I notice the *Crinkle* *Crinkle* when I sit on the paper-covered exam table in the doctor’s office, with a regular chair next to it. The last time I went through these types of tests, Sara was with me. Blood work, ultrasound, doppler imaging, hysteroscopy… a few more still to come. I hate the empty, regular chair sitting next to the exam table. Now my clothes fill that chair instead of Sara. I remember in late 2018 when we we going through our initial testing prior to starting our attempts to conceive with the first clinic, it was a little stressful but everything we were going through was infused with our love for each other and our desire to be parents together.
Even if there was an appointment Sara didn’t attend with me (which wasn’t many, until she got sick), we would check in and I always had someone at home who was equally invested in what was happening. Equally Invested. I miss SO MUCH having someone whose life threads are so entwined with mine that we are fully invested in each other’s life experiences – both the mundane and the major.
Now it’s just me. It feels different. It is different. I’m excited and hopeful, but it’s a completely different experience than it was when Sara was part of the equation. It’s not just the fact that I don’t have that equally invested partner to debrief with after each appointment or to share my hopes and fears and worries and stressors with as I go through this process; the very foundation of what I am doing is different. I’m now trying to bring a child into this world who will solely be my responsibility.
This child (if they come to be) will only have one parent. Certain things may be easier – there’s no debating someone else when there are differences of opinion over child rearing topics – this will be my kid, my decisions. But the downsides are enormous. Those late night feedings? All me. Kid starts running a fever and can’t stay at daycare? Still me. Exhausted from work and kid is having a meltdown? Me again. I will get to be the parent who has all of those difficult conversations with the kid (though certainly with help from friends at times). I will be responsible for ensuring the kid grows into a kind, sensitive, responsible, and justice-oriented citizen.
I know some really awesome people who have chosen to become solo parents not because they lost a partner, but because that’s just was right for them – and I think they’re amazing (and they give me hope). But going through IVF to become a solo parent? Definitely my Plan C. I was truly excited to be a co-parent WITH Sara. She had so many ideas and dreams and plans for parenthood that would have truly complimented my parenting style. Our values and the stuff that mattered were in sync. We would’ve rocked it together and been great partners who worked together to get through the tough stuff. But now I’m on my Plan C.
My loss of Sara as my partner, as my co-parent, will absolutely impact my identity as a parent and impact how I parent. I will have to be more proactive about ensuring we do all the social stuff that we need to do for healthy development, and to introduce the kid to other people with other backgrounds and ideas and experiences. As much as it would be easiest in some respects to make it me & the kid – a super duo – I can’t be my kid’s entire world. So – I know I have to think about all of this, and all the implications of what it truly means to do this as a solo parent. I know I won’t be truly alone – I have friends and family who will most definitely be important elements in my kid’s life – whether periodic or regular… but that still doesn’t lighten the enormity of what it means for me to be doing this without Sara.
I also know that I want my kid to know who Sara was and how much I loved her. Even if I were to eventually find myself in another relationship that evolved into my kid having a stepparent, I would still want my kid to know Sara. Sara was supposed to be the mother of any children I brought into this world. Had she not died, we most certainly would have eventually tried again together. This child won’t have a genetic or parental link to Sara, but Sara is an integral part of who I am now, and if I want my child to *know* me, they will have to know her and know how the story of Trent and Sara ultimately led to their existence.
So many things to think about.
Whew… if you’re still reading… Hi! Bet you didn’t think the *Crinkle* *Crinkle* of the exam table paper would lead us down that windy twisty path. I haven’t written in awhile and I guess this is what happens when I’ve got stuff that needs to come out. I guess I probably should try and write more often… but I’ve been so exhausted, and honestly probably a bit depressed, and I’m doing my best right now. Being a widower during a global pandemic who is dealing with 2 aging dogs with health complications all while working full time, rolling out the 2nd annual scholarship in memory of Sara, and ramping up to start IVF? Can’t say I’d really recommend it, but I have to have faith that it’s somehow going to work out, even if the last 2 years haven’t been very kind.