But the damn dining room table faced me again when everyone went home. I ignored it all day, but it was too big and the leaf needed to come out. This time it was even harder. It needed to be yanked from both sides to release the leaf, and then pushed back together, from both sides, to restore its smaller size. I waited until after the baby was in bed and the 3-year-old was safely in front of Dora before I tackled the table that night. I pried it carefully open from beneath the table (where scratches would not show) with a screwdriver and my fingernails to release the leaf, and lifted the heavy slab out. To push it back together, I moved the whole table against a wall so I'd have a brace, and muscled it slowly, smoothly, inchingly, back to its former size. Moving the broken leg inch by inch during the whole operation only added to the fun.

The funny thing is, I didn't end up doing it alone. As I wrestled with the table, my big little girl drew away from Dora and Swiper, watchful and intrigued by mommy's activity in the dining room. She played with balloons and talked to her dinosaurs and did the things that 3 year olds do, just at the periphery of my table project. She's been underfoot for three years, and there is often a baby near by, and I am so used to NOT being alone anymore that I didn't really register her presence until I pushed the table across the room and back together with a soft clunk. And before I could even stand back to bask in my small accomplishment, before I could quite register my triumph, my newly three year old, my watchful, funny, chatty little girl piped up and said "You did it, mommy!"

Where did she come from and who knew she cared? When did I go from being alone all of the time to never being alone at all? How is it I've now got two little companions to keep me company, to cheer me up, to cheer me on? I have no idea how I went from being an autonomous woman, a Single Mother by Choice, to being captain of this little band of people, this dream team, my threesome of girls. But I'm glad I got here. I honestly never minded being alone. And now? Now I never will be.
Andrea

The Question Gets Asked...

2011-02-04T02:43:00.000-05:00

If you are an SMC, you know the question to which refer. I've waited anxiously for my son to ask the Daddy Question. Everything I've read says our young children are eager to know more about their unique family structure and origins. As soon as they learn the name for people in their home and for the people in their friends' homes, children are supposed to ask. So I waited. I prepared. I rehearsed. You wouldn't think it would take this much planning just to present the truth. I came up with my script. I wrote out the words. I revised them as I practiced the conversation. I bought picture books that other moms said were good for telling and talking. I read those books to Henry. He much preferred The Cat in the Hat and Goodnight Moon. I waited some more. When would he ask? When would he want those questions answered that I just knew were on his mind?

When he was three years, seven months and one week old. When we were at Target. When it was 5 pm and the store's smoothie machine was broken. When everyone had had a long day and no one had eaten for hours. When his toddler brother was having an ear-shattering, no-holes-barred tantrum in the peanut butter aisle. That's when.

Why do we just have a mommy in our family?

His voice was barely above a whisper. Or maybe his normal volume was muffled by his brother's screams. I heard him clearly though. For a split second, I tried to convince myself that I hadn't. This can't be happening here. This is not how I planned it. Just to be sure, I got down to his eye level and asked him to repeat himself. As much as I hated that it was happening in this setting, I wanted to make sure Henry knew it was okay to ask. It's okay even if people are staring at us while our cart and a bellowing toddler block aisle 8.

Why do we just have a mommy in our family?

I prayed that I would remember my lines. The truth as told in developmentally appropriate language. All I needed to do was to say the words I'd rehearsed for years. All of Henry's caregivers have a copy of the script typed and ready at a moment's notice in case I wasn't around when he asked The Question. Why hadn't I stuck a copy in my purse? Now I was going to have to improvise and hope I didn't ruin the entire scene.

"Well Henry,” I squeaked, still crouched down near his face. "Some families have a mommy and a daddy in their house, some families have just a mommy in their house or just a daddy in their house. And some children have two mommies in their house."

"Or two daddies," he interjected.

"Or two daddies. In our family we have a mommy in our house. That's because your mommy wanted a baby to love. I wanted one very much. But I didn't find a daddy. So I went to the doctor." At this point, Henry actually turns to his screaming sibling and says,

"Yeeeuhm, sshhhh, I can't hear mommy." Talk about pressure; he really wanted to hear this.

I cleared my throat and continued, "The doctor gave me some medicine so I could have a baby. I was very, very happy when I had my baby: YOU! (Big kiss.) Then I went back to the doctor for some more medicine and had another baby."

"Leeeuhm!" "Yes, Liam. And I love him very much." But I really wish he'd be quiet right now.

And that was that. If I had it to do all over again, I would have said some things differently. I would not have said "medicine". Where did that word come from? It wasn't in the script. I would not have used the word "just" repeatedly implying only or lacking. But we were in Target surrounded by shelves of processed foods and weary shoppers. I did my best in the moment.

The moment passed and Henry became distracted by the macaroni and cheese boxes. I have a case of organic white cheddar dinners in our garage but when Henry asked for Kraft Toy Story 3 mac 'n cheese, I couldn't get it in our cart fast enough. Then he asked for a second box for Liam. Yes, of course you can get another one. Anything you want. Please let's just get our little family out of this store and back to our tiny home. Let's eat tv dinners, watch cartoons and act like nothing has changed. Because, when you think about it, nothing has. Lara http://thismaybeadreamcometrue.blogspot.com

Birth Plan B

2011-01-27T05:12:00.000-05:00

All that I could say while being lifted into the ambulance was "she can't come now, she can't come now." The doors closed and I could think of nothing but the little girl inside of me. I was in premature labor at 28 weeks pregnant. When I arrived at the hospital the paramedics rushed me down the hallway. As I lay on my side on the gurney to ease the pain, the look of concern was reflected in the strange faces of people that lined the emergency room. I stopped briefly at a desk to receive a bracelet that simply said "Kim."

A nurse and very young doctor were waiting in a room. As I answered their questions, more people and large machines arrived. They shouted at each other and to me. I was embarrassed. I apologized because I was not prepared. I told them that I was taking a birth class tomorrow. I would be prepared tomorrow but not today. They told me how to push. All that I could say was "I am sorry, I am sorry."

I remember looking at a clock on the wall and thinking about each contraction "this too shall pass." My daughter was born so fast. My dream was here. The doctor pushed on my stomach and placed the afterbirth in a bowl. I wanted to see it, to whisper goodbye to her twin lost at 9 weeks.

After I was taken to my postpartum room, the rush of adrenaline from the birth would not let me rest. I remember pacing the hospital room floor, alone and waiting to say goodbye to her. People in red flight suits would take her away again, to the nearest neonatal intensive care unit. When I saw her in that plastic box, I whispered through the cracks, "Hi, I am your mother."

The day still seems so surreal. From the ambulance ride to the local hospital, to the room full of strange doctors and nurses yelling overhead, the whole day seems like a foggy memory. When I do think about that day, I am able to focus on my daughter's faint cry and thick eyebrows that adorned her sweet face and connected her to me.

My daughter's birth day did not go like I had planned. In a few quick moments, I had learned to trust people that I had never seen before. I trusted them with all that I valued. They held my hand and told me what I needed to do. They took care of my daughter. They took care of me and I am so grateful.

Well, she did come that day. I was not ready and it was not what I expected. Life has not been what I expected but I love it just the same, and so I say of my daughter's birth story.

Kimberly Ross

My Choices and My Son's Choices

2011-01-20T05:25:00.000-05:00

I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, in several different contexts. One significant example is the issues that arise out of the fact that we’ve started getting into more specific details about conception. It was a non-issue for my son to find out, or more accurately, have confirmed that the donor is his biological father, although I will admit that I haven't emphasized that specific phrase. But I have mentioned it and also do talk at more length about the fact that the donor is the man who gave the sperm that fertilized my egg to create a baby.

I think kids take their cues from us on this sort of thing so I have tried hard to be very matter of fact about it all and present it as neutrally as possible, while still making it clear that I think a mom and kid family is terrific. And I focus on how generous the donor is to have made our family possible.

I never wanted it to be some deep dramatic thing for my son to find out that he had a donor or that the donor was his biological father - I wanted it to be something that he understood organically because it has been mentioned in context all along. (This is similar to the recommended approach for adopted kids.)

Things I have not talked about yet include the fact that the donor made other some other families possible too. I do plan to do that sooner rather than later, once I feel that my son has more understanding of the biology involved. This involves an element of choice on my part, as I see family more as a social construct and less as a biological one, so I don't really feel any sense of sibling kinship with these kids. However, I intend to stay as neutral as I can about that, and let him know that if he wants, I can try to get in touch with some of these other families (there are some on the DSR).

It’s started to really hit home for me that, by the way I frame his knowledge, regardless of how neutral I strive to be, I am having an indelible influence on the way my son perceives the world and his place in it. And certainly, I knew, at least intellectually, this would be the case when I signed up for motherhood. But the reality is that these choices have potentially life-long ramifications for him and are therefore so much more weighty and difficult for me to make.

Sometimes, I miss the days when my hardest decision was choosing between Pampers and Huggies! But I suppose it’s also nice that he can now choose his own boxer briefs.

Marsha

To Be or Not to Be an SMC

2011-01-12T02:03:00.000-05:00

There are many reasons TO become a SMC and many reasons NOT TO. It's such an individual decision to make. It is difficult to be a single mom, very difficult, but I think it's also difficult to be a married mom. This decision isn't one to be taken lightly, and it helps to really look at your whole life while you decide whether being a SMC will fit into it. When I was thinking I worried endlessly about what might happen: "What will I say to people when I can't hide my pregnancy anymore?" "How will I tell my family?" What if people judge me?" "What if I meet "the one" right after I get pregnant or after I have the baby?".

What I found out (much to my surprise) was that all those worries disappeared pretty quickly once I became pregnant. I had one or two people show disapproval when I announced my pregnancy, but they weren't people I cared much about so it didn't matter to me. I was so thrilled to be pregnant, and once the bulk of the telling was over, I just reveled in the experience as much as possible. My family took a while to warm up to the idea, but I understood (from reading posts on the SMC lists) that while we spend months and sometimes years getting ready to take the leap, thus feeling comfortable with the concept, the same can't be said for our families.

My dad and sister (mom died years ago) love my son without question, and there is no awkwardness associated with the means I used to bring him into the world. I was not raised in a conservative family, but I do have SMC friends who were, and most of their families have eventually come to accept and even embrace the decision these women have made. Not all families come around, but most do on some level or another.

I haven't met "the one" yet, but the other thing I figured out is that if I do meet him he would need to be the kind of man who would welcome my son into his life. It does happen. Women find partners who love both them and their child. Some even go on to have a second child with the man they meet.

Sometimes people make insensitive comments, often well intentioned. When I told people I was pregnant, several questioned my choice to go this route - they couldn't understand why I hadn't found anyone. At first it bugged me because I saw this as such a "Plan B", but now I see it simply as my life's path, full of all sorts of experiences, both challenging and rewarding. I'm a MUCH stronger, more self-assured, confident person now and attribute that to having to really put my priorities on the line and stand behind them. I have become so confident in my decision that I don't feel like I "settled".

Yes, I still want the whole deal: mom, dad, 2 kids, etc., but I've had to make compromises. I waited a little too long (because I fell in love at 38 years old just as I was going to try to conceive, and it cost me a precious 2 years) to have another child, but I'm coming to peace with that as well.

So if you're on the fence, listen to your heart, and make your decision based upon what you know you want/need, not on the "what if's" of life. You don't know whether you'll meet someone or how your family will react or whether you'll have regrets or feel like you did something wrong. Maybe these worries will come true, but maybe they won't. But, if you truly question whether you are ready to take this step, then I suggest spending a little more time thinking. Maybe see a therapist who has experience with SMCs (I did, and she was a lifeline through the whole process). If you haven't joined the SMC email lists, that would be a good thing to do. You'll be able to see how the conversations shift - from worrying about external things to becoming invested in becoming a mother.

Becoming a mom is hands-down the best thing that has ever happened to me. I can't count the days I have sat rocking my 17 month old, crying at the thought of what life would be like if I hadn't taken the leap and become a mom. I'm tired all the time and my house is a mess, but my heart is full of love and joy I could never have imagined before I became a mom.

Good luck to you (and all the other women who are going through this difficult decision-making process)!

Andrea

New Beginnings

2011-01-04T05:08:00.000-05:00

December 31, 2010

One year ago I began my journey toward single motherhood.

Despite my age (nearly 42), it never occurred to me that I wouldn't become pregnant right away. I chose a doctor and a donor and by the beginning of April I was ready for my first attempt via intrauterine insemination. Two weeks later I learned I was pregnant, and I was elated! The few people I had told were astonished I got pregnant so quickly, but I didn't understand why. I assumed I would be pregnant because I wanted to be. Isn't that the way it works?

Still, I knew it wasn't a done deal and to get excited too early would be foolish. I would play it safe and wait until the amnio results before telling anyone but my closest friends and relatives. And so I waited.

In the meantime I had one test after another. Genetic testing, urine testing, blood testing- everything was perfect. And then I had the amnio, and all was still perfect. I was having a girl, and there were no signs of abnormalities. Finally I could drop my guard and proudly sport the enormous grin I had been suppressing for 4 months! I began looking at cribs and strollers. I started researching day care options for when I returned to work. I read about breast feeding and registered for childbirth classes. And on the day I reached 22 weeks, I finally buckled under pressure from friends and family and looked into baby registries.

And that was the last happy moment in my pregnancy, for the very same day I went in to have the full anatomy scan of my baby girl. The baby was curled up and sleeping, and the technician had some trouble measuring her. But the heartbeat was strong and if I had to come back another day when the baby was more active that was fine with me.

The doctor came in next and the first thing he said to me was, "Your baby's not doing well at all." The next several minutes were a blur. I thought he must have the wrong room. I was there for the body scan. My baby was fine; can't you see it on the screen? He started talking about her lack of growth and blood in the brain, and how the blood was flowing backward through the umbilical cord in between heartbeats. And then he said the one word that left no doubt I was in real trouble: autopsy. I freaked out, silently though, since I couldn't speak or even blink at that point. Autopsies are for dead people. He wanted to do an autopsy on my live fetus? I simply could not comprehend what he was saying. It was the worst moment of my life. A second opinion the next day confirmed it: the heart was no longer beating. The baby had passed away.

I blamed myself, naturally. No fewer than 3 doctors told me that these things sometimes happen, that they are anomalies, that nothing I did caused it, and there was nothing I could have done to prevent it. They said it was unlikely to happen again, and that women who have late-term pregnancy losses go on to have healthy pregnancies and healthy babies all the time. I really needed to hear that. But why hadn't I heard of this before? How common was it?

So rather than ask “Why?” or “Why me?” I ask, “Why don’t women talk about this?” Ever since this happened to me, it seems I haven’t met a single person who doesn’t know someone who had the same experience or who had a late-term loss herself. And most have had children since then. I’ve read books, blogs, magazines, and message boards - none have discussed the very real possibilities of inter-uterine demise. Why is this a taboo subject in our society? This isn’t some shameful secret that belongs locked in the attic. It’s very real and deserving of acknowledgment. As frightening as it is to think about losing a baby late in pregnancy, it’s even more frightening to experience it alone and unprepared. I want women to know this can happen and if it does that they are not alone, and they can become pregnant again and deliver a healthy baby.

Strangely, as my due date drew near I was not nearly as emotional as I expected. New Year’s Eve was the day I was supposed to meet my little one. I had two weeks off work during the holidays and refused to make plans with anyone, knowing I might fall apart and would want to grieve alone. Yet that hasn’t happened, and after much reflection I think I know why.

It took me a while to make sense of what happened but eventually I came to an understanding I could live with, one that has become a tremendous source of comfort to me. I believe there is a tiny being out there somewhere- a little ray of light- who is trying to make its way through the universe to me. It found me once but the timing wasn’t right. The reason is unimportant. What matters is that we belong to each other and I know that this same being will come to me again when the stars are aligned properly. So rather than thinking about the one baby I lost and waiting for another one to come along, I think about the one ray of light that came to me once and will return to me again when it’s absolutely ready to make its entrance into the world. And when it does I will love it that much more, because of the sacrifice it made to ensure that our life together began at the perfect moment.

As I sit here tonight on the cusp of the New Year, I will drink a toast to the ray of light who was wise enough to know our journey wasn’t quite over. And at midnight I will close the door on the past and drink a toast to the same ray of light who will come back to me in the very near future.

Marla

Happy Holidays!

2010-12-18T05:34:00.001-05:00

The SMC blog is taking a vacation for the holidays and will return in the new year. Best wishes to all, and a happy new year!

Jane

image: http://www.dreamstime.com/free-stock-image-winter-park-rimagefree12977544-resi2856296

Love (While Being an SMC of Two)

2010-12-11T05:43:00.001-05:00

I've been a SMC for almost 10 years now. Here is my story.

When my daughter (via DI) was a baby I had little time or interest in dating. I was loving motherhood, but motherhood and working full time took all my energy. There were many times that I was grateful that I didn't have to put any energy into a relationship because I didn't think I could have managed.

When she got to be a toddler and I began to get out of the house occasionally without her I began to think about dating and had a profile up on Match.com. The first thing I noticed is that I got hardly any interest compared to the profile I had up before becoming an SMC. I was now 37-38 yrs old.

About that same time I had a few dates with a HS classmate and we really liked each other but he lived long distance and was not interested in a long distance relationship. The dry spell continued...

When my daughter was 5.5 yrs I moved from NYC to suburban NJ. Later that year a friend set me up on a date with a widower who had a 9 year old daughter. We e-mailed and talked awhile and eventually met for dinner. I was the first person he had really liked since his wife died and he wasn't ready to do anything.

Now I was in my 40's... More dry spell... not really even trying to date. I had pretty much given up. I was in the process of adopting my 2nd daughter. I figured that my prospects were dim anyway so why not go ahead and grow my family.

Last summer when my youngest had been with me almost a year we made a trip out to the mid-west to see her birth parents and the cousin that introduced us. While there I met my college sweetheart for dinner with the kids. It was the first time we'd seen each other in 22 years. We were trying to catch up on the last 20+ years but as you might imagine it was nearly impossible with the kids interrupting every few minutes. As I was leaving he told me that he was going through a divorce. I asked him to call me after the kids were in bed so that I could talk uninterrupted. When we talked we discovered that we both still cared about each other and began dating long distance and it is going well.

I remember telling him that I was no prize because I had 2 kids, 2 parents (living next door), 2 dogs, 2 cats and an old house to care for. I said, "what man wants all that!" His reply was that "a good man would want all that."

So I went from having no hope that I would ever marry (or even date regularly) to a relationship with the one man I regretted not marrying 20+ years ago. I feel really lucky and somewhat foolish that I had ever lost my hope in the first place. But I'm glad that I found it again.

Julia Crislip

Losing the First Tooth

2010-12-04T05:06:00.003-05:00

Samuel got his first loose tooth last night. It is wiggly and it hurts a bit and Samuel is thrilled and I am sad. OK, I know it is ridiculous. The timing is actually on the late end to lose his first tooth --he will be seven next month. He has a couple of friends who lost their first tooth at age four and many at age five and six so it is about time (in his mind anyway)!

Nevertheless, I feel like the last vestige of Samuel's babyhood is going. It really seems like he has changed more in the last year (age 6 to 7) than any other single year since infancy. In fact, in many ways, he was remarkably stable in his personality, traits, play and interests between about age three and six. Now he has left those things behind. No more pretend games, no more playmobil, no more fantasy, little tolerance for his younger sister, a rigidity about gender when before there was a fluidity....

Of course he has gained some things as well. He has new interests: legos, sports, hexbugs, his friends, the violin/piano, technology. He can read (and at least he reads to his sister!)! He is more mature both emotionally and cognitively. Where there was once a sweet soft babyness in his face and body, he is now all muscles, angles and lean. Generally, he has been a pretty easy reasonable child, but he has grown mostly easier and more reasonable or at least better at avoiding getting caught in mischief.

A few things remain the same. I still see Samuel (empathic, verbal, thoughtful, curious, funny) when I look at him. But he is growing away from me in leaps and bounds. I am a welcome respite at the end of the day, but during daylight hours, his friends are mostly more important to him than his mother and sister. What happened to the four year old Samuel who said very seriously to me, "Mommy, YOU are my best friend"??? The kid who constantly made cards with hearts above my name, and whose first written chicken scratch at age 3 was "I love you Mama"? The small child with the pink socks and the huge smile?

Not so long ago, I had a baby and a toddler. Then for a long time, it seemed like I had two preschoolers --one younger and one older. Now suddenly, I have a four year old and a boy who is nearly seven. They rush in and out of the house in a brilliant whirlwind of school, lessons and friends. "Hi Mama, bye Mama. Hi Mommy, Bye Mommy. Hi Mom, Bye." And I am so busy and scattered and frantic that I barely noticed the time slipping away.

Ann

Get Out of Cooking -- Free!

2010-11-27T05:19:00.003-05:00

Other moms assume my daughter eats cottage cheese and blueberries for dinner because I’m a working mom and I don’t have time to cook. If I were a stay at home mom. She'd be eating the same exact thing. Cooking is not my thing.  

What’s wrong with cottage cheese and blueberries for dinner? I didn’t put her on a diet, I’m not a great role model for diet, it’s what she likes to eat. It’s not the only edible item in the house. I have frozen, canned and boxed things like macaroni. I read the nutritional panels and most of what I feed my daughter is a whole lot healthier than home cooking. Definitely healthier than the Joy of Cooking recipes I grew up with. The meals I ate at my friends houses, that is. Like lasagna and clams casino.   

My love for cooking comes from my mom. She had two cookbooks – The Campbell’s Soup Cookbook and Five Ingredients or Less. In our house, garlic salt was an exotic spice. It wasn’t until I was 19 that I learned iceberg wasn’t the world's only lettuce.   

When I was in high school, my service club had a bake sale. We’d get more points for homemade items than store brought ones. My mom thought the policy was unfair to culinary challenged individuals. So she bought a box of Entemann’s chocolate chip cookies, put them on tin foil, stuck them into the toaster oven, and burned them.   “Now they taste homemade,” she said.   

When I get fancy I make the blueberries on the cottage cheese into eyes and a smile. A raisin or a raspberry makes a nose even Martha Stewart would begrudgingly approve. I don’t use oil, saturated fats, butter, or even pots.

Why not eat leftover birthday cake for breakfast? As Bill Cosby famously pointed out, cake is eggs, milk, and wheat.

It’s not only that I don’t like to cook. I don’t like to think of what to make either. And I certainly don’t like to do the shopping for the ingredients for the dinners that I didn’t like thinking of in the first place. I make it fun for myself and for my daughter by thinking thematically. Some of my dinners:  

CHEESE DINNER  Grilled cheese sandwich. Broccoli with cheese (frozen)  

ORANGE DINNER  Cheddar cheese. Goldfish crackers. Orange slices. Carrots.   

CIRCLE DINNER  Turkey or veggie burger. Wagon wheel shaped pasta. Apple slices. Vanilla wafer.   

BREAKFAST DINNER  Yogurt, cereal and milk and fruit.   

If it’s not a theme, I try to arrange the chicken nuggets or fish fingers to look decorative.

  I do pride myself in buying the healthiest pre-made ingredients I can. Amy’s Organic makes lovely frozen dinners. And they last a lot longer in the fridge than the fresh stuff.

Sure I have dreams of serving my daughter organic, low calorie Coconut Chicken Curry in the evenings with a crostini topped by black olive tapinade nosher. But I also have the fantasy of a handsome, virile young chef serving it up. One who does his own clean up and dish-washing.

Hating to cook and not doing it may sound selfish. But, while cooking is not my thing, I've replaced it with other things. Life is about balance and part of that is saying no to things we hate and yes to the equal replacements we like. That 30 minutes it takes to prepare a Rachel Ray standard (shopping time and do-overs not included), I use to play with my daughter and help her pick her clothes for the next day. I don't believe the lack of home made meals and memories of mom busy in the kitchen are going to be something my daughter will need a therapist for. I do believe all the puzzles we do, books we read and doll swimming pools we make out of blocks will be her “comfort food.” I see more than enough health benefits in that.

Aimee Heller

The Adoption "Gestational Period"?

2010-11-20T05:23:00.005-05:00

I’ve spent over a year participating in and listening to the SMC-Trying to Conceive (TTC) forum. I even had my own failed attempt at TTC in March 2009. Then work, school, and dating postponed my plans until a year later. In March 2010, I began to consider adoption, an option I had explored before but ignored once I found Mr. Perfect Anonymous Donor and built up the courage (and money) to TTC. But once I really delved into the adoption choice again, it seemed very feasible and appropriate for where I am in my life. Plus, I thought it might be "easier"than TTC.

On the SMC-TTC board, I had read other women’s journeys through infertility and fertility treatments and miscarriages to finally bringing home a newborn sometimes years later. Well, now that I’m pursuing adoption, I realize the adoption journey isn’t exactly "easier", just different than TTC. There are many preparations and hurdles along the way. These unique challenges don’t involve reproductive endocrinologists (REs), but they do involve social workers, wire nuts, and a lawn crew. I’ll explain....

What I’ve found unique to the adoption process are the REQUIREMENTS that your home, emotional well-being, and finances be in order. Women who are trying to conceive are not scrutinized in this way. For example, women who conceive through reproductive technologies are not required to submit their driving record and proof of homeowners insurance. It’s not that their challenges are any easier, just different from the SMC-Adopters. However, the parities still exist. I liken the adoption waiting period to a gestational period. A pregnant woman might wonder if her baby will have her blue eyes, while I’m wondering which race my future adoptive children will be. A pregnant woman may be attending birthing classes while I’m going to CPR training.

So, I have decided to pursue foster-to-adopt through the U.S. Child Welfare System. In April 2010, I took two weeks of pre-service parenting classes. I loved it! I think all moms-to-be, including those TTC and Adopters, should consider parenting classes. But here’s the kicker; adopters who receive children through the foster care system must promise to discipline by the system’s standards. This includes no spanking. This is not a problem for me since I’m a staunch opponent to spanking; but for a few others in my class, it made them feel like they are being told how to parent. And well, they are.

Another challenge unique to adoption is the home environment requirements. Each state in the U.S. is different, but here are some of the things I’ve had to fix/change/BUY for my house to be compliant in Texas: fire extinguisher, new smoke detectors, lock boxes for medication, moved all cleaning supplies to upper cabinets, outlet covers, waterproof mattress covers, anti-siphoning devices for the outside spigots, "re-homed" one of my dogs because I had one too many for the city limit, pet vaccines, CPR training, first aid training, home health inspection, home fire inspection, post daily schedules, post house rules, post evacuation plan, trash cans with tight fitting lids, replaced a piece of rotten siding, hired lawn guys to mow on a regular basis, covered up tree roots in the backyard, replaced a ceiling fan that would have interfered with the bunk bed I erected (this is where I learned about wiring and wire nuts), researched daycares that accept state reimbursements, and I just bought an SUV to replace my two-door coupe. (OK, that last one wasn’t a necessity for adoption, but fun anyway!)

To add to the list of requirements, I had to provide three personal references, a break-down of my monthly expenses, TB test, auto insurance, homeowners insurance, transcripts, proof of income, pictures of my house and neighborhood, driving records, fingerprints for FBI criminal background check, and a child abuse background check. And then there’s the dreaded HOME STUDY. I had heard horror stories about probing questions you’d never be prepared to answer. For me it actually wasn’t bad, but some people really stress over it. Sometimes it seems like having a doctor inseminate me might be a lot less work! It’s not like your ER is going to make sure your smoke detectors have batteries before your IUI! I jest, of course!

The point of all this is that I have developed an appreciation for the adoption process and the people who have succeeded in adopting. Despite the mountain of paperwork, I feel that all the requirements are necessary. And in a way, the time spent fulfilling those requirements parallels the gestational period of women who conceive. The adoption process forces people to consider and prepare for all the things one needs to consider and prepare for when a new child is brought into a family. I think that sometimes the adoption process is minimalized in comparison to pregnancy. However, it doesn’t have to be that way; and for those of us going through it and those who made it through know it is an important time. I hope that years down the road, I’ll look back on this time and reflect on it like a woman who conceives might remember her pregnancy...except I don’t have to buy expandable pants and shea butter!

Allison, 30, Texas, waiting.....

A Public Service Announcement

2010-11-13T05:57:00.002-05:00

by Anne Richter

November is Prematurity Awareness Month.

  I think the main thing we need to be aware of about prematurity is that it sucks.   It really sucks.   

Prematurity takes what should be a normal infancy and turns it into a journey into medical hell. It robs both parent and child of a normal infancy. Instead of filling baby books with milestones like "smiled for the first time" you make note of milestones like "weaned off ventilator." You and your baby are robbed of quiet, private moments. Instead, the two of you spend those moments in a room filled with strangers, doctors, nurses, monitors, alarms and machinery you didn't even know existed when you filling out your baby registry. People tell you well intentioned, yet terribly stupid things, like "things happen for a reason," "God doesn't give you more than you can bear," "at least you never got stretch marks since the baby was born so early" or "you're lucky you get to sleep at night since the baby is in the hospital."  

You wake up day after day wondering if this is the last day you will see your child.

  Prematurity financially devastates families. Contrary to popular belief, there is no insurance fairy that pays the tens of thousands of dollars of co-pays or the endless "uncovered" things like speech therapy or adaptive equipment. Even "good" insurance isn't "good enough" to cover prematurity. Instead of paying for a babysitter, you have to pay for a nurse to watch your child, instead of daycare, you have to hire a nanny, instead of working full time you have to take a leave or work part time because of the sheer number of medical appointments your child will have after leaving the NICU.  

Prematurity is isolating, physically and emotionally. Because of the baby's fragile immune system, you have to limit to whom and what the baby is exposed. Of course friends and family assume you are simply nuts, because, as they will all tell you over and over, everyone needs to be exposed to germs. Actually not. It is emotionally isolating because no one, other than the other shipmates on the SS Prematurity have even a clue as to what it is like to take your infant to a minimum of one doctor visit every week, not have a single day for just you and your baby because three therapists show up everyday, on schedules that are convenient to them not you and your baby.  

Prematurity devastates families emotionally (see all of the above). 
Prematurity sucks even more for single mothers and their babies. There is no partner to act as a sounding board when you are making life altering decisions like whether to resuscitate your child, sign a DNR or decide whether to give your child a virtually experimental, yet potentially life saving drug. Bringing home a premature baby, particularly one with ongoing medical needs, can be a daunting task for single mother. Daycare settings are often inappropriate for health reasons, yet a nanny may not be financially feasible and few of us have the luxury of taking a year off from work.

 So what can we all do to help make this suck less?   Well, you can donate money to various charities in the hope that some of the research they fund might end prematurity. Or you can do something a bit closer to home and more personal. Call your local NICU or its support group and ask what you can do to make this whole thing suck less. Small things can make prematurity suck less. For example, my mother, my aunt and I make blankets and hats for the babies. There are dozens and dozens of babies that have worn my aunt's tiny "wee caps" and many who have been warmed by one of my mom's blankets and even though my blankets are far from "perfect" they are made with love. Some people make isolette covers, some people donate disposable cameras for moms to leave at the baby's bedside (yes we do take photos of our babies in the NICU), other folks donate gifts cards for coffee or gasoline to be given to those in need in the NICU. Others donate story books to the NICU (yes we read to our babies the same as you would at home). If you are feeling really generous, ask if you can send over bagels and coffee for a Sunday brunch for the moms and nurses (they get hungry too). Not all moms in the NICU can afford NICU clothes for their baby, so think about donating some NICU shirts or preemie clothes to your local NICU. Have your local SMC group contact your local NICU support group or hospital’s Family Advisory Council and offer to spend time with a single mom in the NICU, or help out a single mom whose baby has recently been discharge. You often hear the saying “it takes a village to raise a child.” Well what better way for that village to help, than to help the mother of a premature baby or child with medical needs.  

Even if you can't prevent premature births, you can make prematurity suck less for the mothers and the babies who are in the NICU right in your hometown.  So this November, let's see if we can all make prematurity suck less.

Do I or Don't I???

2010-11-06T06:24:00.001-04:00

I have just recently made my decision not to become an SMC. I should also preface this by saying that I came to this quandary late. I am 46.

Letting go of the dream of having a traditional family, i.e. a husband and kids, is a very big deal for most women. That's probably one of the first steps in deciding to become an SMC. And that's a rough one. I always had this assumption that it would happen, so it was hard to face the fact that it might not just "happen." What if it doesn't? How could it not? How long do I wait?

All kinds of people meet their mates and start families. My confidence about myself as an attractive, smart and lovable woman is a bit tangled up in that dream. I never wanted to visit the possibility that it might not happen. It's negative. It goes against the idea of having faith. But as time went on, I had to start to untangle my sense of self and my specific hopes from that dream. And I thought long and hard about starting my non-traditional family on my own. But for me it was also the ease of a traditional family that I needed-- having someone else to share in everything--emotionally, practically, financially. And lucky me, I'd finally found that -- a partner to share in everything -- it's just that he already has teenage kids, and is not up for any more.

At age 36 (had I seriously considered this then) my decision could have gone the other way. I always trusted that I would meet that fella I wanted to share my life with; I just assumed it would happen sooner than it did. I was never willing to go it alone...until the point when it became very real that I may never have children if I didn't do it as an SMC.

So I weighed everything-- financial feasibility, flexibility, willingness to make whatever change necessary, priority of motherhood, etc. For me, the partnership with a soul mate always came first. That may not be the case for everyone. You could go ahead and become an SMC and then meet someone afterward (there does come a time when the age appropriate men who are looking for age appropriate women aren't necessarily looking to become a first time dad, and would welcome someone who's already got a child).

It's so hard to know. And yes it's scary, it's a huge leap of faith, but as they say, with great risk comes great reward. I would encourage everyone to read as much as possible, and to talk to as many women as you can who have gone through this before making a decision. The women in this group are a fabulous resource.

Martha

The Magic of Mom’s Bed

2010-10-29T03:23:00.004-04:00

By Nancy Nisselbaum

I don’t know what it is about mommy’s bed. But apparently, when a child can’t fall asleep, the only place to go is mom’s bed—and like magic, the sandman comes and knocks said child out. What I found out recently is that it doesn’t even have to be your mom. Marshall was having a friend sleep over the other night. Both boys were snoring happily by about 10 p.m. and I blithely went to bed. About 1 a.m., I sensed a presence by bed. It’s Max saying he can’t fall asleep so I groggily tell him to climb in. He’s asleep in seconds. When I awake in the morning, there’s a boy in bed next to me. No big surprise. But it takes me a minute to realize it’s not mine.

I never intended to co-sleep. But Marshall had other plans. From the minute he was born, he liked to be next to me—in my arms, lying by my side, lying on top of me. For the first week, the only place he slept was on top of my chest. At least he slept, right? I had heat rash from having his sweaty little (warm, lovely) body on top of me practically 24/7.

For the next two years, I pretended that we didn’t co-sleep. I’d put him in his crib and he’d pretend he would sleep through the night. It never happened. At some point, the crying would outlast any visions of sleeping alone dancing in my head. My goal was sleep, and it was best achieved with him beside me.

When he was 2.5, I changed his crib into a toddler bed and built a small wall around the dining room so that he would have more of an official bedroom. Well, that was the end of that. For the next year, I succumbed to the inevitable, stopped pretending, and put him to sleep in my bed. It just worked. My personal cutoff point was sitting in the room until he fell asleep. I refused. To me, that time was more important than sharing my sleeping space with a snoring, kicking, flip-flopping boy who for some reason slept well when in mom’s bed.

Yes, I woke up with toes in my nose. Yes, I woke to the sound of a child falling on the floor. Yes, I woke when he flip-flopped till he was lying on top of me. Yes, I got kicked in the kidneys, the ribs, anyplace he could land a good one. But overall, we slept. Overall, the amount and quality of sleep was better than when he was in a separate room. At 3.5 years, we went bed shopping. He got a low loft bed and slept in it. Went to bed in it and woke up in it. Sure, there were times when I woke in the morning and there was a boy in my bed. Not sure how or when he got there, but he would wake up, come to my room, and crawl in beside me. And honestly, there were times I missed him, missed climbing in next to warm, snoring, flip-flopping little body. But it was time and he was willing. And again, for the most part, it worked. He went to bed and stayed there, and I got my own space back.

It’s not for everyone. But it worked for us. And now? Marshall is nine and there are still times when I have a boy in my bed. The night before the first day of school, I don’t even ask. I let him choose and consistently, he’s chosen my bed. It’s a comfort thing, a safe feeling, a primal urge. I don’t know and honestly, I don’t mind. Will he be there the night before the first day of middle school? High school? Probably not. But for now, he knows that if he needs the safety and magic of mom’s bed, he has it. And I guess his friend Max does too.

Life Lessons from Klickitat Street, Part One

2010-10-23T05:14:00.003-04:00

I took Pink and Purple to see Ramona and Beezus at our local discount theater over the weekend. I didn’t expect to spend most of the movie in tears.

In the interest of full disclosure, I tend to cry at most kids’ movies. I don’t know why. I’m a notorious non-weeper in my personal life. Oh, I feel pain and sorrow, no doubt about it. It’s just that I internalize the negative emotions until they settle in the pit of my stomach like a pile of rusty razor blades, or clench them in my jaws like tetanus. But there’s something about movies that makes it ok for me to release all of that. I don’t know whether that’s particularly true of kids’ movies, or if it’s just that kids’ movies are all I seem to see anymore.

Ramona and Beezus was a little bit different, though. Setting aside the fact that [SPOILER] Ramona finds the cat dead of old age in his basket [SPOILER], which was rough for all of us, I found that the movie brought up a host of complicated feelings for me.

John Corbett plays the dad. I’ve always had a yen for John Corbett, ever since his Northern Exposure “Chris in the Morning” days. I find him physically attractive, and I associate Chris the character’s philosophical nature with John the actor (regardless of the actor’s personal shortcomings), and that makes the whole package pretty appealing.

So right away I have a higher-than-normal level of investment in this character. Then he loses his job, and the family feels the stress of his loss of income, so I also relate to his need to keep that stress from the kids as much as possible. I worry that my daughters will, like 9-year-old Ramona, feel compelled to do something to “save the house,” that they will shoulder a burden that is not theirs.

And Ramona’s dad, as played by Corbett, is warm and funny, creative and demonstrative. If I could go to the dad store and pick one out, that would be my preferred model. It wasn’t lost on my kids, either; early in the movie, Purple leaned over and whispered, “I wish I had a dad.”

I’m a grown-up. I know better than to believe the rom-com tropes. I used to dream of finding a "Chris in the Morning" of my own; I used to be a hopeless romantic who suffered because I hadn’t found that perfect cinematic love, and it took me longer than it probably should have to figure out that movies are escapism, that reality is much more complex and less pretty, that while reality does have its moments of breathtaking beauty and bliss, those moments are to be found sandwiched between a whole lot of mundane minutiae, daily grind, worry, and heartache. (It's taken me even longer to realize that heartache is the real meat of a life fully lived.) Real families don’t have screenwriters and editors and lush scores. But my daughters are 7. They haven’t figured all that out yet, and they probably won’t for quite a while. And that’s why I cried. I cried because they believed that what they were watching was more than just a Hollywood confection; they believed it was something very real, something they were missing.

Though it hasn’t come up very often, I’ve always been very open to discussion of the Daddy Issue. My daughters know, in an age-appropriate way, the mechanics of their conception by anonymous sperm donor. I’ve gone out of my way to acknowledge their feelings, to not be defensive or over-sensitive, to make sure they feel safe to bring up the subject without fear of upsetting me. I agree that, yes, sometimes it would be nice for me, too, if we had a dad in our family. I probe—gently—to find out what “having a dad” means to them. When they were younger, “having a dad” meant he would pick them up from preschool sometimes, like Z.’s dad did, and hug them. This weekend, discussing it on the drive home, I learned that “having a dad” also means having a fun guy to hang around with. I agreed that Ramona’s dad was pretty cool, and that, yeah, he’d be nice to have around. (Boy, howdy.) I asked if this was something they thought about a lot, the not having a dad, and they both replied that, no, most of the time they didn’t think about it at all. I explained that, if they had a dad, he would probably be at work a lot of the time, and he would get impatient sometimes, or be busy doing grown-up stuff when they wanted his attention, just like I often was. And I think they’re starting to understand that, on some level. But it doesn’t stop them from believing the fantasy exists out there somewhere.

Holly Vanderhaar

From:
http://helterskelterhome.blogspot.com/2010/09/life-lessons-from-klickitat-street-part.html

Grieving a Bio Child

2010-10-16T04:30:00.006-04:00

As I sit here writing, my house is filled with baby items from friends and freecycle. All I need is a baby. At least now I have hope—I’m on an adoption waiting list. But what a long journey it has been…

I became a thinker and joined SMC at age 39. People encouraged me to move forward, but I was stuck. I wanted a husband, then kids—the traditional family. At 40, I met someone I hoped could be Mr. Right, who turned out to be Mr. Autonomy Issues. At 41, I broke it off. I was devastated. I went into a depression, sought counseling and was stuck—I wanted biological kids, but I also wanted a traditional family. I kept thinking.

Looking back, I see how uneducated I was about fertility for women in their 40s. Despite the many women in the news having children well into their 40s, I didn’t know these women used donor eggs—not their own. So, with my eggs growing older by the day, I continued thinking.

Finally at 42 (and 10 months), I made what I thought was the most difficult decision of my life—to try to conceive on my own. I passed fertility tests with flying colors, but after seven tries—IUIs and IVFs—I had low egg quantity/quality. I had another difficult decision to make: Should I keep trying with my eggs? I had to think about finances, my age (43 and a half) and my desire to be a mom—how would I feel if I found myself six months later, age 44, still not pregnant?

I went to the counselor and grieved and grieved. All my dreams down the drain—my desire for a husband with three biological kids. All those years of envisioning my children, who they would take after—my mom, my sister, my brother? My connection to my heritage. It was one of my darkest hours.

But my desire to be a mom pushed me forward. I weighed donor egg vs. adoption. Donor egg seemed like an easier route. I picked a donor and did my first cycle at 44. Cut to me a year and a half later—three miscarriages and an inability to carry to term due to an immune issue. The first two miscarriages were devastating. By the third, I’d selected an adoption agency and knew if the pregnancy didn’t take, I’d immediately move on.

Last July, after learning my final pregnancy wasn’t viable, but before the actual miscarriage, I contact the adoption agency. They were enthusiastic at a time I needed enthusiasm. I was exhausted—2.5 years of fertility treatments, disappointments, miscarriages, poking/prodding and money out the door—all for nothing.

I did my home study and got on the waiting list in September 2009. I’m excited about adopting. With adoption I will be a mom. With fertility treatments, it was a crapshoot. Moving to adoption was a relief—no more needles, doctor appointments, miscarriages, disappointments, hormones. I could live my life more normally while I waited, although I have moments of grief that sneak up on me.

I try not to be bitter. Everyone has her own journey. I just never thought I’d have such a long road to motherhood. I believe God has a plan for me, even if I can’t see it. I date, trying to find someone to share my life with and be a father to my children. I keep busy while I wait for my match. I’m now 46 and, although I sometimes can’t believe it, this circuitous route to motherhood is my story.

Leslie C

Our Last Weeks Alone

2010-10-10T02:19:00.004-04:00

During the last few weeks the world around us has changed suddenly. Hot sticky days with harsh bright sunlight have been replaced by cool, crisp dry days that smell of fresh mown grass and distant fires. Many of the 6-foot-high corn fields have been mowed down, and the guy selling 12 ears for $4 out of the back of his truck has sold out for the season. The soybean fields are starting to turn golden, and maples and ash here and there are flaming red and yellow. It isn’t fall yet, but fall is definitely in the air. We leave the windows open at night, and some nights the brisk prairie winds from the west cool the house so much that I have to get up and close the windows. We leave for town every morning just as the sun is coming up, and as we turn east to head for Jamie’s Play Palace, the blinding sunlight makes Sammy demand that the sun go away. “Go away, icky sun. Go away,” he says.

  But the weather is not all that is changing. I am slowing down, trying to memorize and appreciate every single moment I have with Sam. Our last few weeks alone. Our last few weeks before we have to share each other. Every night before bed we rock in the double-sized rocker in his room and talk about what we did during the day. He no longer lays on my lap… partially because my lap shrank as my belly grew bigger but mostly because he always wants to remind me that he’s a big boy, that he wants to sit next to me rather than on me. We squeeze into the chair side by side and I wrap my left arm around him and he leans into me resting his head on my belly. Sometimes he jumps up and makes a joke that Baby Sister just kicked him, but mostly he leans and tries to find a comfortable position for his head. He sometimes takes a while to settle with all the excitement he has when we talk about our day. The walks we took, the vegetables we picked, the friends we visited, the pies we baked, the bubbles we blew. Sunday he was so excited about the 3-man tent set up in the living room and the flashlight we used to read our bedtime stories (until he accidentally slammed it into my nose) that he could hardly sleep. Tonight he told me how excited he is to stay at Jamie’s house tomorrow night.  

I’ve decided to give myself one night off every week. A night to recharge and stay horizontal and not have to cook or clean or sit on the bathroom floor next to Sam’s potty chair while he pushes and reads his Elmo potty book for fifteen minutes. I have been looking forward to giving myself these nights off for weeks, looking forward to a relief from the battle of do-this-why-because-i-said-so. But on the eve of my first weekly night off I find myself a little sad, a little unsure of whether I want to give up a night with him when we have so few left of just us, so few quiet nights when I’ll be able to sit and talk and cuddle and share and remember how truly lucky we are to have each other. 

Tonight on the way home we saw a digger for sale just down the road from where the guy used to sell corn out of his pickup. Sam was telling me for the 25th time that he didn’t want pizza for dinner and he didn’t want noodles for dinner and we needed to stop and buy mangoes. Yummy mangoes. I had tired of the broken record conversation we were having and I pointed out the digger, told him it was for sale.  “

Can we buy it?” he asked.

  I told him it was big and expensive and we didn’t have enough money.  

“TT can buy it. TT has money.” TT is his grandma.  

“No,” I said. “TT doesn’t have enough money either.”

  Last week as we were pulling away from the daycare, the father of some of the other children was just pulling up. Outside the window Sammy heard Jamie say “Look whose daddy is here.” After we had turned the corner and gone a few blocks down the road, Sam said “I don’t have a daddy.” 

 “No,” I said. “Our family doesn’t have a daddy. Just a mommy.”  

“I have a mommy,” he said, and I shifted the rearview mirror to see him smile. “Just a mommy and just a TT!”  

“Yep,” I said. “You have a TT!” I didn’t remind him that in a few short weeks he will also have a Baby Sister.  

Tonight as we rocked in the chair in the 7pm bedtime routine darkness, the flashlight put away on the “big boy dresser” across from his bed, he told me he loved me very much and stretched up to kiss me on the nose. “Sorry I hit your nose, Mommy. I hope your nose is all better,” he said. He patted me on the head with the same soft touch he uses whenever he apologizes to get off the naughty mat and I reassured him that I knew it was an accident, that I was okay. He kissed me on the nose again and repeated, “I love you very, very much.”  

[sigh]  

How do I take a night off from that?

Barb

My Journey to Motherhood via Adoption

2010-10-04T05:27:00.002-04:00

I am single by choice. Did you know weird girls in high school who never wanted to get married (and/or have children)? That was me. I had my own philosophy about what marriage does to a woman's career choice and trajectory, self esteem, independence, you name it. My mother worried I'd never "get a man" with that attitude.

Though I knew I didn't want to marry, I was on the fence about becoming a parent. I put it that way because I never wanted to birth a baby. I always knew that I wanted to become a parent through adoption. At the age of 40 - two failed marriages later - I recognized I did indeed want to be a mom. So I dated while preparing to begin the adoption process.

Like many of us, I went the online dating route. My criteria were pretty strict: no kids, wanted or would consider having kids, age difference no more than +/- 5 years. It seems that most men in their late 30s/early 40s seek younger women if they want kids. One even said, "I like you, but I really want kids, and I don't know whether you'll be able to produce them." I chuckled and advised him to get a health check from a "young breeder" because age doesn't guarantee a woman can conceive or deliver a baby.

Anyway, I met a wonderful man (4 yrs my junior). His profile listed "undecided" in the kid category, but he said during our second date that he was leaning more toward no kids. We talked about my adoption plan during that date. I was very clear that I wasn't looking for a co-parent. Fast-forward two years when I informed him that I was beginning the adoption process. I gave him the opportunity to bail before the madness started. He just laughed.

Now, 4 months and 1 day into being a single parent at the age of 44, I know I did everything just right! I have an amazingly beautiful baby *and* an incredible boyfriend. I am a single mom by choice! I should have stuck with Plan A all along!

Joy

Seeking Happily Ever After

2010-09-26T05:27:00.003-04:00

Are Women Redefining the Fairytale?
By Michelle Cove

Three years ago, I was sitting with my friend Becky at a coffee shop talking about how lame the media was when it came to reporting the rise of single women. Sure they were reporting accurate U.S. Census numbers (such as New York Times’ 2007 posting that 51 percent of adults are now single). But in terms of reflecting who these women are and what they think about, they were totally off the mark. For the most part, single women in their 30s and older are portrayed as desperate to marry.

Ever year, a gaggle of women battle one another for a wedding proposal from one man (a stranger) on “The Bachelor.” In today’s hottest sitcoms, single 30-something women act like mindless fools to get a date. “Emma” in “Glee” spent a whole season mooning over the married Mr. Scheuster; “Liz” on 30-Rock planned a root canal for herself on Valentine’s Day so she wouldn’t have to deal with being alone.

Is this really how single women act and feel?

Hell, no. That’s why award-winning producer Kerry David and I have made the feature-length documentary Seeking Happily Ever After: One generation’s struggle to redefine the fairytale. (www.seekinghappilyeverafter.com). We wanted to find out from women across the country how they really feel about being a single woman today. Do they see being single as a choice? Do they feel desperate? Do they want to marry? What do they think about becoming a single mom?

While it’s certainly true that plenty of women are redefining happily ever after (by opting not to marry for various reasons), most of the single women we interviewed do want to get married and have babies. But what’s different about “happily ever after” today is that these women are not willing to settle for the wrong guy. They are the exact opposite of “desperate”; they feel good enough about themselves to wait until the right guy comes along, no matter how long it takes. In fact, headlines from The Washington Post last week reported that there are now more women giving birth after age 35 than there are teen moms giving birth (hear, hear!).

And if the right guy doesn’t come along at all, most of the single women I interviewed said they will find a new path towards happiness. As the main character we follow in our film puts it, “You can have several happy endings for yourself, and happily ever after is putting the steps in place to get to any of those endings.” Now there’s a single 30-something woman in the media women can cheer for…

Michelle Cove is the Director and a Producer of the feature-length documentary Seeking Happily Ever After, and the author of Seeking Happily Ever After: How to navigate the ups and downs of being single without losing your mind, which will be published this September by Tarcher/Penguin.

A Glimpse Into the Past: Meeting Ana’s birthmother.

2010-09-20T04:29:00.006-04:00

When I started the process to adopt from Guatemala, I knew that there was a strong possibility that I would meet the birthmother. The majority of Guatemalan adoptions are relinquishment cases where the birthmother gets to know the in-country facilitator or attorney. I was excited about the prospect as I thought it would be good for my child to know something about her birthmother.

 Unlike some other countries, Guatemala has no minimum-stay requirement. All of the processing has been completed prior to the arrival of the adoptive parent and the adoption is legally complete. All you need is a day in Guatemala City to go to the U.S. Embassy and apply for a visa for your adopted child. The visa is issued that same afternoon and you are free to return home as soon as you can catch a flight. With such tight timing, there’s not much room for a visit with the birthmother. In my case, I was traveling alone and my three-year-old daughter, Pearl, was at home waiting for me. I was to arrive on a Monday night and leave on a Wednesday morning. That meant Tuesday was Embassy day and the only day I would have to meet Ana's birthmother.

 I had told my U.S. facilitator that I wanted to meet the birth mother. We weren’t sure it would be possible because the in-country facilitator who coordinates with the birthmoms was out of the country. Her 20-year-old son, Gerson, was handling cases in her absence.

I arrived in Guatemala on the evening of Monday, February 24, 2003. A cab was waiting for me to take me to the host family’s house. I met with Gerson to go over the required paperwork. I let him know that I wanted to meet the birth mother and he said he would try.

 I met my daughter that night while I was filling out more paperwork. It was exciting, scary, and tense. I went over my questions with the foster mother and then had to get back to Gerson and his paperwork. All that was going on scared poor little Ana but she held up well and managed to get to sleep.

 We took care of the visa application the next morning and when I saw Gerson I again asked him about meeting the birthmother. He gave me the same vague answer. But, while having lunch at my host family’s house, the doorbell rang. It was Ana’s birthmother, Ana Rosario. I was tingling all over and couldn’t believe I was meeting her. She was somewhat shy and reserved but had a lot to say. She was sweet and also sad at having to give up Ana. In fact, she cried most of the time we were together. She was dressed in western clothes, a black skirt and a V-neck knit top that didn’t quite cover her bra. Poor little Ana was confused by everything. She had been relinquished when she was six months old and, after four months in foster care, it appeared that she no longer recognized her birthmother. Ana sat on her birthmother’s lap and mostly cried along with her birthmother.

 I took some pictures and then I asked her if I could videotape her. I told her she could watch the videotape and we did that together. Her message on the video is short, but it will be a gift to Ana as she grows up. First, she wanted Ana to know that she would always love her and would always have her in her heart. She said that she hoped that someday Ana will understand how difficult things were for her and how she was just too poor to raise her. She said that maybe Ana will be able to forgive her for relinquishing her. She also asked for Ana to come back to Guatemala someday to visit: “There are many people in Guatemala who love her and who will always love her.”

She told me a little about her family and it turns out that Ana is named for her mother (Ana) and her mother’s sister (Isabel). I’m even more pleased that I kept Ana’s birth name and the birthmother was, too. I was in tears most of the time while I was taping her message. She was such a sweet, likable, and poor woman who, as a single mom, just couldn’t get the resources together to make it all happen. (Ana’s birthmother probably earned about $100 a month as a domestic. When she went back to work, she had to stop breastfeeding. A month of formula would cost $75.)

 I had a list of prepared questions that I wanted to ask her and we got to go through most of them. I found out some important information—such as Ana’s maternal grandmother dying of ovarian cancer 13 years ago. I don’t know if there is a hereditary component to that but it is good to know. I was thrilled to learn that Ana was breastfed for five months and got to experience the loving bond that comes with breastfeeding.

 Ana’s birthmother told me one chilling story that illustrated how desperate her family was. After about five months, she went back to work. She said the family was forcing her to pay a lot of money to take care of Ana and she had to go to work at a bad place. (I didn’t query her on what it was or why it was bad.) One day, she didn’t have any money for milk. When she came home from work, the family had sold Ana’s earrings to pay for milk. Wow. I could tell it hurt the birthmother that Ana’s earrings had been sold. She said that that was when she realized she would have to go through with an adoption plan.

 I don’t know if I can accurately convey here what it was like to meet Ana’s birthmother. It was almost more spectacular than meeting Ana, I think because I knew it would be fleeting. I cherish the memory of that sweet woman and I hope I can relay that to Ana as she grows up. I plan to send pictures periodically and to someday come back for a visit and go to Mazatenango where Ana was born.

Debbie Lynch

SMC Ambassador

2010-09-13T19:21:00.002-04:00

An experience I had this evening left me thinking about how far I've come from the scared (okay, terrified) almost-40-year-old woman who started tentatively on the road to single motherhood 4 years ago and I wanted to share it, since many of you may have had similar experiences.

When I decided to move forward with this crazy plan, the thing that scared me most was what on earth I would tell people about my "status" as a single, pregnant woman. I see similar posts on the SMC organization's "Thinking" email list and my heart always goes out to those women. I want to reach out to them and reassure them that in the larger scheme of things it really won't matter after a few days or weeks or months. At least, it didn't for me. I embraced my pregnancy with such joy that by the time I needed to come out of the closet I did it with pride and confidence. I've maintained that level of comfort with my decision, and it has been interesting to me to see how people have just accepted my "status" as normal or at least not particularly shocking. It's especially surprising since I live in the Western US - one of the most conservative areas in the country. I know some people I work with don't approve of my decision, but I truly believe my comfort and confidence have left them in silence. Which is fine with me.

The bigger surprise has been the women who have asked me about how I approached my decision, what steps I took, how difficult and expensive the process was, all (they eventually disclose), because they too have had thoughts about becoming single moms but didn't know it actually was an option. I answer their questions thoughtfully and honestly, without going into intimate details about my son's conception or his donor.

Tonight we were visiting with a new friend, a 30 year old, attractive and educated young woman who I never imagined would show an interest in SMC-hood. I told her about this wonderful organization, how its members have encouraged and supported me though my journey, and I encouraged her to follow her heart, wherever it leads her. She told me after all the years of dating and not meeting "the one", she was coming to the conclusion that maybe she would need to take a different approach to having the baby she dreamed of.

Being a single mom isn't for everyone, but my choice to follow this path has changed my life in a thousand wonderful little ways. I really love the fact that other women, some I know well and some I have only met a few times, are encouraged by my experience and have gone from thinking that becoming a single mom is a "crazy dream" to thinking it just might be manageable.

I send out a heartfelt "THANK YOU!" to all of you who have supported and encouraged me and held me up when I think I can't make it one more day.

Andrea

Dads be Damned!, or...

2010-09-07T05:43:00.007-04:00

.....how I am destroying American civilization as we know it.

Anyone who knows me can tell you that I am not a girl known for being in vogue. I’m not the kind of woman who, when you pass me on the street, elicits words like ‘hip’ or ‘stylin.’ I’m not big on trends. I generally have no desire to be the first person to have the latest gizmo or gadget, preferring to wait til they work out all the kinks…and the price goes down. I often will not do something I was considering if it becomes trendy in the interim, like getting a tattoo. I rather consider myself the anti-trend.

I also consider myself an ‘armchair feminist.’ I believe in women’s rights. In equal pay for equal work. That women are still treated unfairly and in some cases detrimentally in many sectors of our society, and certainly around the world. I have a solid, but what most would say less radical approach to the expression of my beliefs. No bra burner am I. Sorry, ladies, but that polyester, spandex, lycra, elastic contraption is a friend of mine, particularly when I’m forced to sprint after my 4 year old (and I assure you that this 39 year old body does not readily sprint in general, let alone without sufficient upper body support). I make no demand that we spell women with a “y.” I do wish I could list one of my titles at work as “web mistress” instead of “master,” but one must pick her battles.

Given the above, imagine my surprise when I was notified by two articles I read this past week that by being both a feminist (armchair or otherwise) and a single mom (raising a son, no less), not only am I part of a growing trend (and therefore trend-y), but that I:

“view men and women as being the same instead of different but equal” (emphasis mine)

“[believe] men are not important in the raising and nurturing of children”

‘diminish the value of two-parent households and role of good fathers’

“equated maleness with everything that’s repugnant”

and

“just love a movie that glamorizes teenage pregnancy and deprecates the male role in conception…” (Well, I’m not sure if I can argue with this last one—who DOESN’T love a movie that glamorizes teen pregnancy AND depreciates the male role in conception? It’s a two-fer, people—who’s not on board for BOGO?)

I had no idea I was such a busy woman! So much to do! Pack lunch, lay out clothes, go to work, pay the bills, castrate the entire male gender, destroy the very fabric with which our great society was created... Whew. No wonder I’m always so tired!

If only I were a LESBIAN, feminist, single mom, I’d have a trifecta: like a frickin’ atom bomb, I could obliterate culture, civilization, and all sense of order and moral decency in one foul swoop…sigh…maybe in my next life…

The two articles that schooled me in my destructive ways were “Why Jennifer Aniston Taking a Stand Against Bill O’Reilly Criticism Matters” on The Women’s Media Center site (http://womensmediacenter.com/blog/2010/08/jennifer-aniston-takes-stand-against-bill-oreilly-criticism/) regarding comments Jennifer Aniston made while promoting her new film “The Switch,” and one called “Skinny Jeans, John Wayne, And The Feminization Of America” in The Bulletin: Philadelphia’s Family Newspaper (http://thebulletin.us/articles/2010/08/24/commentary/op-eds/doc4c73e3d4a0055039646585.txt) on gender roles and how men are no longer allowed to be ‘men.’

The Jennifer Aniston article talks about recent comments that she made while promoting her new film “The Switch” about a woman who decides to become a single mother by using a sperm donor. Mayhem ensues. A good time (she hopes) will be had by all. Her initial comment as quoted from the article was:

“Women are realizing it more and more, knowing that they don’t have to settle with a man just to have that child,” she told press last week. “Love is love and family is what is around you and who is in your immediate sphere.”

This comment apparently set off Bill O’Reilly (and really, what doesn’t set off Bill O’Reilly?) who, on his segment called “Cultural Warriors,” accused Jennifer of “throwing a message out to 12-year-olds and 13-year-olds that hey, you don’t need a guy, you don’t need a dad” and calling her public support of single parenthood “destructive to society.”

Considering it’s Bill O’Reilly, it is clear that anything that doesn’t fall into his definition of “the norm” would be destructive to society. But how is it that a film about “an unmarried 40-year-old woman [who] turns to a turkey baster in order to become pregnant”, that is rated PG-13 for “mature thematic content, sexual material including dialogue, some nudity, drug use and language,” is “throwing out a message” to TEENAGE girls? Has Jennifer been hitting the middle schools to give speeches about her cool new movie and how they all should follow in her character’s footsteps, immediately, if not sooner? Obviously both the film and the comments she made about single motherhood were directed at women of a certain age, namely those clearly well out of puberty.

Bill certainly has the right to take issue with single motherhood if he so chooses, but let’s stop trying to twist things around to make ignorant charges completely unrelated to the point.

(Speaking of completely unrelated, this is somewhat off topic, but—a turkey baster? Really?? Having gone through this process, I assure you that for most women, it’s much more clinical, and complicated, than that. I believe it’s safe to say that, in general, there is not a passel of single gals running amuck in the kitchen gadgets aisle with conception on the brain.)

Since The Switch is “from the people who brought you Juno” it’s serendipitous that the second article I read on the feminization of America should reference Juno, (quoted in the list above) as a film that “feminists just love” for both glamorizing teen pregnancy and dismissing the father figure. Since THIS film actually IS about teen pregnancy, I can honestly say I can see how some might view it as a ‘glamorization’ of the situation. However, I’m not sure how or why feminists in particular would have such adoration for it.

Aren’t feminists supposed to be for reproductive rights, and family planning centers, and female contraception? I guess I lost the memo from Gloria Steinem indicating that I should begin promoting teenage pregnancy. As I said, I’m an armchair feminist, so it must have slipped by me. I will get right on it.

What disturbed me most about this article on ‘gender roles’ was its inference that by choosing to be a single mom (and feminist—don’t forget that part), I had somehow declared men and all things manly as irrelavant, useless, and unsavory (“repugnant,” in fact). Like being trendy and promoting teen pregnancy, I had no idea that I was suddenly required to hate men and all they represented. The ignorance of this train of thought is truly mind-blowing.

While I’m sure there ARE single moms and/or feminists who DO hate men, for whatever reason, I have a news flash for author Jane Gilvary. I do not hate men. I love men. I have many wonderful, amazing men in my life. I adored my father who, along with my mother, raised me to be independent and stand on my own two feet. I am the product of the ‘family unit’ and I bear said unit no ill will. I place great importance on the role of men in raising and nurturing children, and consciously make an effort to include positive males in my son’s life. Luckily, I am surrounded by many such men, so the task is not as daunting as it could be for some. I DO view men and women as ‘separate but equal’ and have no desire to have us considered ‘the same.’

Oh, and I’ve never seen Juno.

My choice to become a single mother had nothing to do with devaluing or dismissing the role of men in the raising of children. It DID have to do with my strong desire to have children, my age (tickticktick), and the fact that I have not yet met the right man for me. He may be out there (I still hold out hope) and if he is, he will most certainly play an important role in the upbringing of my child.

In the meantime, I want my son to be happy, healthy, and comfortable being who he is. I am making my best effort to raise a good citizen and responsible human being. And the many males in my life assist me in doing so.

I have to say while I knew single motherhood was a hot button topic, I didn’t realize that that and feminism still drew such ire from certain spheres of our society.

I had no idea I was involved in a cultural war. I believe I will need a better bra for this.

Stephanie R.

The Back-Up Plan - not that one

2010-09-02T04:45:00.002-04:00

Lately, the subject of single mothers by choice has been all over the media because of a movie that recently came out, starring Jennifer Lopez, in which her character becomes pregnant with the help of an anonymous sperm donor, only to fall in love with Mr. Right immediately afterward. I haven’t seen the movie, and, as a “real” single mother by choice, I’ll never have the time to see it, but I have viewed some of the recent TV news stories and discussions about it. And while it’s nice to have a celebrity like J-Lo showing single women that they do have options, I can’t say this movie is anything like my life—nor is “back-up plan” an appropriate term for the process by which I came to have Jayda.

I never pictured myself as a single mom; but then again, I didn’t always picture myself as a mom, period. Unlike some of my friends who were always talking about having babies during their 20s and 30s, I said things like, “I’ll have kids if I marry a guy who I know will be a great dad, and who really wants to have kids,” but I wasn’t obsessed with being a mother at all. I wasn’t even comfortable around children, and didn’t think they liked me very much. In fact, before I had Jayda, I’d never changed a diaper, and could count on the fingers of one hand how many babies I’d actually held. And yet, as soon as the nurses put my newborn child on my chest, I knew I was put in this world to be Jayda’s mom and care for her.

There was a point in my mid-30s when I had an epiphany and realized that I’d be incomplete if I never had a child, and that I’d just been suppressing my desires for fear of never meeting Mr. Right. I was flooded with maternal feelings and became baby-obsessed almost overnight. It took a lot of thought and planning to have Jayda (as well as plenty of drugs and monitoring and money, since I didn’t get pregnant on the first try like J-Lo’s character did in her movie), and I can hardly allude to the process as a back-up plan. “Back-up” to me implies second-best, and having Jayda was an ideal plan for me, because I can’t imagine my life without my amazing daughter in it.

Unlike J-Lo’s character, I didn’t find Mr. Right while I was pregnant (though I did date during the first two trimesters), and I still haven’t found him now that Jayda is about to turn three. But that doesn’t trouble me at all, and I hate the implication that a woman “needs” a man to be a good mother. Or that having a husband is always the ideal “plan.”

Most of my friends did find their Mr. Rights before they had children—or at least they found someone whom they thought was the man they’d be with forever—and I can’t say their lives are all better than mine. A few of my friends are going through nasty divorces now—and are battling over custody issues. Several others actually married someone as their “back-up plan”—fully knowing the man wasn’t exactly what they wanted or needed in their lives—but rushed to settle down because they felt their clocks were ticking. Those friends (and their spouses) are all pretty miserable. And then there are my friends who are happily married (or at least appear to be), but just about all of them admit that having a husband is a lot of work, and they’re forced to divide their attention between their children and their man. There’s nothing wrong with that—and I know having a good husband is a worthwhile investment—but I can’t say that these women’s children are thriving more than mine is…or that the moms are so much happier than I am. We’re all just experiencing life the way it happened to us…and most of us are realizing that you can’t plan everything, especially when it comes to being a mom.

Plan A…Plan B. What’s the difference? Life is what we make of it—and just because our lives aren’t as we always pictured them, doesn’t mean they’re second-best. Mine certainly isn’t. It isn’t movie-perfect, either, but I don’t really know anyone whose life is.

Jamie jmlny@aol.com

Goodnight Moon

2010-08-28T13:20:00.007-04:00

It's been a tough week. Two huge projects at work have left me stressed out and exhausted. And it's my son’s first week back to school as a newly minted first grader. He seems to be doing ok, but it's a major adjustment nonetheless, for both of us.

Our rituals soothe us, particularly at night after a long day. And for even more comfort, we've retreated into the past. This week's bedtime selections have been our old standbys, the board books I started reading to my son when he was an infant, the ones I still know by heart. A Color of His Own, The Runaway Bunny, Are You My Mother?, and tonight, Goodnight Moon. Although my son can read these books to me now, we both still enjoy it when I read aloud to him, it's part of the ritual.

We snuggle in together in his bed, me carefully lowering my head so I don't hit it against the top bunk. We enter into that great, green room with its telephone and balloon. "And a picture of…" I pause dramatically and then slowly turn the page. "…the cow jumping over the moon." "Yes! I KNEW it!" says my son in the tone of voice normally accompanying victorious athletes fist pumping in exhilaration. His relief is palpable. I wonder, does his busy brain truly think that the pages of a time-honored book change when we aren't looking, the familiar replaced by the new and the unknown? No matter. Tonight, the cow is jumping over the moon, the three little bears sit in their chairs and the old lady still whispers "hush." The stresses of the week fade away and all is right in our world.

Marsha

Child of my dreams

2010-08-25T15:39:00.003-04:00

To the Child of My Dreams:

Since I was a very young child I’ve dreamed of holding you in my arms….looking into your face and seeing some of myself in you…watching you grow and develop some of my characteristics (good ones, hopefully). It seems now that that will not be the case, and I am extremely sad about that.

I’ve tried so hard to create you, but my body will not cooperate. Each of the nine times that I’ve tried, I could sense your presence with me…your little soul ready to come into being. I’ll never understand why it could not happen for me. Each time I was devastated and cried because I felt I had really lost you…even if you were only in my dreams.

Now it seems that I will say goodbye, but only to part of my dream. I need to mourn the loss of a biological connection to you. But, in the scheme of things, is that really such a big deal? So you may not have the same color eyes as I do, your hair may not be the same color as mine, but you will have the same amount of love from me…that’s a guarantee!

I hope to carry you inside of me…you have been given to me out of great kindness from a couple who has experienced the same devastation and loss that I have. I have to believe that somehow, someway, your soul will find its way to me…otherwise I don’t know how else I will find happiness again. Like the words from the song, “Somewhere, out there, if love can see us through. Then we’ll find one another, in that great somewhere out there.” I love you and always will, even if you are not to be!
Mommy

Too Old Too Fast?

2010-08-21T05:57:00.002-04:00

By Nancy Nisselbaum

This summer, my 9-year-old son lets himself into our apartment after getting off the camp bus. He goes upstairs and plops his stuff down and calls me at work. I get home within an hour, so he’s not home alone for very long. He says he’s fine. He says he can handle it. His friends ask their parents why they aren’t being left home alone. He’s only cried twice.

Don’t ask how many times I’ve cried. How many times I’ve questioned the wisdom of this decision (which, honestly, has been based on monetary concerns but also factored in that he’s a very responsible boy who has handled being home longer than this—it’s the letting himself in part that makes me somewhat concerned). My son is self-reliant for his age. And he handles this responsibility with bravado. He has his own cell phone now—so he can call me when he gets home or I can call him while he’s on the bus. He empties his backpack daily and puts his wet towel and swimsuits in the dryer. He lies on the couch and watches television. It all sounds so innocuous.

Yet I feel torn. Am I growing him up too fast? Am I giving him responsibility that’s too old for his years? I know other 9-year-olds who are as independent, yet I know many more who are never left home alone—EVER!!!! And I don’t feel that’s right either. Kids need to start learning some form of independence, of being separated from mom and able to do stuff on their own. I’ve started this process slowly—leaving the house for 5-minute intervals, then lengthening those, then going to an evening meeting at my local synagogue.

But it was the two times that he cried, that he got scared because he couldn’t get in touch with me (once I didn’t hear the phone and once I was on the subway) that did me in. That raked me over the mommy coals and made me question my—our?—decision. This isn’t something I imposed on him. This is something we talked about and talked about and talked about—and still talk about. We considered various scenarios and he—we?—decided that he was able to handle this. So long as he could get in touch with me. He has the phone numbers of numerous friends and neighbors programmed into his phone, but there’s the embarrassment factor. He couldn’t call Dylan’s mom—he’d be too embarrassed, even though Dylan is never left home alone and when his mom drops Marshall off after picking him up from the bus of camp #2 (which doesn’t do door-to-door drop-off and pick-up as camp #1 does), she makes him talk to her on the cell phone while he goes up to the apartment in the elevator and locks the door.

Add into the mix that we’ve talked about afterschool in the Fall. He goes to the local Y, but we’ve—I’ve?—agreed that he can come home on Fridays by himself and left himself into the apartment. He still says he wants to do it, that he’s not afraid. But maybe I’m a little afraid. Afraid that he’s growing up too fast, that he’s 9 years old but taking on the responsibility of someone much older. Then, just to cap things off, I talk about getting a babysitter for the six nights a year I go to theater. And he looks at me and says, “Why do I need a babysitter? I can put myself to bed.” I calmly explain why that isn’t an option.

Am I growing him up too fast? I think back to my own childhood and realize I was walking to and from school by myself from first grade on. Were times all that different? I’m not sure. But my mom didn’t work when I was in grade school. When I got home, she was there. I’m newly re-employed after 13 months of unemployment. So much happened—so many transitions occurred for a boy who doesn’t like transitions—at the same time: I got a job, he started camp and started letting himself in, then my brother and his family came to visit from Israel and my nieces were staying in our apartment—in Marshall’s room, which meant he was displaced and had no place to call his own for two weeks—and then he started a new camp for two weeks. All events that make a person’s head spin.

I think he’ll be okay. I know he’ll be okay. But I want him to be able to say, “This isn’t working.” And at one point he did. When he cried the second time, I asked him if he wanted to go to Laura’s house after coming home from camp for the rest of the week. And he did. But now he’s back at camp #1 and letting himself him. And I have to be ready at 4:35 to answer his call. I wear my cell phone and make sure the volume is turned up.

Would I be going through this, I wonder, if I weren’t single? Maybe. If I made more money? Maybe. Am I growing him up too fast? Maybe. Is this working? Maybe. But for now, this is the way it is in our family. And for the most part, it’s working. Maybe we’re both growing up a little too fast. Maybe he’s evolving at exactly the right pace for him and I’m reacting like a typical mother—worrying that he’s growing up too fast. We’ll have to see how it all pans out and realize that no decision is ever irrevocable.

My Only Regret is that I Waited so Long

2010-08-17T10:31:00.002-04:00

I've always wanted to have children, always wanted to mother. I've been an au pair to other families, spent time with all of the kids of friends and family. I hoped and assumed, of course, that I would have a family of my own when the time came.

I suppose that's the tricky part - that time thing. Like many, I've been in a series of long relationships that have not withstood the tests of time. A long medical training that I started when I was twenty-eight ended ten years later. And there I was, at thirty-eight, for the first time seriously thinking of having a child on my own.

So many questions came to mind - how could I do it? How could I make it work in time and money and love? And most importantly, would it be, could it be fair to bring in child into the world who would not know his or her biological father? These are tough questions, and every SMC I know has struggled with them. But at the time, now almost nine years ago, I was just plain sad that I did not have a partner to undertake this endeavor. What I had always imagined - love, marriage, baby - hadn't happened for me yet, and there was a melancholy quality to my view of single motherhood. I knew that a heavy heart could not care for a infant or child, could not offer the kind of life I would want to give to my child. So I waited. Threw more baby showers. Held more babies. More time went by, another relationship developed and sadly faltered around the issue of having children.

Single again and now pretty secure in my career as a psychiatrist, I asked those tough questions again, and decided to move. It took about a year from the time of my decision to try to have a child to pregnancy. A long, scary year filled with the statistics I knew about, somewhere in the back of my brain (after all, I was in medicine) but had really avoided. After some tough sessions with a wonderful reproductive endocrine group, I decided to jump right in and try IVF. The chances of having a healthy baby using my own, 43 year-old eggs, they told me, were about 7% (who knows where that number came from, but I swear that's what I remember).

There is much I could say about the decision to proceed given the tremendous cost IVF and low odds of success, about the process of two rounds of IVF; these can be tough, tough times for women and couples. But there was a meaningfulness in it for me, because I was finally doing something that I had wanted for so long.

Pregnancy was easy, and that was just plain good fortune - those hormones were just right for me! I received warm and enthusiastic support from friends, family and professional colleagues. My daughter was almost born on the Bay Bridge, because, the obstetrician announced admiringly, I had the uterus of a twenty-year old.

I have the warmest memories of pregnancy and delivery, which is probably both a statement about dumb luck and the distortion inherent to memory. My daughter is now two and a half years old, and my only regret is that I waited so long. Life is very, very full.

There is much I could say about the experience of parenting, and parenting without a partner. I am incredibly fortunate to be so supported in my professional life as well as my personal world. My professional life is very, very busy: days and nights seem to fly by. But every parent of babies and toddlers struggles to fit everything in. I had years in which time was spent on myself - this very different time is filled with a joy and a wonder that all the night life, swell San Francisco cuisine and great culture couldn't really bring me.

To do it all again - I'd still prefer to have had a partner, I struggle with how my daughter and I will discuss and understand her biological father (an anonymous sperm donor). But this is absolutely the sweetest time of my life. And this little girl - her own kind of miracle.

Pamela S

Waiting for Christina: The Family Tree gets a Romanian Branch

2010-08-13T05:46:00.006-04:00

On the first weekend of December 2002, I was finally able to announce on the SMC email lists, “Cristina is home!” My son, then almost 9 years old (conceived with ADI), and I had just returned from the airport in Washington, D.C. With us was my almost two-year-old daughter adopted from Romania.

I was exhausted from the four-hour car ride and from the emotion of the day. But then I saw her—my beautiful little daughter was being wheeled toward me in a stroller by my agency director. He placed her in my arms and left. I expected bliss—I was wrong. She started screaming at the top of her lungs, “Nu! Nu!” (“No! No!”) and slapping me on the face. We walked through the airport with her screaming and hitting me and me telling her everything would be alright. Later my agency representative would tell me that the screaming and hitting was a good sign. It meant that Cristina had been attached to her foster family, and therefore she would become attached to us.

Back home she cried for an hour and a half and then fell asleep. Then my son starting whimpering and saying that he wanted her to go back. He didn’t like her, and she was too big. I tried to console him by explaining that it would take some time for all of us to adjust, but inside I was thinking, “What have I done? I’ve ruined my perfect little family.”

Most of all, everything seemed unreal, because the adoption itself had been delayed for more than a year.

March 2001: This is where my story starts, but I had begun the adoption process long before. Then I switched to an agency that placed children into foster families as opposed to orphanages. It dealt with infants who were usually home before they turned one, and that was my desire. So in March, the agency called with a referral for a three-month-old baby girl named Cristina. They sent a video, and I had a week to give them my answer. As soon as I saw her, I knew this child was meant to be a part of our family. My son was thrilled, and I told a few family members and friends. The adoption should have taken four to six months to complete. However, in July, Romania imposed a moratorium on international adoptions. Then, in October, the country imposed another—a year-long moratorium.

I explained to my son that there was a delay, and that no one knew when, or even if, the baby would be able to come home. We were both upset, and I tried to detach myself from the situation. When my documents expired, I didn’t rush to update them. I stopped reading adoption books. I stopped talking about adoption. When another video arrived from Romania, I put it away without looking at it. I was trying to stop thinking about the baby named Cristina, who was growing and developing—and who might never become mine.

Early in 2002, my agency informed me that several “pipeline” cases were moving forward and that I needed to update my documents. They also suggested I contact my senators to enlist their help. This adoption became a project that took on a life of its own.

September 2002: My agency informed me that my adoption had been approved by the Romanian Adoption Committee. I had a court date. I was afraid to feel excited, so I told no one. There was still a three-day appeal period, and we needed the final decree, which the judge took three long weeks to issue. At that point I started telling family and friends. I began making arrangements to have her escorted home. My son was beside himself. We had received another video, which showed that our baby had become a toddler who was walking and had lots of hair.

There were still a few more obstacles. At the last minute, I found out about a preadoption requirement in my state, which, thankfully, my home study agency managed to expedite in 24 hours. Then with my escort already in Romania with a scheduled embassy appointment, we found out that INS had not yet faxed my approval to the embassy. With one hour left before the embassy closed on the day of the appointment, I gave INS the fax number one more time, and this time the fax went through. They had been dialing the wrong number. I was totally wrapped up the process and felt detached from the little girl who was about to be taken away from the only family she had known for almost two years.

December 6, 2002: Screaming and hitting at the airport.

Mid-January 2003: Cristina has been home with us for about five weeks. I am absolutely amazed at how well my wonderful little girl has adjusted. She literally jumps for joy when we pick up my son from school or when he walks in the door. She goes to sleep easily and sleeps through the night. She loves to eat, take baths and play with other children. Cristina turned two on December 26. She runs, jumps, and does a perfect somersault. She has learned a lot of English and loves to talk, especially on the telephone. She is loving and affectionate. Cristina has just started daycare, and she runs into my arms smiling when I pick her up. She also loves books. Although her behavior is generally good, if she doesn’t want to do what you ask her to do, she throws a tantrum (did I mention that she’s two?).

Adjustment has been quick for her, slower for my son, who is gradually getting used to having a toddler in the house. I feel so much love for her that I can’t imagine how I had ever felt detached. I sit looking at my two children sleeping peacefully, and I know that my perfect little family is complete. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that we are no longer waiting for Cristina. Cristina is home.

Did You Feel That?

2010-08-09T04:10:00.004-04:00

Just when I think I am a absolute freak of nature, defying all sorts of social standards and practices (usually by going under, and not over, the bar) something transpires that speaks to me, saying “Tara, you are *not* so bizarre or unique after all.” So, there. I cannot promise I’ll share anything like that with you today, but I’m just saying…

Being a member of SMC has been one of the most valuable and meaningful aspects of my life. Although I am awkward to connect and put out disjointed, sporadic posts on the email lists, the generous, informative women who share a listserve help to alleviate my seemingly irrational feelings or quell the ridiculous tsunamis of fear in which I try to keep above the water. Some of the concerns I see on the listserve are internally referred to as “Standard Issue Issues”- pretty much every SMC, thinking, trying or otherwise, seems to have some feelings about them, though responses may vary from the passionate, frothing types, to the wispy, lighthearted jesting of women who seem to take most things in perfect stride.

These standard issue issues come up, one in particular, year after year, in one form or another, and quite frankly, when I see it, I get that “freak factor” feeling all over again. When I say this, I feel I should be locked away in a garden shed, possibly with a beard, drawing up a handwritten 200 page manifesto, but I never, really, could picture myself having a child or a family in any type of relationship. I remember that even as a young child, the idea of being married or partnered with kids, just felt, well, yucky. I tried, oh how I tried, but it just never “clicked” for me. I was never opposed to the idea of marriage, I just never felt I had what it took to pull one off.

I always loved kids, though I didn’t think about them in a maternal way until I was about 24.While sitting in my mom and dad’s kitchen one day, chatting on the phone, I heard a little girl’s agonizing, dramatic scream. I found the girl, maybe about 6 or 7 years old, splayed out on the sidewalk, tightly gripping her Polly Pockets which had left angry, red indentations in the palm of one of her hands. I casually asked if she was okay, and through the tears she nodded. I then casually asked if she needed help getting up and again she nodded as I nonchalantly held out a hand for her to grab and pull herself up. She looked at it as though it was some mutant alien she saw in a horror movie. Uh-uh. She didn’t want a hand or arm, she wanted a ‘bear hug-lift me gently’ type of job. So I obliged. As I lifted her, arms encircling this child, I can only describe what transpired as a heavenly, divine intervention. Maybe it was a rush of blood to the head or out of control hormones, but I felt a hot, searing rush of joy, lightness and purpose. I cannot say what it was, but it was something big. And I was never the same. My mother chuckled and snorted when I told her, but I knew it was BIG.

I never grieved the loss of a dream- the white dress, the vows, the passionate love- I never *had* that dream. My parents, though deeply and passionately in love now, had one hell of a marriage- it was a twisted wreck of tears, control, abuse and constant fights. I can easily say that had nothing to do with my choice, but maybe on some deep, cleverly disguised level, it did. I honor those horrible years of my life by working against the principal of a miserable home filled with fearful, exhausted occupants.

I was 28 when I decided to have a baby a la carte. My mom and dad, in a word, went ballistic. They were scared, frantic, and desperate for me, and I didn’t blame them. I was scared for me, too. I remember the process of deciding was excruciating, though- could I pay for diapers, daycare, formula, clothes and a million other things while working full time with a high powered publisher?

I remember the fear covering me like a heavy, wet blanket at first. As I learned more, that ‘blanket’ got lighter and lighter, finally ‘drying’ out and lifting away. My turning point came when I called a local daycare and discovered that I could, indeed, afford to send my baby there. Thankfully, I was pregnant shortly after beginning the TTC process and celebrated my 30th birthday knocked up.

I am young by SMC standards, I know. My pieces fell into place at a young age- a house at 27, a great career and then, well, a baby by 30. I have all sorts of strange, quirky regrets in life, but having a child is not one of them. She is 8 now, sometimes gets wound up over not having a daddy, but we get by. Sometimes I want to pack up my cats and go live under a quiet bridge with no responsibility, but I like to think that the rush of blood to my head that long ago day did lead to something good.

Tara

Child of mine: a story of embryo donation

2010-08-05T03:38:00.005-04:00

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a mom. I started babysitting when I was just 9 years old and continued to do so through college. I have always loved children and "borrowed" my friends’ children on a regular basis. When I was in my mid-20s, I would often say that if I got to be 35, wasn’t married, and had no prospects for marriage, I was going to go to a sperm bank and use a turkey baster. Fast forward 10 years: Me, at age 35, not married and not involved with anyone. And so my journey to a child began.

Fast forward another 2 years. I had moved back to my hometown so I could be near my family, bought a house, lost weight, and was on the brink of my first donor insemination. I was beyond excited!! The morning of my insemination, I took a picture of myself, my dog, and the tank that held the sperm and labeled it as my first family photo. Little did I know that disappointment lay ahead.

After three negative natural cycles, I proceeded to Clomid, which yielded three more negative cycles. During the final one, I had some testing done and found that my chance of conceiving a child with my own eggs was less than 4 percent. To say I was devastated is an understatement. After two days of crying, I made an appointment with a reproductive endocrinologist who confirmed the news and also felt there was a good chance that I had endometriosis. A laparoscopy confirmed and corrected the problem.

But now I was reenergized. I was sure that I would conceive after going through all that. After three failed cycles of injectible fertility medications, I couldn’t take anymore. I had been in counseling after getting the news of my elevated FSH but had stopped after the laparoscopy. After the third failed injectible cycle, I called the counselor again and she saw me right away. She prescribed an antidepressant medication. I didn’t want to take it, but I could barely get out of bed in the morning and knew that I had to do something.

I attended an all-day adoption seminar put on by a local RESOLVE chapter. One session was on “donor embryo”—it changed my life. Couples that have embryos left over from an IVF cycle have the option to donate those embryos (depending on the clinic) to another couple or single person who wishes to experience pregnancy and birth. The cost is much less than a donor egg/donor sperm cycle. I found a clinic that had donated embryos available and sent in my application.

I had a phone consultation with one of the physicians and waited for the list of embryos to arrive. The list tells you how many embryos are available from a particular couple, whether there was a third party involved, and some basic information (height, weight, hair color, eye color, profession, and ethnic background) about the man and woman who created the embryos. When the list arrived, I made my choices and then waited to hear if they would be donated to me.

The phone call came in about two weeks. I had been given 10 embryos from three different couples! In my haste to become a mom, I decided that I wanted them all. After discussing my decision with my counselor, I decided it would be preferable if all of the embryos came from one couple. This way, I would have at least some basic medical information for my child. I let the clinic know my decision and waited for the next list to arrive.

During that time, I did some intense grieving over the loss of a biological child. My counselor was helpful and supportive. I spent the majority of my sessions with her in tears. It was the only place I felt I could truly let go and just cry. I also did some artwork at that time to express how I was feeling. The new list of embryos arrived and I, again, made my choices and waited for the phone call. Luck was on my side and I was offered 9 embryos….all from the same couple! I accepted them and was planning on having them transferred as soon as possible.

Just prior to having my transfer, I met with my counselor and told her that I wanted to have some sort of ritual to let go of the dream of a biological child an open myself up to whatever soul was to come to me. She thought it was a great idea and said that she would be happy to be a part of it. I planned the ritual, made a program, and asked my pastor and a close friend to be there. I set up a little altar, lit a candle, and had 9 balloons to release as a representation of the nine times that I had tried to conceive. My therapist read a letter I had written to “the child of my dreams,” and the others spoke and read some special things that they had chosen. The service was very healing for me.

Five days later, 4 of the 9 embryos (those that survived the thaw) I had chosen were transferred into me. An incredible sense of peace came over me at that point, and I considered myself pregnant until proven otherwise. Nine days later, my blood test confirmed that I was, indeed, pregnant. I was elated!!

I now watch my beautiful daughter and am in awe of the miracle that she is. It’s hard to believe that I grieved so intensely over the loss of a biological connection. She couldn’t be anymore mine. The resemblance between her and my mom (when my mom was young) is uncanny. I just know that she is the child who was waiting for me all along. I am incredibly grateful every day for the couple that enabled me to have this incredible gift in my life.

How We Came To Be

2010-07-31T04:24:00.006-04:00

Four years ago this month I conceived my first child by a non-medicated, interuterine insemination. I hadn’t been a Thinker for long. Or perhaps, I had been a Thinker my whole life. The certainty that I would never marry and have children was something that haunted my thoughts since I was in my early twenties. Until I separated the two life events, becoming a mother seemed all but hopeless. I thought about it only in terms of what would never be.

For over a decade, I mourned the loss of what came so easily to most women: a family. Once I gave myself permission to research the possibilities of single motherhood, things happened very quickly. Within a month I had read everything I could find on the topic. I began contacting adoption agencies. The official responses were consistently negative. A social worker at a domestic agency said to me, “No birthmother will ever choose you.” She referred me to an international agency. That agency agreed to take me on but later contacted me to say that their published fees would double since I was single.

I began to worry that if I spent all my time and savings on an unsuccessful adoption attempt, I wouldn’t be able to pursue other options. I quickly changed gears and contacted several fertility centers. I wanted to find a clinic that not only accepted single women as patients (some do not), but welcomed them. I found a wonderful doctor with a warm and caring staff. The positive reception and communication was a wonderful change from the pessimistic adoption agencies. These people believed I could and would be a mom.

When I became pregnant that summer, I had a hard time believing it. It was a thrilling secret and a terrifying concept. I had wanted my life to change and now, well, was it ever! More than once, I compared my situation to having to run in order to catch a departing train, hopping aboard seconds before it left the station. Once safely seated, I wondered if I was headed in the right direction. What was this train’s destination? Where would we end up? By the start of my second trimester, I was certain I had taken the correct route to motherhood. I’ve never looked back since. I did do a little more Thinking, though. Two years later, I returned to the station for another passenger.
Lara at www.bubbynme.blogspot.com

Working my Way Toward Becoming an SMC

2010-07-26T04:23:00.004-04:00

So, here I am, working my way toward becoming a single mother by choice – reading books and articles, taking advantage of a great local SMC group, haunting the national SMC listserv for insights and information, surfing cryobank donor lists. I’m dotting all the “i"s and crossing all the “t”s, taking a pre-natal vitamins, trying to eat better and get more sleep. I’m making lists and generally trying to stay in control of everything I can.

And I’m laughing. Because if there’s anything I’ve learned from my friends who are parents, my own parents and the kids in my family, it’s that being a good (and not insane) parent has a lot less to do with how in control you are and a lot more to do with how well you deal with all the things you can’t control. And, wow, is this process a test of those skills. I can control which donor I choose; but not his honesty in his profile, or diseases that haven’t manifested yet in his family (come on, his parents are barely older than I am!), or how he’ll feel in 18 years about being an “open” donor. I can’t control what the mix of genetics will be, or what that means for my child. But I can remember that my own mother often jokingly “apologizes” for the traits I’ve inherited, like “sorry you got the fussy-about-how-the-dishwasher-is-loaded gene” or “you come by that low-threshold-for-idiots thing honestly”. Even with two parents, or a known donor, you can't control which things, good or bad, shine through.

I can do my best to not worry about all those things I can’t control. I can listen to music that centers me and makes me feel strong. I can seek out the people in my life who support and encourage me and avoid the ones who don’t. And on the days all that doesn’t work, I can have a glass of wine and try again tomorrow. I’m working on keeping my sense of humor; on embracing the crazy, wonderful absurdity of this journey; on not letting my usual mantra of “but what if…” get in the way of the joy. And I’m still laughing.

Robyn, 39, getting ready to TTC

From an SMC in Eastern Europe

2010-07-22T05:42:00.002-04:00

My mother was a single mother. My father died, and I don’t remember him. I don’t know if that is the reason why becoming a single mother by choice was never Plan B for me, but it might have played a role. I did do the whole relationship thing for a while, but when my relationship ended, and after spending years working all over the world, and loving my freedom, I went back to my personal Plan A – becoming a choice mom.

I never did picture mom, dad, and kids as the perfect family when I was a kid. Having a great mom was quite enough. I grew up in a liberal environment, where family structures were hardly ever questioned. I used a known donor to conceive both my kids, and now have a wonderful daughter and a great son. We live in Eastern Europe, where I work as a write-at-home mom.

I remember being somewhat surprised when we first moved here. One of my new neighbors approached me as my kids and I were leaving the building. “Where is your husband? Does he work abroad?” When I answered that I didn’t have a husband, she asked: “So, you are alone then?” Pointing at my kids, I cheerfully answered that no, I was not alone, I have my kids. “So, you are alone then?” My neighbor repeated, “You are all alone with your kids?” For the second time I answered that I was definitely not alone, I was with the kids. A few days later, another neighbor commented, “You are the woman with no husband then? How do you pay the bills?” Excuse me? How do I pay the bills? Even after living in developing countries for years, this question shocked me. I’m a journalist, and pay my bills just fine. I don’t need a husband for that, or for anything else, thank you.

Working from home is wonderful. It gives me the opportunity to see my kids growing up. I raise them with all the freedom of the world, working before they wake up, and after they go to sleep. I realize how lucky I am, and feel blessed every day. I have always been pretty unconventional. I chose to birth at home, use cloth diapers, and alternative medicine, and never thought anything of it.

Whatever is left of my idealism after being tainted by years of being a foreign correspondent still wishes that my family can show some people in this patriarchal, former communist East European country that women are extremely capable, and can do whatever they want. The cynicism in me prevails, though, and doubts that anything like that will happen. Sometimes I want to shout it from the hilltops of this agricultural country – solo mothers do not need your pity, and my kids are very happy! My daughter does that for me, though. “You look nothing like your mom! Does your daddy have blond hair?” A stranger asked her recently. My four year old replied: “Noooooooooo! I don’t have one of thooooooooose! I have a DONOR!” That quickly made the nosy stranger go on his merry way. Still, I find myself wondering if this is really the country I want my kids to grow up in. Perhaps, in another few years, our journey will take another turn.

Sharing Our Thoughts: Not bonding with newly adopted child

2010-07-18T06:19:00.004-04:00

I’m struggling with feelings I never thought I would have for my newly adopted 4-year-old son. It took a few months to come to grips with the fact that I do not love him the same as I do my 8-year-old biological son. It had not occurred to me that that was possible. It was somewhat therapeutic just recognizing it for what it is worth. I would like to think this difference will fade with time.

Responses from Our Wise SMC Members:
"I hope you can give yourself a break. A 4-year-old comes with his own history, complicated by the whole issue of transition, further complicated with whatever trauma might exist related to his previous history and post-institutional stuff. The chances are very strong that the boy you are parenting now will be very different once he develops the confidence to know that you are his mom forever and he gets to know you and his brother, just as you get to know him."

"I love my daughter and would do anything for her. But that deep connection of mother/daughter is missing, at least on my part. My daughter has TOTALLY bonded with me. Thinking about it, it could be that I don’t “love” motherhood. This weekend was the first time I said out loud, “I don’t feel like her mother.” I didn’t like how it sounded and burst into tears. All my friends are supportive and it’s nice to know I’m not alone."

"My personal opinions after adopting two children is that sometimes we feel as though we have to be happy and if we don’t…then there is a huge amount of shame. I adopted twice and I can tell you the experiences were very different. It took me about 8 months to feel like my first daughter’s mother. With my second adoption, I felt love much quicker yet I didn’t really like this little girl. She was angry, stubborn, and not very cute. She will soon be home for a year and I can’t tell you the difference. I just love this child. Never could I have pictured how ell we would all be doing since the adoption in China and the first couple of months home were brutal. So be gentle with yourself. This is a huge life change."

"I wonder if parents in general can sometimes love children differently (regardless of whether adopted or biological) simply because each child has a different personality and “chemistry” with his/her parents…and by “loving differently” it doesn’t necessarily imply a better/worse comparison."

"You don’t say long you have had your son, but if he is “newly adopted,” I think it’s likely your love will grow over time. I started to connect with my adopted son on about the third day of his arrival, but it took at least six months for me to love him really deeply. My daughter (2) is about arrive from the same orphanage, and I’m thinking it may take months for me to love her as deeply as I do my son. FWIW: my stepmother, who birthed four children, once remarked that she never loved a just-born baby as much as the children she already had, that it took time to develop the relationship. I think it’s possible what you’re experiencing may not be completely driven by the “biological” versus “adopted” distinction."

"Children have different needs that they need fulfilled by their mothers. Some children need more cuddling; others need more limits; others need more protection. As mothers, we respond to that."

"I brought my son home right from the hospital and basically did all the care after his birth. Around day six, a friend called to see how it was going and I fell apart crying on the phone. I was overwhelmed, exhausted, and didn’t really like this creature who sucked all the energy out of me. I was the friend everyone loved to watch their kids and now I couldn’t handle one little baby. My friend who has a bio son told me she used to lay on the floor in the nursery and sob for hours after he was born."

"I had very similar feelings after I brought my daughter home. It felt like to wasn’t real, like any minute the movie would be over and the “real parents” would come home from their night out. My daughter, however, bonded to me almost instantly. It has now been a year and 5 months since we arrived home, and there’s no doubt in my mind that I am her mom, but there are still times when I wonder if I would be feeling a stronger connection had she come from me. But that’s not terribly significant to me on a day-to-day basis since she is so clearly the joy of my life."

"I have many of the same feelings. Rather than feeling like a mom, I feel more like mother bear—very protective. I would do anything to keep her safe and I can’t imagine life without her. But I don’t always feel like a mom. I think that’s perfectly normal, even for biological moms. Shortly after I returned home with my daughter, my sister told me she didn’t feel like a mom right away with her biological son."
"I’ve definitely felt that way. I still do, sometimes, when I have the guilts about not spending enough time, not showing enough patience, worrying about work when I should be focused on her (a “real” mommy wouldn’t feel/act that way, right?). I actually talked to a therapist about it, and it’s not abnormal. The bottom line is, even though I feel that way sometimes, it doesn’t negate the fact that I absolutely adore her and can’t imagine my life without her. Babysitter or mommy, she is the best part of my life."
"I did have that “more like a caregiver” feeling with my adopted daughter. She came home when she was 23 months old after living with a foster family in Romania. Shortly after we brought her home, I started emailing the foster family with updates—they loved her and missed her so much. But I felt she was more their daughter than mine. I loved her from the beginning, just didn’t feel like I was the mom. I do now. She has now been home with us two years. With my biological son, I felt like his mom from the minute he was born, if not before. But I’ve read the posts where women say they didn’t feel like that with their biological children. I love them both very much, but it took me a while to feel like my daughter’s mom."

"A friend of mine with two bio kids tells me that she periodically loses that mothering feeling (her oldest is now 10!), in part because each new stage of her kids’ lives in some ways means that she is learning a new way to be a mom. So she feels like she doesn’t know what she’s doing, which makes her feel less like a “mom” and more like a caregiver. My daughter is now 2 and a few months... and I’ve been with her since she was 4 months old. I still go in and out of that feeling, and think that may always be the case. Like the others, though, I adore her, can’t imagine life without her, and am amazed by the power of my fierce mother bear instincts. Anyone messes with my baby, they’d better watch out!!! That is pretty powerful mom stuff."

"It took me a LONG time to feel like I loved my son. I would read all these postings about how parents were so thrilled to be home with their babies and loved them instantly. I felt like a monster. I felt terribly guilty. Shortly after we returned from Kaz, I told my therapist how I was feeling—not love, but actually put upon by this little creature I had brought into my life. I called it “the dirty little secret of motherhood.” I hated motherhood for a long time, felt I had made a big mistake. After we had been home four months, another mom in my neighborhood told me that about three weeks after she gave birth to her son, she told her husband, “We’ve made a terrible mistake.” By the time I she told me this, she felt differently, but I can’t tell you how comforting it was to hear another mom openly express the feelings I was having."

It's Just a Date

2010-07-14T06:11:00.004-04:00

How pursuing my dream of having a child made dating more fun.

I had often assumed that some women, unlike me, were able to date lightheartedly. Unconcerned with a hoped-for long-term outcome, these women could treat a date as just a date. They found a way to relax and have a good time. These women, I further suspected, were free to be themselves with their dates and so were the ones finding the right partner.

As these musings might indicate, my single dating life was often riddled with worry. When dating a man, I was rarely fully present. My mind ran the back story. I’d size him up, then rocket mentally into an imagined future. Is he the right fit for me, and I for him? Is he commitment-phobic? Am I? Are we wasting our time?

Of course, sometimes, there was true hope and love. But the stifling “what-ifs” commanded my attention. Revelations. Then about a year ago, a crossroads moment appeared. My father was in the hospital, in what would turn out to be the last month of his life. I was about six months past the most painful breakup of my life, and about six months away from 40. While chatting with a friend during a business trip to New York, I blurted out to her, apropos of nothing, “I think I’m going to become a mom on my own. Do you know anyone in our field who’s done this and how on earth they did it??” She grinned at me. The biggest, most joyful grin I have ever seen. I knew in that moment—we were in a bar, but I’ll take revelation where I can get it—that motherhood was where I was headed. That I was going to do this.

For many women, the decision to become an SMC comes with intense mourning for “the dream,” that happy imagining most little girls grow up with of a traditional marriage and family—or whatever version fires one’s personal aspirations. Giving up the dream was one of my roadblocks. I tried to focus on letting go only of the order in which the dream would take shape, but it was hard. In my pained and somewhat perfectionist heart, I was letting go of ever finding love, before or after motherhood.

And for a while, I lived this out. In the initial trying months of fertility tests and treatments, dating was the last thing on my mind. Regular appointments with the vaginal ultrasound technician can do that to a girl. My thoughts were directed at my ovaries and the vials in my doctor’s deep freeze.

As difficult as my trying to conceive phase has been so far—including unexpected surgery and other things—the rebirth I first felt when I committed to becoming an SMC has remained. Out from under that pressure to find a mate, I have made space for lots of other types of fulfillment in my life. I’ve learned to better appreciate my friends, and I enjoy them more than ever before. No longer does every sighting of a traditional-appearing family cause envy and anxiety. My focus and confidence at work has improved, even as I mentally rehearse methods of fitting a child and my career together. The last thing I expected at the (previously dreaded) age of 40 was to blossom, but that is exactly what I felt. More than 20 years of dating and not quite getting what I wanted and hoped for were over. I was going to give myself what I wanted. It was a new era. Opening Up.

In addition to all this, my feelings about men have become delightfully uncomplicated—for the first time in my adult life. Obsessing over which class or volunteer cause might have the highest male/female ratio was no longer occupying my thoughts. I’ve even found that I’ve been getting a lot of male attention—without really trying. Again, not what I expected at 40, and certainly not what I expected in the pursuit of SMChood.

Pregnancy and early motherhood won’t easily accommodate dating, and, no doubt the grounding experience of parenthood will temper the near-euphoria I often feel these days. But I am, for now, while in the trying to conceive stage, enjoying an unexpected gift. I no longer look across the dinner table at a man and size him up as a future partner. I simply size him up as a person that evening. He need not meet my dreams of “the one,” although if this happened by chance, great. If he and I stay in touch, I just let those encounters add to my impression of him. Unknowns regarding his (and my) commitment potential can remain unknown unless he and I decide otherwise. This feels more natural and human than any other moment in my dating life. I can be my authentic self, “rules” be damned. Some women friends say I am finally getting to “date the way a man dates.” Whether that’s true or not, I certainly feel like I am more fun to be with. I am finally one of those women who can treat a date as just a date.

Perhaps most important, and ironically, I feel much better equipped now to recognize who is or is not a potential “keeper” (perhaps a divorced dad I meet with my child on a playground, or maybe someone I’m dating now, who knows?) than I was before I was regularly in touch with a sperm bank. I feel truly romantic on the dates that I do have. Go figure.

What seemed at times to be one of the darkest moments of my life, letting go of a life plan I had held close since childhood, may yet yield more hope than I ever would have imagined. There are so many side benefits when you give yourself what you truly want.
Joanne H.

Budgeting for a Child

2010-07-10T07:47:00.004-04:00

(Thank you to Lisa Belkin, author of "The Motherlode" blog in the NY Times, for permission to use this post. Although the question posed is about raising a child in NYC, its wisdom is useful for people living anywhere.)

After the government last month released its annual tally of what it costs to raise a child to age 18 ($222,360), I received an e-mail message from a reader, A., who is looking for advice on how to find a more practical number. That lump sum is interesting as a conversation starter, she says, but it isn’t much help in trying to budget for an actual child.

She writes:

I’m a single woman trying to figure out what it will cost for me to bring up a child living in New York City (hopefully in 2011).

Many of the Web sites I’ve looked at seem conservative for Manhattan or just unrealistically low. Since I’m asking for some help from family members, I want to be realistic and fair in my breakdown.

I work in health care and know this will be critical to my planning my financial future along with my child’s future.

I’d very much appreciate your guidance and any reliable resources, so I can put together the projected costs of day care for the early years etc., clothes, diapers, special kids furniture and supplies, elementary-school expenses and so on.

As you can imagine, this will enable me to move toward my dream of starting a family.
Thank you. A.

I sent A.’s question to Jean Chatzky, the financial editor of the Today show, and the author of a number of books on personal finance (her latest, “Not Your Parents’ Money Book,” teaches finance to kids and will be out later this summer.)
Here’s her advice to A.:

My mother has often said to me, “If your father and I had waited until we could afford to have kids, you would never have been born.”

I think there’s something to that. Kids are expensive, generally more expensive than we think they will be. But I also think that the idea that there’s a universal answer to that question – much like how much does it cost to retire or how much does it cost to plan a wedding – even a universal answer city by city is one of the fallacies of modern life. The number, the amount you choose to spend, depends on how you choose to raise your child.

In Manhattan, for instance, will you choose public school or private school? Will you choose day care or a nanny? Will you choose taxis or buses and subways? Will you choose the park for an afternoon activity or a Broadway matinee?

There is no one number. But for general guidelines, I like the calculator at Babycenter.com. It puts your total number at $340,930, including public college; the cost of Year 1 is $16,097. To get there, I told the calculator that your child would be born in 2011, that you would live in a city or suburb in the Northeast, that you had an annual income of between $38,000 and $64,000, that you were a single parent and that you would choose a public college. If I was wrong, you can fiddle with the inputs, and the number goes up or down.

But what I like is that it seems to assume people will live as they often do – that a new baby doesn’t necessarily mean a move to a new apartment. Plenty of people share one-bedroom places with a child, at least for the first few years. A new baby doesn’t necessarily mean a new or different car – but rather the addition of a safe car seat. A new baby, particularly if you’re nursing, doesn’t even mean a higher grocery bill. You will spend money on diapers, yes, but you’ll have so little time to get to the movies or get a manicure, you’ll be surprised how you make it up. Really you’re talking about child care and a family, rather than, single health plan. In the later years, when the price of activities ratchet up, so does the cost of children. But by then, hopefully so has your salary. And by then, certainly, you’re so invested in your children that you cut back on things you want so that they can have those they need.

Think about what my mother said. Get yourself on a budget that has you living within your means and saving at least 5 to 10 percent of what you’re bringing in, and take the leap. Good luck.

Most Kids OK With Sperm Donor Origins.

2010-07-06T07:15:00.008-04:00

A 2004 study shows that most teenagers conceived by open-identity sperm donation programs are typically comfortable with their birth origins and plan to contact their biological fathers out of curiosity. The study contradicts popular belief. Most infertility programs that accept sperm donations maintain anonymity for fears that allowing donor identification would lead to problems for the children or for their biological fathers. The findings, published in the journal Human Reproduction, may help calm fears that stripping anonymity from sperm donations might spawn future problems.

There is increasing interest in open-identity donor programs, in which donors allow their identities to be given to adult offspring. Yet little research is available about the experiences of donor insemination families who have open-identity sperm donors. Also, no study has included adolescents who near the age at which donor-identity release can be done.

For the small study—the first to look at the mindset of kids born from open-identity sperm donation—kids from 29 households answered questions regarding their conception and interest in their sperm donor’s identity. The majority of participants were boys about 15 years old. “While it appeared that the children were very curious and eager to learn more about their donor, they were also concerned about respecting his privacy and not intruding on his life,” says researcher Joanna Scheib, Ph.D., of the University of California, Davis, and The Sperm Bank of California. “They are not looking for a father in their donor. If anything, they want something like an ‘older friend’ relationship,” she noted, in a news release.

Children from single-mother households had the most positive response to their birth origin. Most youths (76 percent) reported always knowing about their conception origins and were somewhat to very comfortable with it. Those raised by two parents, whether lesbian or heterosexual, appeared less interested in their sperm donor. Other study findings included:
• Most children were told about their birth origin by age 10.
• All but one of the participants reported neutral or positive thoughts about their being conceived by sperm donation.
• None of the children wanted money from their biological father.
• “What is he like?” was the top question kids had about their biological father. Approximately 25 percent of the participants asked whether their donor resembled him or her.
• More than 80 percent were at least moderately likely to request his identity and pursue contact. Of those who might contact the donor, most would do so to learn more about him, and many believed that it would help them learn about themselves.
• The number-one thing kids wanted from their donor was his photograph.
• Although most planned to contact their donor when legally allowed, they would not necessarily do so at age 18. Most preferred to contact the donor indirectly, through mail or email.

Open-identity sperm donations are optional in the United States, but a number of countries require or will soon require that all sperm donors release their identity. Sweden now has that requirement, and the United Kingdom. will follow suit in 2005. For that reason, the study’s researchers say, further study is warranted. They plan a larger study focused on the thoughts and feelings of adolescents and donors who meet each other.

SOURCES: Scheib, J. “Adolescents with open-identity sperm donors: reports from 12-17 year olds,” Human Reproduction. News release, European Society of Human Reproduction and Embryology. 2004

Unsure, Unsettled, Undecided

2010-06-30T06:00:00.006-04:00

From Unsure, Unsettled, Undecided:
The pendulum of my SMC decision-making has most recently swung toward NO WAY!! How could anyone ever do this? How could I ever do this? NO, NO, NO!!! I had been more positive about choosing to be an SMC, but I haven’t been able to shake this place I am now in. I could use some feedback about the different stages you have gone through as well as some of your thoughts and feelings about how one can do something seemingly so emotionally, physically, and financially difficult as having and raising a child alone. At the moment, only the model of two parents together works for me, no matter how I turn it around. I would like to get back to a more open place about it.

Dear Unsure:
First of all, you don’t have to do this and that’s okay. Second of all, why do you think it’s so hard? Your fellow SMCs aren’t superwomen. We’re bright, committed, and fairly independent, but we’re not the CEOs who run the world or Mother Teresas or anything like that. All kinds of women do it and do it well enough. Maybe you should hang out with some moms and their kids of various ages to get a sense of what it’s like.

Has something recently happened that may have caused your thinking to take a turn? Maybe a comment from your family or a sudden realization that something you had not previously thought of may be unmanageable? We’ve all woken in the middle of the night thinking “What will I do in the middle of winter when I have to shovel the snow and get the car warmed up in time to go to work? Who will watch the baby? How can I possibly manage this!”

Then, we joined SMC and started reading and participating in our local groups and on the email groups. We read the "Single Mothers by Choice" book and raided the library and checked out every book on marriage, single parenthood, breast pumping at work, etc. We started discussing our fears with friends who helped come up with solutions.

This is it is a process. Don’t dig into anything you’re not yet ready to handle. If you are informed as much as possible, you’ll be in the best place to make the decision that is right for you. In the meantime, when that wave of terror hits you, be aware, YOU ARE NOT ALONE! Many of us have been through it and come out the other side.

Realize that you are on the horns of a dilemma. To be brutally honest, if you are in your late-30s or early 40s, it is unlikely you will find a partner in time to conceive a biological child from a fertility/biological clock perspective. Are you willing to forgo a biological child? You could potentially achieve pregnancy using a donor egg and your partner’s sperm. Or are you willing to become a parent through adoption. Try to pinpoint what bothers you most about being an SMC and focus on that. Find a good therapist to help you think this through. You need to be at peace with whatever decision you make.

Perhaps you might take six months and think about bring an SMC every day, every minute, in every situation—sick, on a date, happy, crazy busy with work. Whatever is going on in your life, think and ask, “How would this be different as a mom? How would I handle this situation?” Some things may appear to be major challenges, but would they make you walk away from the idea forever?

One day a friend who the mom of six kids said something that has stuck with us. We were talking about the Thinking stage and all the doubts, convictions, worries, and so on. She said, “That’s great to be aware and go into it with your eyes open, but the thing that is missing for you as you consider all of these situations is that you are not a mother yet, so you don’t have access to that strange wealth of strength and patience—resources you only know about and tap into once you are a mom. And, of course, you can't possibly ever imagine the incredible love you will have for your child, and which will help you find those resources."

Being a parent can be MUCH harder than you ever prepare for, but we’re also often amazed at the things we can do, tolerate, and roll with—things we never knew we could do until we became a mom. Good luck to you in your decision-making.

A Shift in the Tears

2010-06-24T10:48:00.003-04:00

The green folder from SMC arrived in the mail and I was excited to receive it. I made dinner and sat down at my table to read the literature that was inside. I was flipping through the various pages in the packet, reading absolutely everything. Then I got to the last page and the words that jumped off the page at me completely caught me off guard. The last page of the welcome packet was entitled “Last Call for Motherhood” and right under it said “Calm your panic. You don’t have to decide today.” From somewhere in the depths of my soul came this horribly painful, primal and unrecognizable half gasp, half cry. I immediately covered my mouth with my hand almost in disbelief that the sound had come from inside of me and the tears started to flow.

I was shocked at how hard these words had apparently hit something inside of me so deeply that I, without thought and warning had cried out. Those words said to me yes, if I wanted to become a parent, I better get moving as I may not ever have a partner to start a family with. So indeed, the route of becoming a SMC may be my last call for motherhood. How ironic that just a few years ago ‘last call’ meant something very different than this last call.

I now find myself two months after receiving the welcome folder from SMC with tears in my eyes again. But the tears are definitely different than the ones that came just a short while ago when I saw ‘last call for motherhood’ for the first time. The tears are different because they are not tears of sadness, now the tears are hopeful tears as I read the responses to my laundry list of questions from other SMC’s on the adoption email list. They are tears of absolute joy and hopefulness that so many other women have pursued this journey. They’ve pursued adoption both domestically and internationally and they have these wonderfully rich stories of their journeys and of their children, each unique, none without a few bumps in the road, but that’s parenthood.

I believe that I have always known in my heart that I couldn’t imagine myself not being a mom, but now I’m starting to believe that I will be a mom, that I can make this happen if I want it to.

Yes there will be sacrifices and compromises and lots of changes in order to make this happen, but if I find I really do want to do this, I can. I realize that becoming a part of this community, taking the time to read as much as I can about this process means that this may in fact be my “last call for motherhood’ but the emphasis in my mind is no longer on the sudden sadness I felt relating to the words ‘last call’ but instead I can now relate to the joy and invitation of the ‘call to motherhood’ that I now believe is possible.

NMJ

From a Mom of a Little One though Anonymous Donor IVF:

2010-06-19T05:40:00.008-04:00

Hooray for the new SMC blog! It's time some of our stories were told BY us -- not by a trend-spotting reporter looking to stereotype late-in-life, child-hungry career women for the quick-hit of reader responses and page views. In the popular media, single mothering by choice is always about these crazy women who go looking for sperm donors like they're ordering pizza toppings -- Tall? Check. Good SAT scores? Check. Mushrooms? Check.

In reality, it's not about the sperm. It's not about the donor. It's not about the turkey baster or the petri dish. It's about the milky smell of a newborn, the little fingers that clutch mine when we cross the street, the worries about paying for college and whether the plastics and the scented baby shampoo will poison my toddler. It's about motherhood, not hatred of men. So that's why I'm leaping to add my voice to this blog. I want people to understand why so many of us are doing this. I've always known I was a mother, I just needed a little help to get there. And I thank God -- thank God thank God thank God -- that I'm here.

My journey started earlier than some. It was about 2004, maybe 2005, and I was watching The West Wing. CJ Craig, the smart, funny, aging press secretary talked about it possibly being "too late" for her, about how her wonderful career was wonderful, but perhaps all she would get. No husband, no kids. I was a Washington-based reporter, having a great career, very happy, 32 years old. And boy, did CJ's musings hit home. After the episode ended, I called my mom in Canada, knowing that she, too, had watched. And I said "So when do you think I should start trying to have kids?" And she said she thought I could start anytime. It was an acknowledgment of what we both knew: that I was unlikely to get married, that time was ticking, that I was meant to be a mom. I really was. I was that child, that teenager, that woman who monopolized other people's babies at family get-togethers and public events. I babysat -- not just as a teenager, but as an adult. I'd meet new colleagues, find out they had kids, and offer to babysit for them. I doted on my nephew and niece.

As I got older, and rarely dated, I got more and more terrified that I would never get to be a mother. And terror is the word. I could not imagine being 45 and single and childless, STILL doing the same things, decades of movies, dinners out, drinks with the girls, great career, world travel, books, long hikes on the Appalachian Trail on the weekend with my hiking club. And then 55, no kid in college, no grandchildren on the way, and then 65, alone, 75, with my six cats ... you get the idea. A wonderful life at 30 is a lonely life at 40, 50, 60, 70.

Of course it was not just a TV character who spurred my decision. When I was younger, in my 20s, I read a biography of a Canadian journalist who'd adopted two girls from China. She was single, and successful, and this was her family. And I stored away that story as a possible option for me. I knew then that I dated much less that others, I'd had no long-term relationships, I didn't seem to fit that mold. I'd found a few good guys, but never love. When other people were making semi-joking pledges with platonic friends that if neither of them had met their life partner by age 35, they'd marry each other, I was making a pledge to myself that if I hadn't met my children's father by 35, I'd do it myself.

My final decision to go ahead was made the Christmas I was 32. I'd gone home to my parents' house in Canada to spend the holidays (the perpetual child, returning home as if from college, because I didn't have my OWN family yet) and we'd had a big get-together for the extended family, all of the uncles and aunts and cousins. At some point in the evening, as my niece and nephew and all my cousins' kids tore around the house, I realized I was the only one there over the age of 11 who was NOT a parent. Everyone else, all of my aunts and uncles and cousins, had bred. Everyone in the room had children. My cousins were busy dishing out plates of food for their kids, and my mom and aunt were taking care of my grandmother -- generations helping each other in both directions. And I had no one to care for. The maiden aunt at 32. When I got back to Washington after the holiday, I wrote in my journal that this was the year I would start looking for my child.

I'd always sort of assumed I would become a mom through adoption. But as I looked into a few things, and read the Single Mothers by Choice book by Jane Mattes, my thinking started to change. As a Canadian living in America as a non-permanent resident alien, I could not bring a child home through international adoption. One adopting parent had to be a U.S. citizen. Going the adoption route would mean quitting or transferring with my job back to Canada, and starting over from there. Surprisingly enough, getting pregnant with the help of an anonymous donor seemed like it might be an easier route.

I made my appointment with my doctor -- a reproductive endocrinologist -- shortly thereafter. At my first visit, we sat in his office to discuss my path. He said at 32 there was no rush, a year this way or that way did not matter. We settled on a course of treatment to prepare. I went off the Pill. Testing began. I'd had endometriosis and there were various complications with my cycle. During the year that I waited for my cycle to regulate and the tests to be completed, I joined the international group called Single Mothers by Choice and started attending a few meetings of like-minded "thinkers" and "tryers" -- those on the road to becoming moms, but not yet there. I also lost weight and tried hard, one last time, to meet someone. I did speed-dating. I wore more make-up, dressed more stylishly, batted my eyes, tried not to intimidate men with my career and intelligence. The few matches I tried included men who still lived with their parents, who hated their jobs, were depressed, were infantile, were married and dating on the sly (ugh). I stayed single.

When I was 33, I did my first insemination with sperm from an anonymous donor that my best friend had helped me choose. All of my close girlfriends knew I was going down this path, and my parents knew as well. They were nervous, but supportive.

Once you start down the fertility treatment path, it sucks you in pretty quickly, and with each negative pregnancy test I got more and more worried. I worried it would never happen. I might not get to be a mom. I considered whether I could cope with that -- certainly my career would have to get even more important. Perhaps I could be a war correspondent? Something really exciting and time-consuming. A White House correspondent? There's a job for childless people! After six failed insemination attempts, my doctor started talking about IVF. It would really boost my chances, he said. And while when I first started down the path I thought I'd never do IVF (too radical, too desperate, too much), by then I was ready to make the leap. Easily. I was committed, and I wanted a child more than ever. IVF it was.

That was three years ago. Today I'm the mom to a 2-year-old girl named after my mom, who was with me for the labor and birth. I've moved back to Canada after nine years abroad, and I am happier than I could ever imagine. My evenings are full of visits to playgrounds and libraries, and on the weekend you'll find us at the zoo, or the wading pool, or in the backyard with all of our very large plastic toys. I am embarrassingly thrilled to be part of the club of moms. I am one of those who care too much about children and parenting and have too little interest in life outside the world of toddlers. I haven't seen a movie since my daughter was born. The only hikes I take are ones with my daughter in the backpack, eating her goldfish from a snack cup, no longer than an hour or there will be trouble. And I love it. I was done with movies and dining out and self-absorption (I don't mean that judgmentally of others, simply that I'd grown bored of a life that was all about me). I still read books, just don't ask me the titles or authors. My career is still important -- because it pays the bills. I do worry a bit that I won't ever advance up the career ladder like I once might have, but mostly I worry about how I don't care about it anymore. My dirty secret is motherhood really does make me a less committed employee, at least for now.

While becoming a single mom once seemed like Plan B -- after finding a man didn't work -- I now realize this was my path all along. I was meant to be a single mom. I'm type A, I like having all the control. I like making all the decisions. I like getting up when she cries at night. I like being the one to read all the bedtime books and give all the kisses. I drink up her unconditional love and admit I am amazed, touched, stunned, that anyone could love me as much as she loves me (okay, therapy required for that one). My married friends with babies admit to me they don't love their husbands as much as their babies, it doesn't even come close. Their early baby days are full of resentments and struggles to balance the marriage and the baby. Mine have not been. They've been blissfully about just me and her. All-consuming and fantastic.

And because I'm aware my daughter deserves more than the glare of her mother's constant love and attention, and because I would like nothing more than a house full of kids, more kisses, more cuddles, more shrieks and giggles and yes, even more tears and more worries and more work, I did IVF again last year and am expecting baby #2 in just a few weeks.

I have no regrets. I'm glad I pursued a great career and had lots of fun doing it. I'm glad I traveled and dated in my 20s and early 30s. And I'm glad I live in a time when becoming an SMC is not only possible, but relatively easy. I've been blessed by decent fertility, a stable income, and supportive family and friends. I am so grateful to be a single mother by choice.

The Train is Leaving the Station

2010-06-15T12:41:00.005-04:00

It's 6 am on a Sunday, and I get up to do the obligatory pregnancy test thinking to myself, the sooner I get the bad news, the sooner I can bury myself in my bed for the day and wallow in the fact that my 7th time trying to get pregnant failed. Failed just like I failed to get my promotion because of this stupid economy, failed just like every dating relationship I have been in. Failed, failed, failed.

It didn't work. I know it didn't. I don't feel any different; I have none of the symptoms that you read about on-line. Just Google "when did you have your first pregnancy symptoms" and all kinds of posts from annoying women come up saying things like, I knew 5 days after I ovulated. I had a twinge in my uterus, I had inexplicable burps, my breasts were incredibly sore" etc. etc. Here I was 14 days post ovulation and nothing. Nada!

So, I did the pee test. In months past, I would anxiously wait, barely breathing for 4 agonizing minutes. Then when I would get a negative, I would pacify myself by thinking that perhaps it was too early, I hadn't held my pee long enough for a proper reading, the test was defective, etc. etc. Next came the crying, ignoring the calls from my mother and sister because I couldn't bear to tell them that, yet again, nothing was going right in my life. Then I would pick myself up, call my reproductive endocrinologists office to hear the sympathetic "I'm sorry. I really thought this might be the month for you!"

I thought of how I would tell my biggest supporters that it hadn't worked again! For years, (15 to be exact), they hung in there with me while I persistently searched for Mr. Right. On the rare occasion that I met someone promising, they shared in my excitement, then when he turned out to be a dud, they encouraged me, "I know he is out there! You just haven't met him yet!" Multiply this by approximately 40 blind dates, too many match.com e-mail introductions to even count... 200? 500?, multiple fix-ups by well meaning friends, hopeful conversations with men in bars ending in an exchange of phone numbers only to wait and wait for the call that would never come.

Finally, I had enough. I was seriously done looking, waiting, hoping for Mr. Right. The limbo, the feeling of helplessness was more than I could bear. At 37.5 years of age, I decided to move forward with my dream to become a mom --- without a man. Now, a full year later, I sit awaiting another negative pregnancy test. Glancing over at the test, I see what appears to be a pink line. I pick it up for a closer look, "Holy Shit. That is a real line!" I go back to bed and tell myself I won't be excited until I get another positive. It's finally time to bust out the expensive "Pregnant" /"Not Pregnant" tests that I have been saving for such an occasion. I wait an hour and pee again. Oh, my god...PREGNANT!

I call my sister and wake her up, "We have a REAL line!" You see, there had been a couple of months where I stared so hard at the pee stick that I convinced myself there was a shadow of a line, where none existed. "It's REAL, a really REAL line!"

I am now 21 weeks pregnant with a girl who will be named "Emma" after my Granny who I have no doubt helped me from up above to make this miracle happen. I feel happier and more content in my life than I have ever felt. I finally am out of limbo and while it's terrifying, it's the most liberating feeling I have ever had. I carry my baby bump with pride and gladly tell anyone who will listen that I am doing this on my own.

The comments that I love the most are from those women who say, "Oh my god, I could NEVER do this without my husband!" I think to myself, I am sure you are right. You couldn't. But I can, I will and I am! This train is leaving the station and I am in the conductor's seat! Whoo, Whoo!

Erin, 39

My Circuitous Route to Adoption

2010-06-09T06:00:00.010-04:00

What is an SMC?

2010-06-06T08:38:00.004-04:00

An SMC is a single mother by choice. As I ventured deeper into this world I discovered there were thousands of women like me here in the US and around the world. We shared similar stories, similar hopes and dreams, and yet could also be very different in our backgrounds and values. I interact with SMCs every day, and in hearing their stories, realized how unremarkable my own journey is.

Single moms certainly are not unusual, but the basic difference is that most SMCs identify themselves quite strongly as women who have made a decision not to wait for marriage, and who have carefully considered the social, emotional, financial, and legal issues before proceeding to become mothers on their own.

Occasionally I toss out the terms SMC or choice mom in conversation, perhaps because I hope it becomes less of an unusual idea. Sometimes I'm surprised to find that others have an intimate connection with SMCs. My friend N, for example, a 30-ish grad student and mom to a 2 year old, had an aunt who had a child through donor insemination over twenty years ago. When I brought up my own thoughts about becoming an SMC, there was nothing surprising about it to her, which was nice.

In truth, my efforts to promote awareness of SMCs have been half-hearted. Not everyone approves, of course, often blaming the moms for being selfish in bringing a child into the world without a father, going against the natural order of things, or using a child to satisfy their own emotional needs. I figure the people who are not going to approve are not going to approve, and their judgment of me doesn't really matter. However, I would hesitate to bring this up with someone unless I felt they were going to treat it with respect, empathy, and compassion. I certainly did not need a lot of negative energy and judgmental thoughts (I can manage those on my own, thank you very much) while carefully thinking through my decision and plan of action.

As for the child not having a father, I believe that my child will have a father, even if he or she does not have one at birth. I am convinced that I will meet someone who will be my husband, life partner, lover, and friend. However, I am not so sure that this will happen during my child-bearing years. I've done my share of trying to meet someone, and men on online dating sites who want to form families don't always look at women over the age of 36. I expect that being an SMC takes the pressure off of dating and relationships, and that once I have a child, I can date without the pressure of finding someone in time to have a baby. SMCs who have gotten married after having their child say that their relationships are much better at this point in their life, when the pressure from the biological clock is off.

Perhaps all it takes is someone with J-Lo's celebrity status to make the masses more aware, and perhaps less disapproving, of choice motherhood. In the movie "The Back-up Plan", J-Lo plays a young woman who goes through artifical insemination to have a baby, only to then meet the man of her dreams. (Yes, I'm sure this happens to all SMCs -- not!)

"Good Lord"

2010-06-02T17:33:00.002-04:00

And Baby Makes 2

“Good lord”, said my therapist
when I told her I was trying to have another baby with my husband. “You haven’t even recovered from your other 2 baby losses. And all you do with your husband is fight. You don’t even seem to like him.”

“Good lord”, said my therapist
when I told her about all the infertility things I was now going through again, for a third time. The mood changing Clomid, every diet known to increase fertility, 2x a week acupuncture, awful tasting tea made by a Chinese only Chinese pharmacy in Chinatown, and lots of lots of awful, awful timed sex, timed with the very best in $299 ovulation predictor kits. “Are you sure you want to put yourself through this now? I think you should SLOW DOWN you’re not even 35 yet. And you and your husband are not getting along.”

“Good lord”, said my therapist
when I told her I told her I was preg yet again.
And, “good luck,” she added. “I think we should increase the amount of time we see each other to 3 days a week”.

“Good lord”, said my therapist
when I called her, hysterically crying. I had had yet another miscarriage.

“Good lord”, said my therapist
when I called her, hysterically crying that my husband was being a complete ass in couples therapy and was refusing to try to have another baby with me even though it was now 3 months later, we had agreed to try again, and here it was that exact time on the calendar we should be trying and I wanted that baby more than anything and he knew it.

“Maybe it’s a good idea he won’t?” she ventured. “I think you should concentrate on your marriage before tying again. A baby won’t fix everything and it might only make things worse. Imagine, if you have a baby with him, you’ll be stuck fighting for custody until the child is 18 at least if you can’t make things work. Imagine his mother, [my words: the chain smoking, mean, Tom-Brokaw loving, rambling, passive-aggressive, jealous, possessive, borderline alcoholic], watching your child”.

“Good lord”, said my therapist
When I told her I was going to get divorced and I was going to have a baby by myself. I had already chosen who/what/where and everything. “You’re moving too fast. You should SLOW DOWN!!”

“I’m so happy for you”, said my therapist
when I told her I had done all I said I would and that now I was pregnant.
What more was there for her to say?
She said yay throughout my pregnancy and yay when the baby was born. Yay to my taking care of her and yay for what I was doing.

“Good lord”, said my therapist
when I told her my father died suddenly and I was moving from NYC back to Miami Beach to be closer to my remaining family.
“Do you really think it’s a good idea for you to live with your mother?”
I’m not sure I said, but it’s the best option I have.

“Good lord”, said my therapist
when I told her how I was balancing a hectic job as an advertising writer with a 1 hour drive to work from where I live, living with my mother, getting annoyed at my mother, rushing home everyday to be with my daughter for as long as I could, caring for one noisy cat, freelancing, trying to get caught up on getting manuscripts to my agent, comparing myself to my seemingly perfect stay-at-home mom sister with 2 kids who married a doctor and my other work-at-home sister who just had a baby and 2 months later looks like she was never pregnant at all, and living in a city where the people I was meeting in the park couldn’t fathom the possibility of happiness and hope in the single mom thing. They think I’m either going to try and steal their husbands or the fate of being single/divorced with baby will rub off, like a disease.

“Good lord”, said my therapist
when I told her I was doing JDate.
“You really should STOP, REFLECT and WAIT until you adjust before embarking
on a relationship.”

“Good lord”, said my therapist
when I told her I now had a boyfriend I actually liked.
“SLOW DOWN!!! You don’t want to rush into things.”
I told her I wasn’t. I was enjoying myself.

“Good lord”, said my therapist
make sure you use birth control.

“Good lord,” I said.
“I can’t believe I’d get pregnant that easy, not after all I’d gone through to
get the one I have!”

And, here I am. Not pregnant at the writing of this!

Aimee Heller

I'm not alone!! Oh Great Goddess, I am NOT ALONE!

2010-05-29T10:46:00.003-04:00

Unless you are nearing or over 40, single and childless, you cannot imagine how I feel and that's not your fault - we are just living different experiences. I have not been able to express to my friends how it FEELS to be in my situation, but I am now connected with other women who TRULY understand what it's like to want a child so much that they will do it on her own - even when deep down they really want the whole family package. Seriously, if we were given more time biologically, we would wait for the right relationship, but we don't have that luxury.

It means so much to me to have access to people who are going through what I am going through and to share their experiences too. The more I read in emails and on message boards, the more convinced I am that I am making the right decision. I didn't "wait" to have children. I was not delayed by desire or drive to advance the corporate ladder or obtain some high-powered career. The opportunity to start a family with the right man just never came up. Now that I am older, men my age are either married, divorced and jaded or want younger women. Most have already raised their children and are done with that part of their lives. I don't have much interest in younger men - I guess it depends on the man, but mostly we don't have a lot in common.

As I have mentioned in previous posts - I STILL want the man to come into my life. I find this to be true of many of the women I have spoken with (well read about) so far. I knew I wasn't really alone; I knew I was not the first woman to make the choice to be a single mother. It's just so nice to read that my feelings, hopes and fears are shared by so many others. I learn a little from each woman's experience, even those that are heartbreaking. I hope that I, too, can share my story and help inspire other women as I go through my own journey. I am so grateful to the Single Mothers by Choice organization. Without them I would still feel lost. While I am still a little uneasy about my choice, I know that with the help of women who have been through it I will make it through too. Next up.... I have no idea....something will come to me I'm sure.

Tracie

I was Never a Thinker

2010-05-26T12:40:00.009-04:00

I was never a thinker. I always knew that someday, somehow, I would be a mother. I remember being a teenager and saying to myself: “Self, if I’m not married by the time I’m 35, I’ll just have a baby on my own.”

Today is my son’s 9th birthday. It still boggles my mind.

There are mornings when I wake up and it strikes me all anew—there’s a child in the room next door and that child is mine. I’M A MOTHER. I want to scream it to the world. The word single doesn’t really enter into the equation. Yes, I’m a single mother. Yes, I did this on my own, consciously choosing to have a child who wouldn’t have a tangible father in his life. And we’re a family, a perfect little unit that suits us just fine. His friends know he doesn’t have a dad and sometimes they ask questions—but most times they don’t.

I was never a thinker. This has always been my destiny. Motherhood was in my soul. Sure, it’s hard, but I look at my married friends with kids and you know what? Their life is hard too. Parenthood is hard, whether you’re doing it alone or in a traditional nuclear family or in a divorced family or in a same-sex family. But parenthood is also magical. It opens your eyes to world again. It let me rediscover the wonders of this planet.

I knew nothing about dinosaurs before I had Marshall. Now? I can name them all. Who knew Star Wars and Legos could be so all-encompassing? I remember walking him to preschool when he was 3. The walk for me alone took 5 minutes. I left us 20 minutes because there were cracks in the sidewalk we had to follow; there were water access pipes that had caps that NEEDED to be spun EVERY SINGLE MORNING; there were stories to be told and songs to be sung along the way.

Today is my son’s 9th birthday. He was born two days after my 40th birthday—the absolute best birthday present I ever got. I was never a thinker. I was always a mother. It took a few years of trying and the stars to be aligned in just the right pattern for that vision to become a reality but I am a mother to an amazing boy. And together we forge a path and embark on an incredible journey. Sure, we make mistakes long the way but we also light new ways of thinking and doing that fill my heart and make my soul sing.

I was never a thinker. I was always a mother. Today, my son is 9, and I feel so blessed to have him in my life.

Nancy Nisselbaum

"If I Could Turn Back Time..."

2010-05-23T10:51:00.015-04:00

40 sucks for me at this time. I was looking forward to it; now I feel like a fool for being excited. I am sad that I have not done all I wanted to at this point. I am trying not to focus on the negative but right now I am not feeling very positive.

I joined Single Mothers by Choice (SMC) and now I am getting emails from the listserv. I purposely signed up for this because I wanted to learn from women who are in similar situations to mine and who have been through the journey I am undertaking. They have several awesome groups you can join including "Thinkers", "Community", "Trying to Conceive", "Pregnant" (or a similar title) and groups for women with children in different age groups. I guess I should have waited to join the Trying to Conceive (TTC) list though. I am hearing about women who have been through more procedures than I will ever be able to afford without successful pregnancies. I am learning that this may be more complicated than I initially thought. For years people have told me, "you have time". What a lie! We don't have time. Time, at some point, is no longer on our side when it comes to fertility. I am reading stories of single women who start TTC in their early 30s. I should have started back then...I was just waiting for "the right man" and "the right time". Gods I want to go back and do this all again!

I had a major freak out/meltdown on Sunday night. I was a complete and utter mess. I SOBBED for a hour or more - venting on FB about how terrible I felt. God/dess bless my friends and one of the women from SMC for helping me through it.

I know I am "pre-worrying" about something that I don't even know will be a problem for me, but I am SCARED!!! I am scared that I "waited" too long. I am scared that I won't get pregnant. I am scared I won't be able to carry to term. I am scared of all possible complications. I am scared I will make the wrong choice in donor (I am SO going to have to order photos!). I am scared I won't be able to afford additional procedures if I need them. I am scared that I will be single for the rest of my life.

I am trying to pull myself together and be proactive. Today I am calling to make an appointment with my primary doctor to see about a referral to a reproductive endocrinologist (if I even need a a referral), I am going to call my insurance to find what benefits (if any) I have in terms of fertility treatments/procedures, and do more research on cryobanks. I have GOT to get over being scared!

Tracie, 40, Thinker

Choices

2010-05-18T20:49:00.021-04:00

I recently got together with some folks, including an SMC who is a full-time mom and her delightful 14 month old son. She was clearly relishing being his mom, and he was equally clearly adoring her. When we got to chatting a bit, she confided to me that she was feeling a little bit guilty about how much she was enjoying being a mother. After all, she said, didn't the women of earlier generations go through a lot in order for women to have the right to be liberated from being "just mothers"? Was it okay for her to WANT to spend her time being a mom? And to enjoy it so much?

Having been one of those women whose consciousness was raised in the tumultuous sixties, I pondered her question for a moment, and then remembered --- it was all about CHOICE. We believed that women should have the CHOICE to work and not to be a mom, or to work and be a mom -- or to do whatever we wanted -- and most importantly, we wanted to have the opportunity to achieve as much as any man.

Sure, some of the women in the movement felt we should reject motherhood and be more ambitious, that we should aim for loftier goals. But many of us also knew that there are infinite delights in being a mother, and we didn't want to miss out on them. I was one of those women. I worried, as the years went by and I didn't find someone I loved, that perhaps I would never be a mom. And then, when I became a mother in 1980, I remember thinking how fortunate I was to have that opportunity. I cherished every single minute of that experience, even the rough ones, especially during the early years of my son's life when I almost couldn't believe that I was really a mother.

I will never forgot how close I came to being childless. But thanks in great part to the women's movement, I had the CHOICE to be a mother as a single woman, a choice that the generation of women before mine did not have. And for that, I will be eternally grateful to the women who made it possible for us to have choices about what we do with our lives, even if what we want to do is "just" be a mother.

Jane Mattes, LCSW
Founder and Director, SMC

Thinking

2010-05-15T07:31:00.026-04:00

A New Beginning??

Here's what I want. I want a baby.

I am 39 years old. I am single. I have never been in a long term relationship. I am facing the reality that it is just not going to happen for me in time to have a baby.

I have always wanted kids. When I was a kid I wanted to be a mom. I used to love to babysit. I don't so much love babies, per se, as kids. I am great with children. I have 3 little brothers who I have essentially helped raise. They are now 16, 13 and 8. I am lucky to have them in my life. And now I want my own.

I am now facing the reality of having a baby on my own. By myself.

I am terrified. I have been thinking about this for years but it is starting to form itself into a reality. I have been thinking a lot about what it means to raise a child who has no father. This is tearing me up. I am really close with my dad and couldn't imagine not having a dad. This has been the main hindrance in making my decision. There is so much to think about and my head is swirling and I feel really good and relieved and really scared all at the same time. There is much to write about. I feel instinctively that this is the beginning of a whole new journey.

More to come.
Nicole E.

Welcome to Our Blog!

2010-04-25T17:17:00.020-04:00

I am pleased to announce the start of a blog for Single Mothers by Choice (SMC). Our organization began in 1981, soon after I gave birth to my son, Eric. I wanted support from other women like me (37, educated, single) and by the miracle of networking and word of mouth, several of us found one another and began meeting in my NYC living room. We ranged from 30 to 40 years of age and were in varying stages of the process (thinking, trying to conceive, pregnant, adopting). We found that although we were from differing backgrounds and points of view, we all shared an important bond -- we wanted to share our experiences as new single moms and provide support and information to women who are thinking about or working on becoming single mothers. We became more organized as we grew in numbers and chapters started growing up in other large cities across the US. We felt strongly that there was a need for a support network for women who were at the beginning of thinking about whether or not this choice would be right for them, as well as for those who had already made the choice to become a mother, and we have been providing that network since our inception.

Fast forward 29 years........ 12,000 women have passed through our doors. About 50% of our members were "thinkers", as we call those considering this decision. A large percentage have decided to become single mothers by choice, and a reasonable percentage (about 30%) have decided not to. What was back then a new concept (mature single women CHOOSING to become single mothers? Most people didn't know anyone like us) is now a well-established trend in our society. Pretty much everyone knows someone who has done this, and we're better-understood. We're not radical feminists, we're not anti-men, we're just women who want to make an active decision about having or adopting a baby before it's too late.

Watch this spot for posts from our members about their experiences on their journeys and visit our web site, www.singlemothersbychoice.org for more information about our services!

Jane Mattes, LCSW
Founder and Director, SMC