Mother’s Day Brings Thoughts of a Tiny Indian Among Many Chiefs

Mother’s Day. I have been musing about it for many weeks. This year, for the first time, our daughter, Judi, will celebrate the day on her own behalf. The prefix grand has been added to my maternal credentials. The birth of her son, Matthew, on April 28 was a family event that all of us anticipated with great excitement.

We adopted Judi in 1951 when she was 7 months old. The year before, we had adopted Jeff. There were few options for infertile couples in those days. One could either try to adopt or remain childless.

Today, there are a variety of choices. One of the most controversial, often headlined in the media, is to seek the help of another woman, one who, as a surrogate mother, is willing to “lend” or “rent” her womb for nine months and then relinquish the baby at birth.

The “Baby M” controversy has underscored the details of this procedure, as well as its complications. Several hard questions are posed by surrogate parenthood and cloud the concept with uncertainty: For example, can motherhood, like a faucet, be turned on and off, terminated at the birth of a child, for a promise and/or a fee?

In February, the New Jersey Supreme Court ruled that surrogacy is illegal, tantamount to baby selling. As a result, Baby M, i.e. Melissa Stern, also known as Sara Whitehead, now has two legal mothers: the wife of her biological father has become her stepmother, with whom she will live, while her biological mother will have visiting privileges. Parents Stern and Mother Whitehead do not have much time to formulate a credible story for their daughter, a story that can be broken down into child-size words and concepts.

Melissa/Sara will all too soon begin to ask questions. And the adults do not have the luxury of time to work out their relationship to one another. Yet, for the child’s sake, they must develop habits that will avoid both a winless tug of war and the one-upmanship that inevitably spring from adversarial attitudes of embattled parents.

Differences in life styles and parenting styles will separate and identify these adults to their daughter as dramatically as will their names and faces. Melissa/Sara will discover soon enough which parent is demanding and which one is permissive, who requires neatness and who does not care, who will threaten to punish and who will punish.

Children deftly play one parent against the other and then, using their gained perceptions to advantage, become expert manipulators. All children test parents for tough and easy. For those with several parents, living separate lives, experimentation with such testing can be a great challenge, perhaps even fun. Baby M will excel at this. Two mothers will be no novelty for her--her skills will be honed from Day 1 and sharpened with constant usage.

The concept of two mothers raising a child in unison never crossed my mind in 1951; three mothers would have been considered outrageous. In retrospect, I understand now that, by the time she was 7 months old, our Judi had experienced three mothers. She was only a few weeks old when mother No. 2 entered her life. Her birth mother had, ostensibly, relinquished her at delivery, and she was placed with a foster mother. When I entered her life, I became No. 3. So many chiefs--such a tiny, lone Indian.

When held, she wiggled and squirmed like an imprisoned puppy. Her digestion was erratic, her temper on a short leash; her tears flowed daily like tropical cloudbursts. Only Jeff could make her giggle. It was tough going. My daughter and I did not have a great start. Our relationship was emotional, explosive and exhausting for both of us. She had neither trust in nor patience with me. I did not have a clue then to the reasons for such unhappiness. I was tenacious; I was forever drying tears and soothing fears.

In what seemed to be a long period of time, Judi responded. Storms became less frequent and were no longer violent; calm entered our relationship. I learned that motherhood is an exercise in patience, resilience, ingenuity and ever-increasing self-confidence.

It was 30 years before I understood Judi’s volatility. In 1980, at age 30, she decided to search for her birth mother and embarked on a path that opened doors for both of us. She was a trained private investigator at the time, an eager sleuth. The trait we had called stubbornness when her infant ways were not to be distracted had become persistence, and she tracked one lead after another in pursuit of her goal.

I understood Judi’s need to find her roots and encouraged her, as did the social worker in North Carolina. Under the probing strobe of Judi’s search, many details came to light. A single fact was most significant for me: For the six months Judi had lived in a foster home, her birth mother visited her every day. The baby had been bounced between the two women, birth mother and foster mother, for 180 days, when suddenly they disappeared from her life. A decision had been made, papers signed, and the child became ours through adoption.

Named Barbara by her first mother, she became Judi when I, a stranger, appeared. Her birth mother gave her up willingly, her foster mother reluctantly and I, exultantly, hugged her to my breast. But Judi screamed, turned blue, and then screamed some more.

She had good reason. It was beyond her ability to cope. So many changes had touched her tiny heart and wounded her infant feelings. She had to sense the tension, the tug of war between her birth and foster mothers. She had to feel abandoned and confounded so many times as she gave up one warm embrace for another.

Certainly when the two women who were her world disappeared, she must have felt forsaken. In retrospect, I finally understood our infant’s restless discontent, her squirming unhappiness. She could not trust another mother. So many changing arms.

Mother’s Day is, indeed, a time for celebration, for cards and gifts and flowers. And, as I open my children’s testimonials, I will recall, with heartfelt gratitude, the tenacity that stretched my patience and made room for love and understanding. Now, Judi/Barbara, it is your turn. Soon it will be yours, Melissa/Sara.