Questions I get asked on the street, at work, at friend’s, even in my own home: “Which kid is yours? Did you give birth to both of them? How did you conceive? Have they started asking about their father? Are they OK with it all, then?” I am torn between being polite and telling you to stop being intrusive.
I could tell you this is a loving family that has been fought for. There was no casual Friday night liaison. We spent time considering the best way to have a child: visits to fertility clinics, tests, waiting, expensive treatments. We were lucky to grow a child each. It may be impossible for you to realise, but we love both our children equally.
We have challenged authority: a lawyer who said it would be difficult to get equal responsibility; a judge deciding whether we could have parental rights; not being allowed both parents’ names on the birth certificate (there was only one space for mother); and being told I must adopt our child if I wanted them for life, because parental responsibility orders end when a child is 18. But when I have planned a child, been there at conception, throughout pregnancy, at their traumatic birth – that child is mine; I can’t adopt it.
Happily, things have changed over the last decade. I hope our doing this has helped other families who now do not have to fight in the same way for equality.
If you don’t know me enough to hear all about my life, you don’t know me enough to ask if I really am a mother to my children, if they understand and are happy with their family. The answer is yes.
But really it’s none of your business.
guardian
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