My stepsons have been living with us for the past week, our final week with our 15-year-old before he goes to a boarding school that has a special language program for dyslexics.  Last night, as the end of our time with them neared, my husband became increasingly agitated, because he hates being separated from his sons, especially after the luxury of a longer-than-usual visitation period, and because our 15-year-old won’t be home again until Thanksgiving Break.  After dropping them off at their mother’s house, our 4-year-old walked in our front door hysterically crying, and my husband went straight to bed—at 6 p.m. 

This is why we decided to try to have another child.    

My husband is an adult who can adequately manage his emotions, the anguish of having lived with his sons full-time, then being relegated to every-other-weekend visits, rotating holidays and vacation periods.  He has suffered when both he and his sons have requested more time together, only to be shut down with statements such as, “I will not agree to what is not right,” as if it isn’t beneficial for sons to spend ample time with their father as they grow from children to teenagers to men.  He’s requested both private and court-ordered mediation, in which his sons expressed their desires to the mediators in front of both parents, to no avail.  Deciding that the trauma of going to court, his only alternative when mediation wasn’t successful, was not in his sons’ best interest, he has given up on increasing visitation time, but not without sadness and anger and guilt.

But, our 4-year-old can’t handle the loss of his brothers, whom he adores.  He’s a young child, with the associated level—or lack thereof—of emotional maturity.  He spends his brothers’ visitation time knocking on their bedroom door, asking, “Can I come in, please?”, then just sitting with them as they play video games, watch television or talk.  He follows them from room to room.  He begs them to play with him.  He mimics them, sometimes to negative responses from me, such as when he announces, “I’ve got to go take a dump,” or “Mama, this is a frickin’ huge ball.”

When they’re with us, he refuses to go to bed, stating emphatically, “But, Mama, I don’t get to see the boys very often.”  This sweet, normally well-behaved kid will fight me when I insist that it’s time to go to sleep, kicking and screaming and hitting and crying in his desperation to extend his limited time with them.  He’ll ask over and over, “Why do we have to bring the boys to their mom’s house?” and “Why can’t they just live here?”

I can explain, then explain again, but all that registers is that his only siblings, older brothers that this little boy worships, come for short periods, in which he’s blissfully happy, then leave him to deal with the fall-out of being an only child once again. 

And, this happens every other weekend.

My husband and I have had people question our decision to have another child, stating, “Well, I loved being an only child,” and “He does have brothers, so it’s not like he’s an only child.”

But, he lives a split life, so he hasn’t experienced the true benefits of either. 

If he were an only child, that would be what he knew, and perhaps he would have enjoyed that status.  But that is not the family dynamic he’s grown up with.  He has brothers who visit every-other-weekend on a regular basis, then varying other times, based on the terms of their parents’ Joint Parenting Agreement.  And, he prefers life with his brothers.  He doesn’t sigh with relief when they leave because now he can be king of the house once again.  After experiencing day-to-day life with siblings, he doesn’t want to go back to the isolation of being solo.

And, yes, he has brothers, as we are reassured by those who believe only-childness is a curse.  But, for our son, our super-social son, having them only part-time has become detrimental as he becomes older.  Starting last fall, his sadness after every visitation period was so apparent that his preschool teacher asked for the visitation schedule, so she could anticipate his down periods and help him work through them.  This, necessary for a 3-year-old…

Added to this is the unique circumstance that he is the child of an anonymous sperm donor, so he will never have the opportunity to meet his biological father.  He has the best adoptive father possible, and he and my husband are extraordinarily close because they’ve been together since the minute he was born.  So, perhaps the loss of any possible relationship with the donor will be fine to him, but maybe not.  We won’t know until he gets older and fully grasps the story he’s been told since his birth, of his donor, of how he grew in my belly, of how his Daddy chose him to be his son and adopted him.

Just as with other adoptees, his paternal origins may not be relevant to him, or curiosity may consume him.  He can satisfy his interest partially by meeting some or all of the 14 half-siblings he has in the United States and Canada, whom I’ve found via the Donor Sibling Registry, www.donorsiblingregistry.com.  But meeting his half-siblings, children who will have grown up in different families around North America, is not the same as meeting his biological father, if that is what he longs to do.

My husband and I can’t provide him with access to his biological father.  We can’t increase the visitation time we have with his adoptive brothers.  We can eventually facilitate his introductions to his half-siblings, wherever they may live in the future, but these relationships can only be long-distance, which could further frustrate him—the double disappointment of not having regular access to either his adoptive brothers or his half-siblings.

But my husband and I could try to give him a half-sibling to whom he would have 24/7 access.  So we did try, twice, with our two in vitro fertilization (IVF) cycles. 

And, now I’m pregnant with twin boys. 

My husband and I have been told that, if my high-risk pregnancy is successful, we’ve ruined our lives.  But, we’re well aware of all the negative occurrences and influences that have combined to adversely affect us and our children, resulting in anxiety, anger and depression all the way down to our youngest son.  And, along with our 15-year-old having the opportunity to overcome his learning disability at his new school, this pregnancy is the most positive occurrence in the 2 ½ years since we got married, so full of hope for our futures together. 

This pregnancy renews that hope.