Here it starts, friends. I promised I would begin to share my “wild ride” life story. It’s not going to be pretty much of the time but I do promise to always be honest and real. I might omit certain details if I feel it could hurt someone else but there won’t be many occasions in which I have to do so. Enjoy.
Once upon a time a very much-wanted baby girl was born to a young, 25 year old mother who had been anxiously awaiting her arrival. Her grandfather, the mother’s father, brought her into this world at a small, midwestern hospital (he was a doctor and delivered most of the babies in in the county during that time) on September 6, 1973. As she slid out of her mother’s womb, facedown, her grandfather, whose hands were the first human hands to ever touch her, announced to the delivery room “It’s a boy!”
The new mother was happy – she was fine with having either a boy or a girl. However, as she would later admit, there was a quick twinge of guilt because deep down, as much as she hated to admit it, she had secretly been hoping for a girl. With that, the mother’s father, her baby’s grandfather, said “Oh, wait. I was very wrong. It’s a girl!” to which the mother had to see for herself. It was indeed the little girl she had so wished she would have. Apparently the baby girl’s narrow heinie looked more like a baby boy’s heinie than a baby girl’s heinie.
The baby was a miracle. Of course, all babies are miracles but this one was maybe a double-miracle. The mother and her husband had been trying unsuccessfully to conceive for a while and grew discouraged when they learned that her husband would ever be able to have children of his own. Hearing of a relatively new procedure, the mother headed off to see a well-known fertility doctor to discuss her options. She wanted to know more about the possibility of artifical insemination.
The doctor discussed the options with the couple and they decided to try this new thing out. It worked. They were thrilled. Nine months later, the baby girl was born. As you might have guessed by now, the baby girl was me.
I didn’t find out this strange detail until later in my life when I was twelve. When my mother shared this information with me, it began to make sense in my mind as my father had at times made comments such as “Well… maybe you are mine after all” when he laughed at the dirty skivvies I kept randomly in my weekend suitcase instead of tucking them away in a separate compartment. (For the record, I do not do that anymore. Whew.)
At the time, I thought this was rather strange but I was probably seven years old when he said it. There were many things I didn’t understand about grown-ups then.
I’ve often had people ask if I would ever be interested in finding the sperm donor who is responsible for my birth.
Yes. I would like to just see him. I also want to know about his medical history. Especially now that I have children of my own.
However, I don’t desire a relationship with him in the least. He didn’t sign on for that part of fatherhood. He assisted another couple who wanted a baby – fair and square.
My mother shared that she arrived at her “conception appointment” a little bit early and a young, handsome, blonde man with blue eyes was exiting the office.
She felt like he was the one.
I think she also said he was a medical student. Also for the record, I most certainly did not get the science gene he must possess.
I have to be real and admit that it’s a little strange to have 50% of my genetic makeup be a complete mystery. It’s true that my hair is lighter than my mother’s and my eyes are a deep blue to her green.
But this is all I know.
A few years ago, Super Oprah did a show on children who had been conceived via artificial insemination. Though easier to locate the sperm donors these days, it is darn near impossible to do so from as far back as 1973.
It was a pretty new procedure at the time. Records were not great. Confidentiality was huge.
I also know that there are some who believe that artificial insemination is morally objectionable and that those conceived in such a manner are not legitimately created by God.
I don’t believe there is a single soul, born in however way, that qualifies as “not made by God.” But that’s just me.
Truthfully? I just thank God that He gave my mother the courage to seek a way to have a child. Exactly how God intended for her child to be.
Oh my. Am I ever thankful.