Tonight, I went to the opera for one of the most heart-breaking tales of a single mother ever: Madama Butterfly. (Okay, Cio-Cio San considered herself a married woman. But her son was born after Pinkerton left, and she never saw her husband again, so really: single mother.) And, because it was an incredible performance that had me nearly in tears again on the T coming home, it’s helping me clarify my thoughts about one of the Single Mom Options, namely, Conceiving with a Known Donor (whether the insemination is artificial or through more, um, traditional means). On the one hand, the idea of actually knowing who my child’s father is has a lot of appeal. Or, more exactly, the idea of not knowing who my child’s father is, and not being able to tell my child anything more than his height, eye color, and family health history? Freaks me out. But on the other hand, if it’s not a marriage, partnership, long-term commitment to raising a child together, there’s so much room for misunderstandings and heartache. And…this will be addressed more in a later post because I’m a little too braindead right now, apparently.
The money thing: thank goodness I live in 21st century America instead of 19th century fictional Japan, right? I have many more options for earning a living, and I’m also lucky enough to have a family that wouldn’t renounce me if I married a foreigner and abandoned my family culture and religion. (They might not be ecstatic about my choices in such and instant — and if I were to have a child on my own, they would have misgivings, but they’d also be supportive, certainly not renounce me. Non renegata.) But I still don’t feel convinced that I’d be able to give a child the material things I’d want to be able to give it — yes, love is the most important thing (and, yeah, food, shelter, that stuff), but it kills me to think of not being able to give a child even half of the “perks” I had growing up. And my parents were pretty frugal compared to the average 1970s American middle class parents; we’re not talking about insane luxuries here. Or even store-brand not-on-sale cookies.
Gah. So incoherent tonight. I will leave off with a translation of the Butterfly aria that gives this post its title:
Do you know what that man thinks?
That your mother should take
you on her shoulder, And forth should wander in rain
and tempest Through the town,
seeking to earn enough For food and clothing.
