Writing Isaiah Entry #21

Writing Isaiah 

Entry #21

October 8, 2013

J.R. Reynolds 

Can you compare and contrast conceiving, carrying and birthing a baby without a partner and with one? 

Emily Joye McGaughy-Reynolds

I am so used to writing to you in our doc, in the private of our heart-felt correspondence, that this public forum for engagement is going to require a shift in me. What passes between lovers/partners/spouses can often be exclusive, secluded, a kind of mutually anointed quiet for the sake of sacred preservation. Language develops between devoted dyads and that language can, especially in the case of lover-writer dyads, become an island for the relationship. I'll be honest, I don't really want anyone else on our island. I have anxiety about parts of our love being on display here. And yet, in the last few weeks it's become increasingly obvious to me that i need to address this question and address it within the canon of this blog project specifically. It's part of the story: my story, our story, the family story. I want Isaiah to have access to this part of the story. Aurora too. Hence, it needs to be included. So, bare/bear with me as I attempt to challenge myself in response to your question. 

When you first sent this to me on August 1st (almost 2 1/2 months ago!), I refused to respond to it. Why? You probably remember. It went something like this: "I feel like I had you all along, even with Aurora." Which is true. Kind of. Now that I'm looking more closely at the question, I realize there's some nuance worth addressing. 

I'd decided somewhere in my early 20's, when my vocation to become a mother presented stronger than anything else, that if I wasn't partnered by the time I was 30, I was going to artificially inseminate and become a single mother. I never had a partner in mind for that project. Never. Something in me sensed I was going to be "alone" for the first round. In fact, I only thought there'd be one round. I knew I needed to find a donor and that process might have 'partners' (in a practical, not romantic sense) included in it. But all I saw was me, baby and village/family by choice. 

Your arrival seriously screwed with my plan! :-) 

But let me stay with the first conception process for a moment, since you've asked me to compare and contrast. I had more control the first time. Everything was premeditated and totally planned. I mean medical consultations sought, ovulation cycles tested, instruments acquired, insemination rounds on the calendar. I read lesbian conception guides like most pastors read the bible. I did everything by the book and by my dyke Ob-G's advice. The day Rory was conceived there was an exercise in syncing my bodily rhythm with donor's body by way of a long hike--that's apparently helpful in conceiving. Then we came back to the house, said a prayer together, lit a fertility candle and got about the business. The only contact we had was passing sperm, in a cup, from his hands to mine in the hallway. "They" suggest that womyn put a pillow under their backs while inseminating and have an orgasm within 20-40 minutes of the sperm entering the body. I did all of that. I remember wanting to call someone to say "something tells me it worked this time" but not having that person to call, which gave me a twinge of guilt/regret/sadness. Yes, there was aloneness in the 'placing sperm inside' process, but it was also really empowering, really beautiful, start to finish. And while I don't love my donor in a romantic sense, I do feel a sense of kinship with and gratitude for him that is unique. Totally unique. There's no denying the magnanimity of the gift he gave me by enabling me to become a mother. And when I think about who Aurora is, a combination of his DNA and mine, and how perfect she feels to me, I wouldn't trade anything. In fact, I'd do it all over again.

With you it was totally different. I've been afraid to write about those differences, honestly, because I am afraid that a sense of hierarchy will emerge, that is, someone will read that one way is/was better than the other. So, before I get into us, let me just say for the record that I think being a single mom is just as decent as being a partnered parent given context. I think conceiving through artificial insemination is just as decent as conceiving through sexual intercourse given context. None of these ways are "the" way. I think context is everything. Each person/couple should discern, with each new phase of life, what works for them when it comes to conception/parenting. The options for family formation, parenting configurations and roles are endless and I believe our society can only benefit from being more open to and discerning about these options. I mean think about the way the supremacy of biological parenting keeps so many folks from adopting--it's awful! All this to say: I discerned what would work for me (insemination with a known donor and village parenting) in round one and it worked until a new member of the family came into view. 

That's you. And that changed everything. 

I don't want to speak for you, so I'll just identify the centrifugal force I felt overpowering me as we fell in love. There were days when I would show up in my meditation practice and just weep because of the grandiosity of it all: the attraction, the destabilization, the mystery. It made no sense. You're steady and compassionate. I'm rogue and quick to rage. Age, race, gender, cultural upbringing, denominational identity--all of it presented challenge. I remember one day being in the chapel during prayer time, six months pregnant with Aurora, and wondering what kind of cosmic joke G-d was playing on me by complicating "my plans" with your presence. I started to lightly whimper and before I knew it Tom Ott's hands were holding my shoulders to help keep me from falling over I was crying so hard. Who would you turn me into? Something I couldn't predict. What was I going to lose/gain if I gave myself (the gift of) this love? Something I couldn't predict. 

I've written before, elsewhere, that your presence in the delivery room was all I needed to know/experience to confirm that you were/are, in deed, my life partner. That's when I feel like we really got married--no disrespect to our actual wedding day which was incredible. I just think spiritual unions and public rituals aren't always matched. We did publicly on April 20th 2013 what happened spiritually for me on March 20 2012. I digress. All this to say: the final weeks of my pregnancy were a mix of joy and fear because I'd decided to let you in. It was one of the best decisions I've made in retrospect, but you never know when you choose love. You never know. 

I couldn't have dreamed then that within a year we'd be married, so graciously co-parenting Rory and pregnant with a child of our own.

Conceiving of Isaiah was night and day different than conceiving Aurora. Two bodies. Merged. Full of passion. Asking. Permission granted. Mutual power exchanged. Physicality. Mess. More later. Who knows: he could have come twice that day. It was late January. It had snowed the night before. Is there anything like winter sex? So warm. So cush. Lull. Lazy. Isaiah was conceived in loving, incarnational, erotic exchange. I was there. You were there. Our yearning for each other created him. I have to believe that spirit of yearning will matter, is carrying him now, will hold him later. What can I say?  I couldn't come up with a better carrying/holding/birthing spirit than our love. 

And pregnancy, or your word "carrying," this time has also been totally different. It's an us thing not just a me thing. This adds pressure and responsibility. I want to keep Isaiah healthy for him, me and you. I want to keep my body strong for Isaiah, me and you. I want his arrival to be safe, of course for him, but also for me and you so that we can share in that moment when our eyes behold what the spirit of our love has physically created. I've never shared that moment with anyone before. I cannot wait for that moment with you. 

The difference, this time, is the togetherness. From start to finish. Me and you. 

But let me specific about what this togetherness has brought me because I want/need to thank you. Our togetherness has brought me the opportunity to love someone who is my best friend, someone I'm infinitely attracted to, someone who I admire, who gives me inspiration, guidance and abiding support. Our togetherness has given me the gift of motherhood (again). Our togetherness has made a home for Aurora. Our togetherness is writing docs and books and blogs. Our togetherness is enabling love outside of boxes to be seen, felt, and heard by us and by those close to us. 

Our togetherness is the difference this time and our togetherness is making all the difference all the time. I love you, Joey.