I get a lot of comments and emails “encouraging” me to “think about adoption.” I must admit, I find them a little irksome. Y’know. Irksome as in ‘Do I weigh in on your reproductive choices?’ (And then I remind myself that I made this a public discussion by writing about it on the internet.) And irksome as in ‘Yeah, and why would you assume that I haven’t?’ (And then I remind myself that most people who read this blog don’t actually know me, and the odds are excellent that few people have scoured the archives for me-thinking-about-adoption moments, which might be hard to find anyway, since I’ve been leaning toward insemination almost as long as this blog has been in existence. Which is not long.)
Most of all, though, I do truly believe that, for the most part, the comments come from hearts that are one hundred percent in the absolute right place.
Still. I just want to say, once and for all: I get it. I have thought about adoption. A lot. For a long time. As in, years. I’ve got stacks of books on the subject, and I’ve actually read most of them. A couple of years ago, I spent a day at a Department of Children and Family Services orientation on adopting from the foster care system. Three years ago, I spent time at an orphanage in Ethiopia, where I met a little girl, and I tried to adopt her. Although she was in an orphanage, she had a father, and he wouldn’t relinquish her. I am not capable of talking about it without crying. Still, as recently as a couple of months ago, I had a three-hour meeting with an adoption attorney who handles domestic adoptions. I know single women and men and couples who have adopted or are in the process of adopting, both domestically and internationally. I think adoption is terrific. The odds are good that I will adopt at some point in the future. But it doesn't feel right for me right now.
Right now, I’m going to try to get pregnant. I understand that this is a selfish decision. It is exactly as selfish as when a married woman decides to get pregnant. It is also equally understandable. I would like to try to use my body for what it was made for. I would like to experience the one thing that I can do that a man can’t. I refuse to miss out on the most basic and fundamental human experience available to me… if I don’t have to.
Now, it is entirely possible that, at thirty-eight, I won’t be able to get pregnant. I may have waited too long (thinking about adoption, ironically).
But, for better or worse, I am going to try. Okay? Okay.