British writer and New York transplant Emma Brockes was in her 30s when her biological clock began ticking — loudly. At age 39 she became a single mother to twin girls, and this year published a book about her journey to parenthood, called An Excellent Choice. Brockes’ aim, in part, was to demystify and destigmatize single motherhood, often portrayed as a poor alternative to traditional, heterosexual pairings. Her book, laced with humor, describes her relationship with her partner L, who also is the single mother to a son; the reactions of her family and friends, and the joy (laced with exhaustion) of pregnancy and parenting.
Brockes kindly answered some questions for Single Mothers by Choice:
One thing that shines through this book is the humor. Was part of your intent to challenge the idea that single motherhood should be accompanied by some sense of loss about not doing things the “regular” way?
YES; this was precisely how I felt— that single motherhood is only ever presented as a contingency plan, because the better version of family life wasn’t available. This drives me insane. I understand it, of course; we are sold from day one on the idea that the nuclear heterosexual family is the standard shape from which all deviation falls short, so that single mothers must at best, explain themselves, at worst, apologize. It is very, very hard to let go of that ideal, and yet it’s just that; a fantasy of what things might have been, when the reality is an unknown variable. There are good and bad marriages, but even a good marriage entails tough challenges, particularly around child-rearing, just as there are rewards unique to single motherhood.
My point is that once you get over the shock of deciding to have kids on your own, you realize that the balance sheet is way more complicated than marriage: good, solo parenting: less good. (Also, on the subject of humor – a lot of this stuff is grimly hilarious; I mean rejecting a sperm donor on the basis that his favorite film is Titanic – I did this and stand by it! – is an absurdity that will never stop making me laugh).
Another point of conversation that often comes up among “thinkers” is how their family and friends will feel about the decision. Was there anything about the reaction of your family and friends that surprised you? Any advice that you would give for thinkers as they navigate explaining this choice to their “village”?
I am still amazed by the extent to which some men in my life took my choice of sperm donor personally. (And actually, it went further than that; some men I know – good liberals all – seemed to feel personally slighted that I was choosing a sperm donor at all. This whole business is clearly a trigger for male anxiety). Anyway, no one gave me a seriously tough time; criticism was couched in friendly terms, although one friend did suggest that I was a eugenicist for the way I had cherry-picked donor attributes. I say this in the book: that the way to push back against these accusations is to point out that a choice can only be called superficial if it is made at the expense of deeper criteria. If there was a metric for measuring a man’s moral worth, or humor, or kindness, I would have factored those things in. (Also: when you start dating a hunchback with a heart of gold come back to me with your accusations of superficiality!)
The other thing I would say is that one of the questions I’ve had from casual inquirers–and it’s a question that annoys me, so may well annoy you–is whether the presence of the donor is discernible in the faces of my children and whether that freaks me out. It’s a question that assumes my own children are strange to me and it is based on a faulty premise. Having a baby who is a composite of you and somebody else is existentially mind-boggling, period; it doesn’t get more weird depending on the provenance of the baby, because the minute you set eyes on your child, all she looks like is herself. It would be like asking the mother of a mixed-race child if it feels alienating to be a different color from her baby, or asking the mother of a child who looks like her husband whether she’d love the baby less in the event of divorce. In my experience, that’s not how motherhood works. You look at your child and you see your child.
In other interviews and in your recent New York Times column (Single at 38? Have That Baby) you’ve spoken of how the DECISION to become a single mother is harder than the actual parenting. In reflection, what was the tipping point for you?
Total age-related panic!! It was as cliched as that; I’m pathetic. I turned 37 and for the first time could see 40 out of the corner of one eye and I desperately didn’t want to be doing all this in my mid-40s, when I knew the cost would sky-rocket and my chances of conceiving plummet. Panic is a very underrated motivational force, in my opinion, particularly around big birthdays. (Although if I ever say I’m going to run a marathon, please step in and stop me).
There are a lot of women who join the Single Mothers by Choice organization who obviously are interested in this path— they’re just really scared. They’re worried about the reaction, about finances, about not being a good parent, anything you can think of. Do you have some thoughts about what women might consider, as they wrestle with those fears?
All I can say is what got me through that hideously long drawn-out period of indecision, which was to consider the alternative. I was trying to regret-proof my future, and I knew as well as I know anything that the only outcome that would kill me down the line was chickening out and doing nothing. I could live with trying and failing to have a baby – although I was very, very frightened of that eventuality – and although I was also terrified of having a baby alone, I sensed it was right for me and I’d cope. What I couldn’t live with was putting off the decision for so long that the decision was effectively made for me; I couldn’t be that passive. In the end, it became a matter of personal pride and some deep-seated conditioning that probably comes from having been raised in the ’80s on repeat viewings of Working Girl – that you have to fight for what you want, and if it doesn’t work out you can walk away with dignity. What you can’t do is just sit there and lament.
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