Friday, June 19, 2015

Pride and Consequentialism

I've started blogging elsewhere. If you want to follow me there, please email me at the following email and I'll send you the link. In the mean time, I want to keep this blog open and still write about parenting after IF.


I sometimes feel like I'm the worst mother. I lose my patience. I yell. I have to sub-vocally repeat "Do NOT hit her. Do NOT hit her." I'm really not proud of myself at those times. Parenting a toddler should be an olympic sport on the basis of its stamina requirements alone. Parenting more than one toddler at a time makes me want to hit my head against a brick wall. Repeatedly.

But today, I'd rather talk about some of the joy I experience in raising Gummy Girl. I've had some big swells of pride in my daughter and in myself as a mom lately.

First, I feel proud to be a mother. And this may be difficult to read if you are deep in the trenches of infertility, and if so, I'm sorry you are hurting. But I need to write this: I am proud to be a mother. I walk around town with her and I smile to myself. I feel the importance of my role within my bones, and I embrace this role wholeheartedly. At long last, I am a mom. If you haven't yet, I hope you too get to experience these deep, fulfilling emotions soon.

Moreover, I am proud to be HER mom. Of course, I anticipated that any child of mine, and one I had worked so diligently to create, would be someone I would love madly. And guess what: I do! Despite her toddler tyranny (scratching me, throwing food at me, pulling my hair), I think I love her more each day.

I also realize that I am proud of her story, of our story. It's strange to know she may never feel the same, that she may resent me for choosing an anonymous donor and therefor losing the connection to her biological ancestry. In my imagination, I have conversations with an adolescent Gummy about her desperate need to know her donor and not being able to provide her with a name and phone number. I think about how empty a feeling that might be to be cut off from one's biological lineage. But I know the empty feelings I felt when we decided to go to SG for anonymous egg donation. We were lost. We both felt like incomplete human beings in our repeated failures to become parents. We needed to make this happen and here was a method with a high chance of success.

I tend to resolve this imaginary conversation with the undeniable fact of her extraordinary existence: without anonymous egg donation she would not be here. Against all odds, she is here, filled with life. She was given life through unique circumstances. It took her mother and her father, two fertility clinics, two egg donors, a pile of money that both sets of grandparents helped accumulate, and a mountain of hope and love. I am proud of that, people. I deeply am proud of our story, of the persistence it took to bring her into the world. But will she accept this consequentialism, where the end justified the means? Will she ever be filled with reproach for me and the actions I took in bringing her to life?

I don't know, but the end does justify the means as far as Gummy goes. I know this with an unshakable certainty. I love her more than anything or anyone. I am her proud mama.

Hum…you mean someone gave you an egg so
you could make me?