Surprisingly Thinking my Family is Complete

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

Birth Plan B

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

Losing the First Tooth

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

A Public Service Announcement

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.

My Journey to Motherhood via Adoption

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

My Only Regret is that I Waited so Long

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

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

Budgeting for a Child

(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.

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.

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!)

"Good Lord"

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 was Never a Thinker

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

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.