What with the Oscars coming up this weekend, I've been thinking a lot about the movie Juno again. I saw Juno a month or so ago, and, in spite of being occasionally annoyed by the preciousness of Ellen Page's character, I really liked it. Indeed, I was so moved by it that I was that crazy person who stayed sobbing in her seat after the movie had ended. Remember? You probably had to climb over me to get out of your row.
In trying to make sense of my emotional response to the film, I realized that my first point of identification had been with Ellen Page's character, the teenage Juno who finds herself unexpectedly pregnant and not sure what to do. Of course, I realize that I actually have far more in common with the Jennifer Garner character, Vanessa, a woman in her thirties who goes to great length and expense to become a parent. Her process was, like mine, quite intentional. As Vanessa ends up unexpectedly single by the end of the film, she becomes a single parent by choice with courage, grace, and determination.
And yet, even as I thought of all the ways in which we were alike, I couldn't help but feel that something was amiss in this comparison. After all, even as she ends up without a husband, Vanessa is the perfect parent-to-be. She owns a beautiful, spotlessly clean home, and a brand new, well-maintained SUV. The nursery is already well-stocked and painted in several complimentary shades of yellow. She has a successful career, a well-paying job, and enough maternity leave and savings to provide safe and loving care for her new child.
I, on the other hand, live in a beautiful but decrepit one-bedroom apartment, and am not sure that I could afford to rent a new one, let alone buy a home. I drive a ten-year-old Nissan Sentra with almost 150,000 miles on it. My baby stash is being accumulated from the hand-me-downs of others, and I live on a graduate student stipend. Now certainly I've got the cultural capital of a lot of high-end education (and hopefully soon, a PhD), but as we all know, cultural capital alone doesn't pay the bills. And so, even as I become a single parent by choice in one of the most intentional processes possible, I'm fully aware of all the ways in which I don't fit the "respectable" single parent mold.
Thus, some part of me still relates to Juno, even as I realize how vastly different our situations are. Though I'm 15 years older than her character, somewhere deep inside I secretly expect to be judged for getting "knocked up" without a partner. Or a job. Or a house in the suburbs. In becoming a parent in this non-traditional way, I have rejected a politics of respectability in favor of a new vision of family. Somedays, I worry about the backlash.
Parenting in this liminal space, with full intention but outside of the mainstream, is a challenge. I almost never see examples of families that look like mine. It also makes me critically aware of the ways in which queer family making, and indeed, queer love in general, is a radical political act. Having the courage, strength, and creativity to re-imagine our families, our communities, and our partnerships requires a particular type of bravery. I like to think that it also, potentially, can impact how others imagine the world, and its possibilities. As I prepare to raise my kid in a type of family that is barely visible, barely recognized, I can only hope that our presence, the tiny bit of space we carve out in the world, will create a little bit more space for someone else with a family that doesn't quite "fit." This is, after all, the radical potential of this queer new world...
Showing posts with label single parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label single parenting. Show all posts
Friday, February 22, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Truly Single Single-Mom
So, for me, one of the hardest and most complicated parts of becoming a single parent by choice is the fact that, until now, I haven't actually been single. Though I started thinking about having a baby when I was entirely unattached, in the year that it took me to make that idea a reality, I met someone I liked, started dating her, fell in love. By the time my first insemination rolled around, we had been dating six months. Our one year anniversary coincided with the beginning of this pregnancy. And thus, though this was always my idea, my project, my debt to the sperm bank, and, for now at least, my child, I was not, in some ways, becoming a parent alone.
Yesterday, we broke up.
The details of why and how and what didn't work are not ultimately so important here. We were two people who loved each other, who weren't meant to be partners. Certainly the fact that I am having a child played a role in that. But then, so did many other things.
The issue now is that, suddenly, at 16 weeks, I have finally become the single parent that, all those months ago, I thought I was choosing to be.
What I am losing here (aside, of course, from a person I loved) is not so much material support. Indeed, I have gone to most of my appointments alone. My friends have been at my side for inseminations and ultrasounds, and have committed to being there at my labor classes, and for the birth itself. My mother plans to move to my city in the summer, to help me care for my new child. I have plans in place for health insurance, day care, diapers. None of these are things for which I relied upon my ex.
But what I did get from dating her was that seductive sense of possibility, that dream that perhaps, just maybe, this could be the relationship that turned into a family. Being with her gave me this glimpse, this tiny taste, of what it might be like to do this with a partner. It allowed me to fantasize a world in which the person I loved, with whom I'd share my life, might also be the person squeezing my hand during labor, cooing at our newborn baby, and helping me through the wondrous messy joy of parenting.
Now, the reality is that she, although great in many ways, was never going to be that person. And somewhere deep down, I've known that for a long time. But of course, the challenge is to reconcile the head with the heart.
So today I am sad. Sad for the loss of someone with whom I shared so much, and sad for the loss of what never came to be.
And, I am scared. Scared of having a child alone. Scared of never meeting the right person. Scared that perhaps, I have made a huge mistake in becoming a single parent.
But, I am also hopeful. I know that in making these hard choices now, I am preparing myself to be an emotionally healthy, loving parent. And, I am grateful for my family and friends, and the amazing network of support that I have. Because as I've said before, I may be parenting without a partner, but I am certainly not doing this alone.
And so tonight, I grieve the loss of my ex. But, I am also full of love: for myself, for my child, for our future. In the midst of this sad, sad moment is an opening, a new beginning, a new sense of possibility. It's a whole new world today, and somewhere deep down, I believe that it's a good one.
Yesterday, we broke up.
The details of why and how and what didn't work are not ultimately so important here. We were two people who loved each other, who weren't meant to be partners. Certainly the fact that I am having a child played a role in that. But then, so did many other things.
The issue now is that, suddenly, at 16 weeks, I have finally become the single parent that, all those months ago, I thought I was choosing to be.
What I am losing here (aside, of course, from a person I loved) is not so much material support. Indeed, I have gone to most of my appointments alone. My friends have been at my side for inseminations and ultrasounds, and have committed to being there at my labor classes, and for the birth itself. My mother plans to move to my city in the summer, to help me care for my new child. I have plans in place for health insurance, day care, diapers. None of these are things for which I relied upon my ex.
But what I did get from dating her was that seductive sense of possibility, that dream that perhaps, just maybe, this could be the relationship that turned into a family. Being with her gave me this glimpse, this tiny taste, of what it might be like to do this with a partner. It allowed me to fantasize a world in which the person I loved, with whom I'd share my life, might also be the person squeezing my hand during labor, cooing at our newborn baby, and helping me through the wondrous messy joy of parenting.
Now, the reality is that she, although great in many ways, was never going to be that person. And somewhere deep down, I've known that for a long time. But of course, the challenge is to reconcile the head with the heart.
So today I am sad. Sad for the loss of someone with whom I shared so much, and sad for the loss of what never came to be.
And, I am scared. Scared of having a child alone. Scared of never meeting the right person. Scared that perhaps, I have made a huge mistake in becoming a single parent.
But, I am also hopeful. I know that in making these hard choices now, I am preparing myself to be an emotionally healthy, loving parent. And, I am grateful for my family and friends, and the amazing network of support that I have. Because as I've said before, I may be parenting without a partner, but I am certainly not doing this alone.
And so tonight, I grieve the loss of my ex. But, I am also full of love: for myself, for my child, for our future. In the midst of this sad, sad moment is an opening, a new beginning, a new sense of possibility. It's a whole new world today, and somewhere deep down, I believe that it's a good one.
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