I have a single friend who recently revealed that she is thinking about having a baby via a sperm bank donation. At the time she told me, I was still pregnant. I hadn’t yet experienced any of parenthood’s highs and lows. I think my response to her at the time was nothing more than a hearty good luck and a smile.
Just two weeks into motherhood, though, I called her up and had her come over under the guise of showing off the baby. My real motive, however, was to exhort her not to go forward with the sperm bank plan. And why? Because having a baby without a father is downright kamikaze.
Although I’ve always believed that children need the love and security of both a mom and a dad, practically speaking, if it weren’t for the love and security Jake has shown toward me, lil Seabass may have ended up on someone’s doorstep by now.
Hyperbole, of course. Mostly.
I’ve had Seabass alone during the day for about three weeks now, and I can’t describe the sense of relief I have when Jake comes home from work. The sound of his key in the lock at 5:30pm heralds the first full breath I take all day. It means that the baby will calm down in new, different arms and hear a new, lower voice. It means there will be fresh energy restored to our home. It means there will be a shoulder to cry on when I’m bouncing on the exercise ball and trying to breastfeed but Seabass just refuses to eat. And it means there will be new ideas to try when every response to “WHAT NOW?!?” has been worn to the nub.
So, I gave my whole opinion to my crazy friend, half expecting her to look at me askance and ask when I’d become June Cleaver. But she didn’t. She sincerely thanked me for the tip.
It may have had something to do with the fussy, grunting, back-arching Seabass in my arms. Just a guess.