Becoming a Mother Lesbian

There are certain times in life made for nostalgia, that delicious looking back which highlights the very best things in life. I am finding that getting ready for the last of my children to leave home is just such a time.

I wasn’t sure this would be true for me, since my three daughters are so far apart in age. I thought maybe all the recollection and savor might have happened along the way. But there is something so different in anticipating the end of daily parenting.

I have a 29 year old, so I know that parenting doesn’t end. But the end of this immersion- wow. It matters. And so, yesterday, I began re-experiencing the very beginning of my life as a parent; pregnancy.

All my kids travelled very different roads to come into my life. But the oldest came through my body. So in 1980, I was a pregnant lesbian. (Sounds a little like a B movie title!) I really want to refrain from the, “in my day” thing, but really, it was different then!!! I’d been an out lesbian almost 10 years, and I wore my hair super short, jeans and flannel shirt, people knew I was a lesbian, even on the street. Then, suddenly, no one knew.

I went from being a pariah everywhere I went to having people touch my belly without asking. I felt so vulnerable anyway- it was a shock. And then there was the inevitable, “your husband must be so excited” or, worse, “how does your husband feel?” I realized right away that being a mom was going to involve more coming out than I’d done in my entire life. I had avoided situations which might require it; working in lesbian environments, socializing with lesbians. But suddenly there were pediatricians, OB-GYNs, other moms, interested people on the street! And I knew I was headed for child care providers, teachers, PTA, dance and soccer. I imagined there would be an infinite number of people I would have to set straight (pun intended) about my sexual identity.

Then there was the lesbian community. When I went out to events, there was this look I got with a clear message, “what are you doing here?” I was a traitor, a turn coat, I had betrayed my lesbianism, or I wasn’t a lesbian at all. At one point, I even started wearing a button; “How Dare You Presume I’m Heterosexual?” Of course, there were also women who wanted intimate details on how I’d done it, like being asked about your sex life by a stranger. Well, maybe worse, because it was my child’s story, not mine.

But the miracle of all this is that I LOVED being pregnant; the amazing feeling of inviting a child to the world. I paid minute attention to every experience I had in my body. I took the best care of myself I had in all my life- ate right, did yoga, rested. I was exhausted but more excited than I could ever remember being. I had thought nothing would ever be more important in my life than coming out and now, I found out there was something. I was going to be a mother!

I wanted to wear clothes that made it clear I was pregnant as soon as possible. I hated the beginning, when I felt pregnant (as in nauseaous) but looked the same. I gave up my allergy to dresses, because it felt better to have something loose on. I rubbed my belly constantly and watched it grow with glee. I planned a home birth, with midwives, wanting it to be an intimate and homey experience. And it was all that.

A few months after my first child was born, we were driving in the car, her in her tiny car seat in the back, me being the best driver I knew how to be, and I suddenly thought, “I’m a mother.” I really didn’t know it until right then. It wasn’t just that I’d had a child; I was a mother. And I realized that I wasn’t a lesbian mother, I was a mother lesbian. Kid trumped sexuality. I still feel that way, and I think I always will.

Each of my children has an amazing and wondrous story, each unique and special and unlike the others. And I have my own story, of which this is the first chapter- “How I Turned into a Mother Lesbian.” I’m so grateful that I did!