#TBT: Thursday Rewind: "On Being a Better Parent (Person)"

When I had my child, I did so quite deliberately. I had discovered, at age 37, that I had an estimated window of six months in which to conceive because, my fertility doctor informed me, I had prematurely aging ovaries.

The image of my ovaries, withered and leaning on canes, came to me immediately. I reached for the tissues on his desk. I left the office and walked toward the promising green of Central Park, just a block away. I was crying.

I did a lot of crying that year. You see, I’d always planned on having a child (in fact, I’d hoped for two), but this goal continued to evade me. I had not been successful in finding, as a cis-het woman, a man with whom I wished to have a child. Or, if I’m being honest, any men I found who seemed suitable were not interested in helping me achieve this goal. How was I supposed to try to conceive a child if I didn’t even have a boyfriend?

My fertility doctor recommended I look into using a sperm donor. I was still trying to get used to the idea when my insurance approved three rounds of IVF and the admins at the fertility clinic were calling to get me on the books.

I went to hell and back during the decision-making process, even suffering vertigo when faced with the various scenarios I conjured for myself. How could I possibly raise a child on my own? I couldn’t stand to wake up before 11. I smoked. Hadn’t I just bounced a check the week before? My ideal lifestyle was staying up drinking whiskey and writing poems until 3 a.m.

But I got serious, chose my sperm donor and began the IVF process. Which, as many readers will know, is harrowing. And it turned out, my fertility doctor has not misled me: the first round produced only six embryos, none of which took. The second retrieval turned up a mere three eggs, which became three embryos, one of which was JJ, my first and only child, who will turn 15 soon after the new year. 

I loved being pregnant, mostly because it gave me the excuse to eat as much ice cream as I wanted, which was a lot. I kept to my usual schedule, sans the drinking and smoking. Not a whole lot about my life changed. The delusion I was so thoroughly entrenched in — that my life would continue to be the same with a child in it — was illustrated by the fact I brought an application to a writer’s residency to the hospital when I was in labor, figuring I could work on it while waiting for the baby to be born. 

I was a person who existed solely for myself. But then this baby turned up and I had to care for it. And it was hard.

The Baby had button-bright eyes. They had been born seven weeks early and came home after a month in the NICU weighing only five pounds. They seemed like a very nice person. But I was terrified. I was immediately convinced, as I explained to the Baby, that it would be a much better idea for someone else to take care of them. 

And then I grew up. It didn’t happen right away. Like any first-time parent, it took some getting used to. I had to abandon my habit of intense self-absorption. A lot of laundry needed to be done.  

It’s the New Year, so I’m thinking about who I want to be. I have realized that growing up isn’t something that is ever done. You’ve got to grow up a lot and all the time if you want to do it right. What I want to be when I grow up is a better parent. I have discovered, over the past 15 years, that being a better parent rather wonderfully helps me be a better person. So here are some New Year’s tips for getting that done. 

1. Take an objective inventory of your identity — knowing who you are will help you better understand how your child will be impacted by your social position.

2. Understand that your child will not be an extension nor a replica of yourself. They will also be a product of their culture, and their passions and beliefs may very well mystify you.

3. It’s easy to think you know more than your child, but your child’s perceptions are not only valid — they will likely have far more astute observations about culture and many other things than you do. Respect this. Listen. Prepare to have your perceptions challenged and your mind blown.

4. Lastly, my most radical suggestion: enjoy your relationship with your child. This isn’t always easy to do. Let’s be frank: teenagers can be total assholes. Break out of the routine and take a trip with your kid, or just go to the beach or the woods and take a walk. Rather than focusing on how to fix your kid or solve their problems, stay in the moment. You had a kid! You’ve gotten them this far. That is a major accomplishment.

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This essay initially appeared in the January 2024 issue of The Bollard. Reading it now, I find the end a little soft. Oh, well. At least it’s TERF-free!

Art Credit: JJ Carson