If I had never met my son, I would never have had my daughter. She was born about a year after I met him. If he had been unwilling to meet with me, I don’t think she would be here.
If you had met me back then, before I found him, you would have thought (and of course you wouldn’t have known about him probably) I was a person who didn’t like kids particularly. The thought of being pregnant sent me into a panic. To me, being pregnant was equal to complete loss of any control over my life.
Just a few fears left over from the first pregnancy – I don’t think I realized it then but I think that is what was happening.
Shortly after I met my son, I knew that I could have another baby and it would be OK. He lived with us shortly after she was born and, of course, to her he was just her big brother. Which was great on one hand but on the other hand, I knew someday I would have to tell her the truth, that I had not raised him. I told her when she was about 5. She was very understanding and gave me a big hug and said she thought she was very lucky.
I feel very lucky to have her too. She’s grown up now, in her 3rd year of university. But in having her I did learn that I knew lots of things about being a mother, I knew them naturally. I was OK.
I will always feel I owe my daughter and the experience of being the kind of mother I never got to be with him – to my son.
Ironic but true.