Birds, bees, FETs...

Early one morning, Nancy Nisselbaum was readying her 6-year-old son Marshall for school and herself for work when he asked: "Mommy, how does the sperm get from the donor to the doctor?"

Nisselbaum, a single mother by choice, I imagine the article continuing, turned an unattractive shade of magenta, voided her bladder in panic, and stammered so convulsively as she answered that she bit off a part of her tongue.  "Well, son, when a man between the ages of 18 and 32 who prefers to remain anonymous and a sterile plastic specimen cup love each other verrry much..."

In a recent article in the Washington Post, Elizabeth Agnvall dips a toe into the question of how to talk to your kids about more contemporary sexual concerns than the ones our parents peed themselves over.  "Forget the Birds and the Bees," commands the article's subhed.  "Kids Are Asking about IVF, Transgender Pregnancy, and STDs."

Despite the sensational subhed, it turns out the experts counsel an approach no different from talking about any kind of value-based issue: Start talking about it early, and keep doing it throughout your child's upbringing.  Acknowledge your own discomfort, if you feel it, but don't let that stop the conversation.  Talk about the emotions involved as well as the mechanics.  And for God's sake leave out the part about the stack of well-thumbed magazines.

Most of this seemed familiar to me.  But then it's not hard for me to imagine talking to a child about such matters when one is on the inside.  I can talk about what it feels like to love someone enough to want to have a family with him.  I can speak with some authority about what leads someone to undergo fertility treatments.  I can explain firsthand what it felt like to read donor 294's profile and know, even with the paucity of information we were given, that she would be the one.

Harder, perhaps, when you yourself are uncomfortable:

Kirstin Madaus, a former obstetrics nurse from Falls Church, said her 9-year-old son and 7-year-old daughter always seem to come up with tough questions while she's driving.  [...]  The most recent car-ride challenge? Her kids have friends with two mommies and recently asked how the babies got there without sperm.

"I just started talking and talking. Half of my brain is going, 'Shut up, shut up.' "

The article did raise an interesting, if now only theoretical, question: What would I have told our kids about their conception?  The question is now purely theoretical because over the last five years I've told our story to everyone on the Internet, and it would be foolish to suppose that one day Charlie's future employer won't ask, in that all-important final job interview, "So!  Tell us how you've dealt with challenging situations in the past.  For example, we see your mother used to think of dirty Led Zeppelin lyrics while she was up in the stirrups.  How did you overcome that soul-deep mortification?" 

Assuming his answer will not be "matricide," it's a pretty safe bet that he'll grow up knowing, at the very least, that Paul and I required medical assistance to conceive him.  And for this baby, now 28 weeks along, there was never any question but that he'd grow up knowing that his existence has been made possible by a generous grant from donor 294.

But if these factors hadn't been in play — my promiscuous disclosure, my ovarian insufficiency — what would we have said?

I am not sure we would have said anything.  I think perhaps not.  When you take the third party out of the equation, what are the truly important parts of the story?  Your parents wanted you.  They loved even the idea of you.  It felt like a fucking miracle when they learned you were finally coming.  And what's so different about that from the way anyone else came about?

Do you think it's important for ART kids to know exactly how they were conceived?  If you have kids, do you expect to tell them, or have you already?  If you're hoping to have kids, what's your plan?  And will one of y'all please hire Charlie one day?  Because nothing you ask him will be a surprise.

Posted by Julie at 07:29:52 AM in I've learned a lot...but I'm not sure it's worth it.

Comments

Birds, bees, FETs...

Early one morning, Nancy Nisselbaum was readying her 6-year-old son Marshall for school and herself for work when he asked: "Mommy, how does the sperm get from the donor to the doctor?"

Nisselbaum, a single mother by choice, I imagine the article continuing, turned an unattractive shade of magenta, voided her bladder in panic, and stammered so convulsively as she answered that she bit off a part of her tongue.  "Well, son, when a man between the ages of 18 and 32 who prefers to remain anonymous and a sterile plastic specimen cup love each other verrry much..."

In a recent article in the Washington Post, Elizabeth Agnvall dips a toe into the question of how to talk to your kids about more contemporary sexual concerns than the ones our parents peed themselves over.  "Forget the Birds and the Bees," commands the article's subhed.  "Kids Are Asking about IVF, Transgender Pregnancy, and STDs."

Despite the sensational subhed, it turns out the experts counsel an approach no different from talking about any kind of value-based issue: Start talking about it early, and keep doing it throughout your child's upbringing.  Acknowledge your own discomfort, if you feel it, but don't let that stop the conversation.  Talk about the emotions involved as well as the mechanics.  And for God's sake leave out the part about the stack of well-thumbed magazines.

Most of this seemed familiar to me.  But then it's not hard for me to imagine talking to a child about such matters when one is on the inside.  I can talk about what it feels like to love someone enough to want to have a family with him.  I can speak with some authority about what leads someone to undergo fertility treatments.  I can explain firsthand what it felt like to read donor 294's profile and know, even with the paucity of information we were given, that she would be the one.

Harder, perhaps, when you yourself are uncomfortable:

Kirstin Madaus, a former obstetrics nurse from Falls Church, said her 9-year-old son and 7-year-old daughter always seem to come up with tough questions while she's driving.  [...]  The most recent car-ride challenge? Her kids have friends with two mommies and recently asked how the babies got there without sperm.

"I just started talking and talking. Half of my brain is going, 'Shut up, shut up.' "

The article did raise an interesting, if now only theoretical, question: What would I have told our kids about their conception?  The question is now purely theoretical because over the last five years I've told our story to everyone on the Internet, and it would be foolish to suppose that one day Charlie's future employer won't ask, in that all-important final job interview, "So!  Tell us how you've dealt with challenging situations in the past.  For example, we see your mother used to think of dirty Led Zeppelin lyrics while she was up in the stirrups.  How did you overcome that soul-deep mortification?" 

Assuming his answer will not be "matricide," it's a pretty safe bet that he'll grow up knowing, at the very least, that Paul and I required medical assistance to conceive him.  And for this baby, now 28 weeks along, there was never any question but that he'd grow up knowing that his existence has been made possible by a generous grant from donor 294.

But if these factors hadn't been in play — my promiscuous disclosure, my ovarian insufficiency — what would we have said?

I am not sure we would have said anything.  I think perhaps not.  When you take the third party out of the equation, what are the truly important parts of the story?  Your parents wanted you.  They loved even the idea of you.  It felt like a fucking miracle when they learned you were finally coming.  And what's so different about that from the way anyone else came about?

Do you think it's important for ART kids to know exactly how they were conceived?  If you have kids, do you expect to tell them, or have you already?  If you're hoping to have kids, what's your plan?  And will one of y'all please hire Charlie one day?  Because nothing you ask him will be a surprise.