Every once in a while, either Eva or myself runs into somebody who has yet to learn that we are planning to adopt kids. Their reaction upon being informed speaks volumes.
Nine times out of ten, the first thing out of their mouth is something like "you'll get pregnant..."
And, damn us, we always play along.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, as soon as the adoption is finalized, you'll get pregnant!"
"I don't see how that's possible."
"Well, my cousin's best friend's sister's boyfriend's mother, see, she went to adopt kids because, like, she'd had trouble, you know? And behold, she gave birth to the entire population of West Bumfuck, Iowa. You watch, it'll work for you too.
"What'll work?" We're really being dense at this point.
"Oh, c'mon, you're just doing this so you can have kids of your own." The person shrugs, as if she'd just announced that two and two are four.
Around and around the mulberry bush we go. Half a dozen times, the acquaintance has actually said "how much you wanna bet?"
"One million dollars. Hand it over. You ever heard of this neat invention called 'birth control'?"
"But...but...but...why would you do that?!"
WHY WE WOULD DO THAT
It was always our plan to have one child and adopt another. Have the one for the same reasons that everybody has kids; adopt the other because there are millions of kids out there in need of a loving home.
And we always knew that the first part of our plan was going to be a bitch. For various medical reasons, Eva has known since her late teens that her chances of successfully carrying a child to term were just this side of nil. My blood is incompatible with Eva's, so her chances of successfully carrying MY baby to term are zero to at least seven decimal places.
But we tried. And after every failure, we got to listen to the dunderheads out there blabbering about their uncle's friend's hairdresser who had, like, seventeen miscarriages, you know, and then went on to give birth to the entire population of East Bumfuck, Michigan.
Then came that blessed day when Eva was declared pregnant. Happiness surged through the house. Everything proceeded along tickety-boo for a while. At the three month mark, she went in for an ultrasound so she could see the baby's heartbeat. That's when she found out our baby was dead, and had been for two weeks.
Short of actual stillbirth, I just can't imagine anything worse. I don't know how it is that she got through the ensuing day, let alone six months.
You can maybe begin to understand how an event like that can change your attitude just the slightest bit? Good for you. Because that didn't stop the dunderheads, spewing bullshit about getting back up on the horse. The parallel that kept running through my mind: a bunch of people trying to set me up on blind dates at my wife's funeral. Fuck off, okay?
Okay?
So, on to plan B, right?
No, not really.
We had always planned to adopt, remember?
Eva asked me on occasion if I was really okay with this, if I secretly wanted children "of my own". Dutifully, I thought it through.
Assuming for the moment that there was some way to actually plant that little bugger in there and have it come out on schedule--something that would now require more money than I make in a year, most likely--was I really that vain about my genes? Was it crucial to me that I look at my kid and see my fucked-up teeth?
Not only was that utterly unimportant to me, I couldn't understand why it was so damned important to everyone else. I always thought you had kids so you could share the joys and sorrows of life with them, watch them grow and learn, and send them out to make their mark on their world. I never once believed that pushing them out of your crotch was required.
I bristle every time I hear that phrase "your own kids." First off, people, you don't own kids. Slavery was outlawed several generations ago, for good reason. Second, the language is invariably used to denigrate adopted children: "natural" children...does that mean adopted kids are unnatural? "Biological" parents...does that not sound like any adopted kid is a robot? "Your own" children...that means adopted kids really belong somewhere else, right?
Eva's made to feel like a traitor to her gender for not having any desire whatsoever to get pregnant. What's really bizarre is that some of this vitriol comes from self-proclaimed feminists. I'm made to feel like I'm somehow not fulfilling my own biological imperative. I couldn't disagree more strongly. Our children will carry my name, if that satisfies anybody; they'll grow up with a basic grounding and the freedom to chart their own course, and that satisfies *me*.
I'm sure East and West Bumfuck are beautiful places, but I'll stay here, thanks, at home with the kids.
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