Modern Family

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?

Alone -- But Not Alone

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...

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

To Be or Not to Be an SMC

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

The Adoption "Gestational Period"?

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.....

Do I or Don't I???

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

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

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

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

Goodnight Moon

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

Did You Feel That?

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

Working my Way Toward Becoming an SMC

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

Unsure, Unsettled, Undecided

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.

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

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

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

What is an SMC?

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!)

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

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

"If I Could Turn Back Time..."

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

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

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.