Something Borrowed, Something Blue

We dance a slow waltz to Tom Waits' Closing Time on the iPod in the dining room before I take him upstairs and lay him down in his crib. He cries a little lately since I'm no longer nursing him first in order to place him asleep in the crib. Instead, he is placed in the crib awake so he can learn to self-soothe. Since we only have each other, it's my attempt to help him gain a little independence from me during his day. After five minutes of crying, I visit him and touch his face, caress the top of his head and sing his favourite song, My Bonny. This makes him smile, giggle up at me and turn on his side to snuggle with his bunny. He generally only requires a couple of weepy sessions followed by brief check-ins from me before he falls asleep, contented that I am near, secure that I love him and haven't forgotten about him. I am blessed. He sleeps now, on average, a good six to eight hours overnight.

In the early morning, when he wakes, I take him into my bed and nurse him his morning feed and we watch the dawn illuminate each corner of the room together while he practices sounds and talks, coos up at me. I can't tell if the room brightens more because of my son rising or the sun rising. It's a toss up.

When I decided to pursue In vitro fertilization surgery alone a year ago last summer, the one thing that made me hesitant for a good, long while was the fact that my child would not have a daddy. I wasn't sure if my own longing to be a mum, to experience pregnancy, childbirth and parenting would be a good enough reason to sentence my child to a one-parent existence and the lack of a father in his life. My choice, not his. Was it hugely selfish on my part?

What surprised me when I started seeking a donor was the fact that a Mutual ID Consent program existed. It meant there were actual donors out there who were willing to be contacted at some point in their lives by the offspring resulting from their sperm donation. That gave me such hope. Consequently, I only considered men from this group. It was a much smaller pool from which to choose, but worth it to me. It also said something to me about the donors themselves: they recognized that growing up and not knowing one's biological parent/history can leave somewhat of a hole in one's life (an understatement). I knew there might be questions I could not answer down the road. I also knew that my son would have good male role models in his life. Via my brothers, my brothers-in-law, his 8 male cousins, my own father, my male friends. This further aided my decision to ultimately move forward on my own and pursue surgery.

The day I found the donor I would go with brought immense relief. Sonshine's biological father is only 25 years old at the time he donates. He is caucasian. He's 5', 10". Has straight, black hair and hazel eyes, the same colour as mine. I was thus expecting a baby with a thick head of dark hair to burst forth from my womb. A baby with dark eyes.

My entire pregnancy, everyone (and I mean everyone save for one friend) insists I am going to have a girl. The week before I give birth, however, I dream I have a blond, blue-eyed boy. Still, I do not consider this very portentous as I am still imagining a dark haired/dark eyed child.

But whom do I end up having? A blond, blue-eyed boy. With a lot of copper hints to his blond locks. He has my mother's colouring. I had auburn hair when I was a little girl. There is A LOT of red in my brown hair. This denotes an Irish temper (something I've also had and which yoga has reigned in for the most part). But this fair, blond/coppery hair. These blue, BLUE eyes, I admit, I did not expect!

It's a recessive gene on my mother's side. The odd part is that I do not take after my mother for looks. My sisters do. And one of my brother's. My twin sister is apparently the spitting image of my mother's maternal grandmother. She has a longer face than mine. It's thinner. My face and eyes are wide like my dad's side of the family. Higher cheekbones. I take after my father.

For a while following his birth I keep thinking, because his eyes are such a dark blue, that they might still change to hazel. But no, they are becoming bluer with each day. Sometimes a dark, denim blue and other times a brighter blue, but I believe they will remain blue now.

I examine the photo of us taken by my brother last week at my family's Christmas gathering and I wonder what is it he carries from his biological father, the anonymous donor, whose photos I have seen, but whom I only know as the number he was assigned by the donor clinic? I think it is his long limbs. He has long arms and long legs. Certainly, as he seems destined to have height, he won't have inherited that from me.

What else? He is one calm, curious soul. His even temperament makes me think of the paragraph the donor wrote in his profile (the ultimate deciding factor that led to my choice). My son seems to carry the same wisdom for one so young and a gentle, happy countenance. A definite old soul. My mother says he is like me when I was a baby. I was apparently very content and laid back. (At some point, this turned out not to be the case for a bit. Just ask my first love.) But I think I've come full circle now. For the most part, life makes me very happy and I smile more often than not. It takes a lot for me to get ruffled by anything nowadays. I've found some inner peace over the years. And my boy has brought me greater inner peace than I've ever known heretofore.

I steal another peek in at the crib. His blondish locks have begun to darken a little. They are more caramel-coloured now than his first few months of life. And he certainly has the shape of my eyes. He has my nose. He definitely follows my father's side of the family for looks. But his colouring: that is from my mother.

When he turns 18, he will be given access to the last known contact information of his biological father. He can then decide to attempt to make contact at that point or not. I will support whatever choice he makes.

Until then, I wonder what else he has inherited from the donor I chose. I look forward to discovering more that might hint at the other half of his heritage. He is such a content baby. I obviously made a solid choice. I went with my gut; my intuition. A sweeter child I could not have asked for; he's a dream come true in so many ways.

What a gift this anonymous man has given me. He has no idea how many years I've longed for this particular Joy in my life. I feel so indebted to this young man out there in the world somewhere. I knew he was special when I read his profile, when I first saw the depth of soul behind his eyes in the photograph of him as a child.

That is also what my son inherits.

Blue irises. Irises (my favourite flower) are for Hope. Tears fill my own as I pull his bedroom door ajar and retreat back into the hallway and down the stairs. I swallow the lump in my throat, pray that he forgives my decision to go this alone and make a silent whisper of thanks.

How very lucky I am. To finally be a mommy. To be his mommy.
How amazed! How ecstatic!
And how deeply, enormously and eternally grateful...

Little Wooden Mer-boy: Artwork by KuKu CaJu
Music: Blue Eyes, Elton John