Is This Really Happening? – Letting It In

I would love to say that I cried with joy, jumped up and down like crazy and have been elated ever since I found out that I’m pregnant, overcome with excitement and relief. Just reveling in it all. Safely living in a bubble of bliss. I truly wish that has been my experience.

To be completely honest, it took me about a week to believe it, to let the news settle in and comprehend that I am actually pregnant. That it worked this time. It’s happening. I was indeed thrilled at first. You bet I was! And 10 minutes later it was as if it wasn’t real. That it wasn’t happening at all. Like being pregnant was just something my mom and I were talking about. Not really real.

Who could blame me- I had 9 failed IUIs and 1 unsuccessful round of IVF. And a surgery. It’s been rough.

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My SMC Journey: First baby and me, then hubby makes 3!

If you had told me when I was 38 and picking a sperm donor that only a few years later I would not only have a healthy son, but also a wonderful husband and four stepchildren, I would have laughed you out of the room! That’s the stuff of Hallmark movies, not real life, right?

When I was young I wasn’t sure I wanted children, or even to get married. My family is quite old-fashioned, and I didn’t have any role models who were mothers and had careers. I saw how much the women in my family had sacrificed, and I was not interested in giving up my hopes and dreams. Even though I liked kids, I saw how much power the male breadwinners had, and vowed to always be able to support myself.

Fortunately I left my conservative Midwestern town for college, and got to see some more progressive

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The Hardest Part of Being a Single Mom

When I first reached out to friends and family to tell them of my decision to become a single mother by choice, I expected people to tell me it would be hard, harder than I could imagine, maybe too hard to really want to do it on my own. And while I was lucky to receive tremendous support of my decision, a few friends and family members were honest enough to tell me this, not to scare me off, but to make sure I knew what I was getting into.

I appreciated the honesty, but I knew what I was getting into. (Go ahead, you can laugh at me now.)

I’d heard the stories of rough labors, seen my friends and family members’ struggles with nursing, tried to offer help and comfort when exhaustion, or illness, or the newest tough stage of development had worn them thin. I knew it

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Happy Labor Day

HAPPY LABOR DAY WEEKEND!

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THE SMC BLOG WILL RETURN NEXT WEEK.

Do you have questions about deciding to become an SMC, trying to conceive, or single parenting?  Join SMC and get great support and wisdom from our members.

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New Beginnings

Scanning of a stomach of pregnant womanOne year ago I began my journey toward single motherhood.

Despite my age (nearly 42), it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t become pregnant right away. I chose a doctor and a donor and by the beginning of April I was ready for my first attempt via intrauterine insemination. Two weeks later I learned I was pregnant, and I was elated! The few people I had told were astonished I got pregnant so quickly, but I didn’t understand why. I assumed I would be pregnant because I wanted to be. Isn’t that the way it works?

Still, I knew it wasn’t a done deal and to get excited too early would be foolish. I would play it safe and wait until the amnio results before telling anyone but my closest friends and relatives. And so I waited.

In the meantime I had one test after another. Genetic testing, urine

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Vacation?

I am a single mother of 4 (almost 5) year old boy girl twins.  My mother is 71 and she lives with us in the summer and in Arizona for the winter.  My mother thinks that kids today have too many organized activities and need to spend more time with nothing to do.  To further this theory, my mother bought us a 16 foot house trailer (the kind you pull behind a car).   So, we just got back from our first camping trip.  We left on Saturday and got home on Wednesday.

The back story is that when we went to pick up the trailer from the guy who sold it to us he spent about 2 hours explaining to me how to work everything.  He told me that once I was familiar with everything the set up would take about 1.5 hrs.  I took copious notes and promptly came

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Our Second “Family Day”

My son’s 2nd adoption anniversary is this month.  It’s so weird that he has only been my “legal” son for 2 years.  It’s almost easy to forget how uncertain things were while I was fostering him and how I lived in fear that something would happen and CPS would take him from me.  Now, he’s almost 4 and he has such a personality!  He’s also starting to understand “adoption” a little more.

I know there’s so much controversy about celebrating Adoption Days. I don’t really look at it as “celebrating,”  I look at it more like “remembering”… talking about how we became a family and reflecting on it.  As my son gets older he will have more say in how and what we do to “commemorate” our adoption.

I actually don’t call it “adoption day” or “gotcha day.”  I don’t really like those phrases.  I refer to it as our

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On Turning One

You probably won’t remember anything of your first year. Your knowledge of it will come from photos, videos, and stories told to you by family and friends. In other words, you’ll get the highlight reel.

Honestly, I’m not sure my memory will be much different. Already those early hours, days, and weeks have begun to blur into that foggy place we call the past. My clearest memories are those too special—or too scary—to forget.

Waking up from surgery and wanting to meet you so badly it hurt.

Seeing you for the first time, so small, so fragile, so mine.

Watching you find my breast and begin to feed, and feeling overcome with amazement that our bodies worked together so innately to give you just what you needed.

Snuggling skin to skin with you that first night. Secretly enjoying the fact I had no one there to share you with.

The

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He Is Here

My son is nearly 18 months old and yet not a day has gone by where I haven’t mentally stopped time for just a moment and marveled that he is here.  I am still in awe of the woman who let go of her dreams of a traditional family and built one on her own.

At age 38 I had finally accepted my reality;  I was not going to meet Prince Charming.  He was not lurking in the corners of Tinder or OKcupid.  He was not behind me in the checkout line at the supermarket and he most certainly was not taking up a seat at my bar, sipping on Bourbon.

It had been a year and a half since the end of a significant relationship.  I had done the embarrassing rebound thing with someone entirely inappropriate and been on a handful of blah dates.  I was happy in my

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Questions to Ask a Sperm Bank

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