Parenting Without A License

Ortho & Depo, or, How I Met My Daughters

Posted by Kimberly on September 8th, 2007 — Posted in The Ladies

While I’m willing to talk about a lot of things related to being the solo mom of two, how I got here doesn’t tend to be one of them. Frankly, it’s really not anyone’s business (except possibly my daughters’, and I’m not altogether certain of that). That’s not to say that people don’t occasionally ask intrusive questions or make rude remarks about how my family came into being; it just means that I’ve never particularly felt the need to acknowledge them when they do.

Today, however, I’m going to violate my personal rule and talk about how I became a solo mom. Twice. Partly because it’s good blog fodder, especially for an inaugural post, but mostly because this comment left in response to Kate’s post on the topic over at Sanity and the Solo Mom: “Or funny how life throws us birth control too.” Because all solo mothers are just immoral sluts who can’t keep their legs shut and only breed for the Welfare money, don’t you know.

Kate dealt with this beautifully at her own blog, but the thing about motherhood is that we all have different stories of how we got to the place we’re in, and Kate’s story is not my story just like my story isn’t your story. I’m hoping that maybe in sharing our stories we can open some eyes, close some mouths, and continue forcing people to reconsider their perceptions of the average solo mom.

So, my story…

It’s actually kind of funny, in a cosmic, the Universe is clearly toying with me kind of way. I call my daughters Diva Girl and the Zen Baby, but I could just as easily have christened them “Ortho” and “Depo” since in a very real way, that’s who they are.

I was taking ortho tri-cyclen when I got pregnant with Diva Girl. I was also taking antibiotics. Not a good combination apparently. Especially not when you and the Rebound Guy have just mutually decided that you’re not willing to continue wasting your time with each other anymore.

Three weeks after the Rebound Guy and I bid an indifferent adieu, the stick turned blue. Fabulous timing. I’m sure the Universe was enjoying the joke, even if I wasn’t.

Given the relationship status of the non-relationship that had produced that thin blue line, I agonized over what, if anything, to tell the Guy. It wasn’t like we were going to have some tearful reunion and decide this was a Sign that we should be together or anything. Plus, he’d moved out of province. It would have been easy to just…not. To carry on with my life, whatever shape I decided it would take, and leave him to carry on with his. But then there was that whole pesky sense of morality that got in the way, and I told him.

Before I took the plunge into that conversation, I thought long and hard about this new family I was about to create, and about what shape it would possibly take. I was committed to being a single mom at that point, but not a solo one. I made it clear to Rebound Guy that if he wanted to be a Dad as well as a father, I would support that. Shared holidays, family birthday parties, neighbouring apartments support it.

He wasn’t interested. He didn’t want the baby. Felt it would detract from his relationship with the child he already had, that that daughter needed to be his priority. He didn’t even want to be notified when the baby was born.

And thus began my life as a solo mom. Just me and my baby, no daddies in sight or mind. And it was good. Sure, it had its hardships and stresses, but it also had giggles and kisses and a sense of contentment and accomplishment.
Fast forward four years and Diva Girl was yearning for a baby sister to call her own. In fact, her fantasy life was so rich that I had to have a meeting with her Kindergarten teacher to assure her that there was no way the stork was coming to our house any time soon.

I was sure you see, because I was on depo provera now. It was the perfect no fuss, no muss option for a solo mom on the go. Just pop by the doctor’s office every three months and Bob’s your uncle. Or your Daddy, because three months and twelve weeks are not the same thing. Who knew? Well, Diva Girl, apparently.

I’m pretty sure that the Universe peed its collective pants this time, watching me find myself in a nearly identical situation five years after I theoretically should have known better. Once again, a casual affair led to an uncomfortable conversation and it was deja vu all over again. Solo Mom times two.

One thing about having two children on your own without employing the turkey baster method is that people feel that they have the right to ask invasive questions or to make snide comments regarding your inability to grasp the fundamentals of birth control. They don’t really do that with the first one, you know. The first time around, everyone is very supportive. Nobody really asks what you were thinking with your first one, or questions your ability to read the instructions on the condom wrapper, or implies that you just can’t keep your legs shut. And nobody really congratulates you when you announce you’re having your second. They do with your first one, after the shock wears off; with the second, there are words and murmurs, but none of the excitement that normally accompanies this type of announcement.

Another thing that’s different–for me anyway–is that the rejection of your child stings less the second time around. I’m not quite sure why that is, other than the fact that after five years it seemed perfectly normal and reasonable that I would have that baby on my own. And if I’m being truly honest, I’ll admit that by this time, I preferred things that way for a variety of reasons and was a little relieved when The Pirate, as I affectionately call this man, chose not to be a part of the picture.

So, yes, it is funny how life throws birth control at us. But it’s downright hilarious when it turns out to be a curve ball that sneaks its way over the plate. That’s why, even though I consider myself to have a pretty healthy sense of humour, I’m not ready to commit to Mirena just yet. The Zen Baby has an imaginary baby sister, you see.