Choice Chat With Nicola: Motherhood Is Not Conditional
There are profound joys of Choice Motherhood, but it is important to remember that no one can pick their child's temperament, skills and attitude. When you say yes to parenthood, you say yes to everything, as this story from a single mom in the United Kingdom reminds us.
Although I strongly believe in the autonomy of women to make the choices that are right for them, I have been distressed to hear single women say, "I couldn't cope on my own with a child who has a disability." Some may be speaking from experience and a real sense of themselves, but I want to ask: Will you be able to cope with a child who barely sleeps for the first two years? Will you be able to cope with a child with cerebral palsy or autism or one of the other disabilities for which there is no prenatal testing and which may not be diagnosed for months or even years? Will you be able to cope with a child who is of a temperament you don't warm to (very timid, very loud, very sporty, very bookish, whatever)?
I believe that becoming a mother requires a degree of commitment to a child that is in no way provisional. I also know from experience that the fundamentals of parenting (offering love, security, boundaries, guidance, planning, teaching etc.) are the same for any child, of whatever ability. It is only the detail that is different.
I am the Choice Mom to two special needs children. My daughter, age 8, has Down Syndrome. I didn't do any of the testing you can do when you're pregnant, partly because she was a much-wanted baby, conceived by donor insemination, and I knew I would never terminate.
A few months after my daughter's birth, my father asked me if I would want her to take a magic drug to get rid of the Down syndrome, if the drug were to ever exist. We looked at each other and were both surprised to find ourselves saying, "No!" Her DS is part of who she is. She is a wonderful, funny, determined, warm little girl who loves to dance and ride and swim, argues with (and loves) her brother, is cheeky, moody, interested in everything, loves to dress up. Last night she went to a party and scorned my advice that the other girls would be wearing jeans, insisting on a pink party dress and a sequined purse. I was right, but she was not fazed. When I asked her what the others thought about what she was wearing, she said, "They loved it," firmly, and that was the end of that. Temperamentally, she's a lot like me! I can't imagine her being someone else, which is what she would be if she didn't have DS.
I look at my daughter's beautiful face and it hurts to know that one day she will realize that many people feel so strongly about who she is that they kill babies because they are like her. That sounds brutal, but I can't imagine how that will make her feel.
As someone who has valued intellectual activity above everything else, the irony of having a child with learning difficulties is not lost on me. If I was a religious person, I would be tempted to think it was a special test/blessing. I'm not, so I think that we've both been lucky. My daughter has a mom who really loves her and is interested in knowing how best to help her, and I have a daughter I adore and whose achievements make me just as proud as if she was top of her class.
When I tried to get pregnant a second time, the genetic counselor urged testing. I realized that for me it felt wrong to have some kind of checklist-this child would be acceptable, this would not. If I was going to have another child, I would need to do so feeling that I would love and care for him/her no matter what. After two miscarriages, when I was pushing 41, I decided, with some difficulty, that it was time to stop. A few years later I adopted my son-who was diagnosed with Noonan syndrome-when he was three. His features include learning and behavioral difficulties, heart problems, an extroverted charming personality, short stature, and curly hair.
My son is the bravest little boy I know. At three, he said goodbye to everyone he'd ever known (including the birth parents and brothers he was seeing weekly) and crossed the country to a new life. For months, he never cried. He tested me out a lot, wrecked the house, attacked his new sister, did unspeakable things-some of which were just that he's a BOY. It took my daughter and I a few months to recover from the maelstrom of male energy that hurtled into our little enclave.
Adoption of a toddler is hard at the beginning partly because you don't love them but you have to pretend to. With an older child you could talk about it, but with a three-year-old you just have to pretend and wait for the feelings to grow. What is heartbreaking is that the child is doing just the same. It is wonderful when you can both relax because it has become real.
I would a million times rather be a mother to a child with special needs than not be a mother at all. If I had not become mother to my daughter, I'm sure I would not have gone on to adopt. I simply wouldn't have had the confidence to feel that I could persuade someone else that I could raise a child.
I love being a mom, and really enjoy my children. I feel as though I'm in a club that I never particularly wanted to join, but now I'm here it feels rather exclusive and special. I'm pretty sure my daughter feels the same way about having DS-that it's the other people (including me) who are outsiders, not her and her friends with DS. And that's the other thing you never know about unless it happens to you-the huge, warm community of parents, friends, groups, teachers, etc. of people with disabilities.
I would say that my two are in no way more difficult to raise than, say, a ferociously bright child who was demanding. And certainly I would find it harder to parent a child who had difficulty with affection.
It isn't about what difficulties they have, it's about how they manage them. And if I'm going to get all philosophical, I guess I think that's what all of us are doing in life - trying to do the best with what we've got and what happens to us. I do think I've been lucky.
The one thing you can say for certain about becoming a mom is that nothing is certain. You don't know how you'll feel, how you'll react, what your child will be like, what life will be like a year, ten years, twenty years down the line. It's a big leap in the dark for anyone and that may feel more frightening when you're taking it on your own. But of course, you're not on your own, and whatever happens, as a woman with the courage to take this step, you'll be able to find the resources you need, even if the outcome is very far from what you expected.
