Who's my Daddy?

As Finn was getting ready for bed tonight he looked at me and said, "Who's my Daddy?" I was not expecting this conversation just yet.  And definitely not today, on Father's Day of all days. But it is, of course, a conversation I've been thinking about for years.  So I was ready with my answer. "You don't have a daddy, Finn." 

I wasn't prepared for his answer.  "But we can get one! We can go to the store and buy one."

"Buy one?  Do you know what a daddy is, Finn?"

"Uh-huh." He nodded yes. "And I want to go buy one."

"What would your Daddy look like?"

"He would be hard."

"Hard?"

"Yeah, like one of my toys."

"Would he move or talk?"

"Yes, he would."

"What would he say?"

Finn thought about this for a long moment.  "I don't think I want a daddy.  Let's go buy something else."

Kind of an anti-climatic ending to our first really daddy conversation.  But it does reinforce what I've read over and over again - answer difficult questions from kids simply and directly.  I was prepared for a long conversation about not having a daddy, but it's pretty obvious now that he doesn't really understand what a daddy is.

And I feel a little better about how I'll be able to handle these questions in the future.  When he first asked me the question I felt my heart squeeze just a little, but then I was able to stay calm and relaxed and somehow managed to keep my own emotions out of the mix.  Let's hope I can remain as calm the next time he asks.  I imagine the questions are going to get a little tougher in the future.

Happy Finn at the airport overlook this weekend

Psych Consult

I had my psych consult today - a required part of the donor egg (DE) process by my new clinic.  I know some clinics require anyone using donor sperm (DS) to have a psych consult first, but my clinic didn't, so this was a new experience for me.

The appointment got off to an interesting start. The doctor's receptionist came to get me, and brought me back to a conference room.  "This test is going to take about an hour and a half to two hours to take..."  Me: "Test, I thought I was meeting with the doctor?" Her: "No, this is where you take the personality test.  If today doesn't work, you can come back and do it tomorrow." Me: "Are you sure?  I really thought I was meeting with the doctor today." Her: "Maybe I have the wrong patient...aren't you here to be evaluated to be a donor?"

At 41, it's awfully flattering that she thought I was a potential donor, instead of a recipient! If only my eggs looked as young as I apparently do.

I ended up talking with Dr. G for about an hour.  She asked me some questions about myself, and about how I'm handling being a single mom, how I handle stress, what sort of support I have, if I have a will...nice, easy conversation.  Then she asked me about what I'm planning on telling my children, which of course is full disclosure.  She had some amazingly great suggestions for telling - in a way that I had never before considered.  I've told Finn his story several times lately, just to get a feel for it. He has no interest, of course, but since it's something I want him to always know, I thought this was a good idea.

She suggested being even more low key about it - if I don't make a big deal out of it, he won't, either.  (She gave her suggestions based on telling about donor eggs, but it can work with donor sperm, too. ) Starting at around age 3, she suggested mentioning how, "When a mommy wants to have a baby, she needs to make sure she has plenty of eggs." And then later, as the child gets older, "When mommy decided to have another baby, she realized she was out of eggs.  But she wasn't worried, she went to see a doctor who had plenty of eggs that other people had donated."  She then made a suggestion that had never before crossed my mind: to avoid humanizing the donors as much as possible.  Use the term donor (which I already do) and to not refer to the donor with anything like, "a really nice person" - which is exactly what I'd been wanting to do.  Her reasoning makes sense - these people won't play any role in my children's life except for donating some cells.  If they only think of them as just "donors" at an early age, they'll be less likely to want to know more about them, to want to have a relationship with them later, or to feel as though something is missing because they don't know their donors.  Later, when my kids are older, she said it's ok to acknowledge that they were likely very nice people, but to make it clear that they were also probably getting paid to donate, as well.

She further recommended that I make sure they understand what donating means, by including them in donations of clothes and household goods to Goodwill (donating objects that we don't need to an agency that distributes them to those who do need them), or to blood donation.  All of these make perfect sense to me, and feel much more natural than what I had been trying to do.  The session was worth it, just for that.

I am now almost completely done with my requirements for RBA.  I have to get my consents signed and notarized, and a couple more labs from my OB/Gyn forwarded to them, and then I'll be ready to choose a donor.  It's just 3 weeks since I decided to go this route, I can't believe it's all moved so fast!

Holiday Party

My parents live in a great neighborhood - they're friends with a lot of their neighbors, and have things like poker nights and landscaping awards and cookie exchanges on a regular basis.  Tonight one of the neighbors had an open house, and since so many of them had been concerned about Finn when he was sick, we went so my parents could show him off.

Poor Finn was overwhelmed by the number of people there and by the noise.  We got there early, so it wasn't too bad to start, but by the time we'd been there an hour he was tired and overstimulated.  I'm pretty sure my normally happy baby didn't smile the entire time we were there.  It was nice to meet people I've heard my parents talk about, and everyone was so nice to Finn - I'm glad we went even if it was a little bit much for my boy.  I enjoyed it even more, knowing my parents were prepared to only stay a short while, and were ready to leave once it was clear that Finn had just about reached his limit.

At one point, the husband of one of my mom's poker buddies was talking to me and commented on what a big boy Finn is.  "How tall is his daddy?" he asked me.  My response?  "Oh, I have no idea." He gave me a strange look, so I went on to explain, "I really don't remember."  And with that, the conversation was over and he quickly found someone else to talk to.

Honestly, I can't blame him.  You'd think I'd be better at this by now.  Or, at the very least, I'd pull up my donor's profile and refresh my memory on some of his vital stats.

Father's Day

My son doesn't have a dad.  He doesn't even have a father or a biological father.  He has a donor.  To me, that's an important distinction.  The words dad or father imply that an emotional and physical connection existed at some point, and even the term "biological father" implies a physical connection related to conception.  Because of those implications, if I were to say that my son has a dad or a biological father, then I feel like I'm also saying that there is a man who is missing from Finn's life.  And of course, there isn't.  His donor is a law student who donated some specimens without ever knowing what families he would be helping.  Sometimes I wonder if his donor ever thinks about the children that might have come from his donations.  I wonder if he wishes he could see pictures of them, or meet them, or even know about their existence.  Or if, perhaps, he never thinks about them at all.    

I feel such overwhelming gratitude for his donor, and I hope I can raise Finn to feel the same way.  I hope he never feels a sense of loss or emptiness when he thinks of his donor.  He may always have some questions, but I hope that by talking openly about his donor early on, those questions will be limited to things like, "I wonder if I got my pudgy big toes from my donor."

For Finn, Father's Day is going to be a day to celebrate his PopPop, and perhaps some of the other men in his life, like his Uncle Brian and Uncle Clark.  For me, I'll also take a moment every Father's Day to say a prayer of thankfulness for the man who is Finn's donor.  He's not his dad, he's not his father, but without him, I wouldn't have my boy.

Unexpected Words of Wisdom

I’m pretty sure every woman who has ever considered being a mom has, at least once, wondered if she’d be good at it, if she’d be able to handle the demands of caring for a child. And I know that those of us who chose the single mom route think about this even more, since we’re considering becoming the one person responsible for another human’s upbringing. I still find myself wondering if I can do it, if I can be the mom Chiquitito deserves, and sometimes find myself overwhelmed (and more than a little terrified) at the thought of what lies ahead of me. I also remember thinking, for a fleeting moment after my miscarriage, that maybe this was a sign that I shouldn’t be a mom. I know I’m not the only one who has had similar thoughts after a loss or repeated failed cycles, and I know that sort of thinking is pure nonsense, but it sure can seem real when you’re in the midst of feeling that way.

Most days I feel pretty confident I’ll be a good mom. I know I’ll make mistakes. I’ll have breakdowns and probably yell at my boy when I shouldn’t. But I know that he’ll always know he’s loved. And I know that most days my attempts at being the best mom possible will be (mostly) successful. That confidence doesn’t keep the bad thoughts completely away though, and I’ve had those thoughts more than usual the past few days.

Sometimes the universe knows just when a person needs a little extra support, and can find very unexpected ways to deliver that message. Which leasds me to a conversation I had with one of my patients yesterday.

Mr. C has been my patient for about 5 years – he’s 76 and very opinionated and set in his ways. In the past we’ve spent very long office visits negotiating what he was and was not willing to do to improve his blood sugars, and, after I managed to sweet talk him into a few compromises, he has actually done really well. Anyway, as I said, he’s very opinionated, and so I was a little concerned about what he would say about my pregnancy. Our conversation was pretty typical for what I get these days, a surprised “congratulations” followed by a “I didn’t even know you were married!”  I've finally gotten pretty good as responding with a cheery, “Oh, I’m not married, I made this baby all on my own!”

I expected Mr. C would either not know what I was talking about, or act very uncomfortable and change the subject. Instead, his face broke into a huge grin as he said, “Well, good for you! I think that’s wonderful! And you know, I think it’s women like you who make the best mothers. After all I imagine you’ve gone through to get pregnant, you know just how precious this life is, and you know you really want this baby. Yes, it’s women who pursue having a child like you have who know the true value of a being a parent and make the best moms.”

I was so overwhelmed by his words – they were exactly what I needed to hear, right when I needed to hear them. And I thought of those of you out there also on your paths to motherhood, and thought that maybe a few of you might need to hear them, too.

Remembering

Tomorrow, I would have been 12 weeks pregnant. It was the day I’d planned to announce my pregnancy on Facebook – to all those out there who had no idea I was even trying to conceive in the first place. And wouldn’t you know it, an ex-boyfriend of mine posted today that he was taking his wife to the hospital, because she’s being induced tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he’s an EX-boyfriend, and I really wouldn’t want to be having a child with him myself right now, or ever. But even then, it was not fun to read. And so I hid him, because I really don’t want to hear all about it.

My pregnancy was a short one. I never felt her move. I don’t even know if the baby was a she, but I felt like she was. I never knew her. But I still have good pregnancy memories. And I’ve been trying to focus on those today, because while I feel like they should make me sad, they’re the only thing keeping me happy right now.

I loved having people rub my belly, even though there wasn't anything to rub yet. A patient (who I told in a moment of weakness, rationalizing that her follow-up appointment was a year from now) rubbed my tummy as she walked out of the room, “Take care of our baby.” My nurse, when I was in the midst of a particularly gassy day, couldn’t help but rub my tummy a few weeks ago. I didn’t have a baby bump – a gassy and chubby bump, yes - but no baby bump. But even then I still had people rubbing my belly. For now, I’m going to focus on imagining having a true baby bump sometime in the not-so-distant future, and imagine random strangers at Target rubbing my tummy without even asking. And when that happens, I’m going to remind myself that I once longed for that day, and promise I won’t let myself be irritated by the fact that some one I don’t know just touched my stomach. Even if they do feel my stomach fat instead of my baby bump.

I told my mom I was pregnant during dinner with my sister and her family, the day after my positive pregnancy test. My mom knew I’d gotten a BFN on 12DPIUI, and I think she was already focusing on my next cycle. So when I mentioned that we might have to celebrate this Christmas at my house, since there was a good chance I’d have a new baby, she smiled, nodded, and went back to eating. Luckily, my 3 year old nephew saved the day as his eyes went big and round and he said in awe, “Shannon, do you have a baby?” (Only when you’re three is it possible to believe that someone you see on an almost weekly basis could have a baby without you knowing.)

I looked at my mom as I answered him, “Yes, I do. I have a baby in my tummy, right now.” There’s nothing like the joy of sharing your pregnancy with others; I’m so glad I took a chance and told people with this pregnancy, because I’m not sure I’ll be able to experience that same kind of pure, innocent joy with the next one.

My mom was completely caught off guard, and even with me spelling it out, it took her a minute to process what I’d just said. My nephew wasn’t done with the questions, though. He interrupted whatever my mom was saying, “Shannon! Shannon! Shannon! Does your baby have a daddy?”

Silence reigned as we all pondered the question. Luckily, it was something I had expected at some point, and I did have an answer ready, once I’d gotten over the surprise of being asked so soon. “No, my baby just has a mommy.” As I’d hoped, this simple explanation satisfied him; he nodded his head and happily went back to eating, leaving the adults to celebrate my pregnancy.

My nephew, who has a new baby brother of his own, has been very interested in my pregnancy, so now that I’ve had a miscarriage, we’ve (we meaning my sister) had to explain that to him, too. Again, things are so straightforward when you’re 3 years old. My sister explained to him that the doctor had decided that it just wasn’t the right time for me to have a baby, and so the baby went away for a while, but will be back. He seems to accept the explanation, and knows I’m sad, but he’s also already making plans for when my baby does come.