My preparation for single motherhood began when I was a child. I started saving money for a baby when I was 14. I stowed away children's books, sentimental toys and baby clothes I once wore or bought on clearance or from thrift stores. My magazine subscriptions were to Seventeen and Babytalk. While my friends yearned to find the right man to marry someday, I fantasised about finding lost babies in the woods or adopting a child as soon as I turned 18 (the youngest age allowed in Massachusetts).
So when I became a single mum recently at age 31 - after a decade and a half of preparation and 11 cycles of trying to get pregnant (I used various methods: known-donor in-a-cup vaginal insemination, my own anonymous bank sperm, and intrauterine insemination with a midwife) - it was no accident. When people ask me "Where's Jessey's dad?" I often get perplexed, sympathetic or tight-lipped responses to the answer: He doesn't have one. Those responses surprise me because loving families exist in so many different configurations and come about in so many different ways. But our culture tends to pity and shame single mothers. There's an assumption that single motherhood results from women's poor decisions and that parenting alone can't possibly be a fit way to raise children. A 2011 Pew Research Center poll found that 61 percent of Americans believe a child needs both a mother and a father to grow up happily. Seven out of 10 think single women having children is bad for society.
I've never seen it that way. Being a single mum is an experience I have craved for as long as I can remember. Women who become single mothers against their desires have a different story than mine. As a young teen, I romanticised even the mundane experiences: balancing night classes with kids' homework and tucking them in bed (leaving on a soft light). I imagined walking, with socked feet, into our tiny living room, picking up a car or a doll from the floor and wiping oatmeal from the arm of a chair, before spreading my homework or a book I was writing on our table. Raising children alone didn't seem like a struggle to avoid, but rather an exciting opportunity to come up with creative and clever solutions for daily living. I might not buy my kids new clothes or send them to expensive summer camps, but we would sleep in forts and make scavenger hunts and learn new languages. I didn't imagine we'd be rich; I imagined we'd be happy.
For me, being the best mother I can be means being a mum alone, at least for now. I want to devote myself to motherhood, something I fear I can't do with the additional demands of a partnership. Romantic relationships can occupy a lot of mental and emotional energy. I'm not sure I could balance being both a solid partner and mother right now.
Single motherhood also eliminates the stress and complications that arise from incompatible parenting approaches and values in a two-parent home. Thinking of my friends and acquaintances with inadequate partners, I wonder why more people don't choose single motherhood. Parenting alone allows me to make the best decisions for my son without needing to compromise for a partner's differing personal beliefs, needs or career demands. I understand that this might sound like I'm a dictator needing total control, but that's not my motivation. I want to have the freedom to always act in my son's best interest. Because I've spent a lot of time preparing for motherhood, I can be very opinionated when it comes to where he should go to school, the type of health care he should receive and what kinds of values and beliefs are important in guiding our family.