Monday, November 8, 2010

Teen Mom

So yeah, my last post was a glimpse into my world as a homeschool teacher to pregnant and parenting teens. Katherine was my very first student and she was a doozy to say the least. I will say that in the end, I over-bonded, got way too close, bought the baby gifts, and was taking home phone calls (this was pre-cell phone days) from her mother, Lois, that always ended with "I love you teacher." Needless to say they made room for me on the couch and I didn't know how to set boundaries. I think about that family, I wonder how many children Katherine has now, and I can calculate how old her first baby would be but it just makes me depressed about my own age. Katherine might well be a grandmother by now if the pattern repeated itself.

Oh my students. They did run the gamut. And I did care about them--deeply.

I saw students who were poor--literally with dirt floors--I saw students who were rich--with two Lexuses in the driveway. I saw a student in an arranged marriage with her first cousin who was 40 years old and it still makes my skin crawl just typing that sentence. I saw two students who planned their pregnancies together and delivered within two weeks of each other. I saw one student who was twenty years old and still in the 10th grade, on her third baby.

Of course the beautiful thing at the time was I had no idea of my own precarious fertility. It was slipping away with every visit I made to each teen mom. It was sliding through my fingers as I consoled their crying newborns while they tried to take a test. It was declining while I scrambled to find them a carseat so they could take their baby home from the hospital, while I filled in as a Lamaze coach, while I stood knocking in the freezing cold only to learn the house I was visiting, where my student and her newborn lived, had been raided by the police the night before, nearly everyone arrested on drug charges. But I had no idea--the world 'infertile' wasn't in my vocabulary. I was there to teach, to listen, to hold, to help--to make a damned difference!-- and when I cried for their sad and seemingly impossible situations I am grateful now that I had no idea what loomed ahead for me, for my sad and seemingly impossible situation, or I would surely have come apart at the seams.

Life is full of irony, no?

13 comments:

  1. oh, yes. all the things we were doing while our own fertility was slipping away. i, too, spent my time delicately consoling others' children, become an extra family member in the lives of so many. so many who were so unlucky in life but so very lucky in fertility. *sigh*
    hugs, my friend. that's all i can send...
    xoxo
    lis

    ReplyDelete
  2. It sure is.. and double creep at the arranged marriage with the 40 year old. What is with people??

    ReplyDelete
  3. What a tough job. I can't imagine. I think we all think about the thoughts we had while blithely wasting our youth, our fertility. And, I'm sure that seeing all this only strengthened your resolve to be in a good place--stable, secure, healthy--when you had babies of your own. You will still be all those things when you do have your family. And, going through this, will make ou love and treasure it all the more.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Wow, I can only imagine how difficult that job was without know about infertility, knowing would make it all but impossible.

    Irony is certainly one word for it.... :)

    ReplyDelete
  5. WOW! This post gives me chills and profound sadness. For you, this amazing person who deserves to be a mommy and is such an awesome person. Irony...isn't it an interesting thing?

    ReplyDelete
  6. All this shows that you are an amazing person and you daughter shouldn't wait another minute to be in your arms and receiving your love, nurturing, and kindness.

    T

    ReplyDelete
  7. Wow, what an amazing life you had before. I am so impressed with how you managed that difficult and challenging job. You are truly a special person.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Sometimes, situations like that make me want to believe in a method of communism.

    Just brutal.

    ReplyDelete
  9. It is awfully ironic, huh? The things we do in our lives - I think it's admirable what you did - and I'm glad you aren't doing it anymore.

    Thanks for cheering me on.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Wow. I know it goes on, but, wow. My first job offer out of college was a position as a substance abuse counselor, but when I found out most of my days would actually be spent tracking down the folks who didn't show up for their appointments (and I saw their living conditions), I bowed out. I admire that you tried to help. I'm sure you left a lasting impression on some of these folks - even if you are not aware of it. I really don't believe it was all for nothing. And obviously, infertility is not about who will be the best mom. Sorry to say...

    ReplyDelete
  11. Wow. Those are some incredible experiences you had. Given your heart, I'm sure you had a lasting impression on a lot of those girls, even if you won't ever have the opportunity to see that directly.

    (Okay, I just saw Libby's comment which says almost the same thing word for word, but I'm posting this anyway, because you deserve to hear it more than once.)

    ReplyDelete
  12. oh, wow. What a difficult job - WITHOUT the pain of looking back on it now, through different lenses. I just can't even imagine.

    ReplyDelete
  13. For some reason I am just seeing this now. It certainly sounds like a crazy job. It is interesting how you mention the before IF, its like an entirely other life for me.

    ReplyDelete