Working Toward Motherhood

By Liza P. Gray

All my life, I wanted to be two things -- a writer and a mother. Now I am a writer. I am trying to become a mother, while also trying to become a tenured professor. Not the best timing, but what in life ever is?

For many years, I sacrificed much of my personal life to my career. I am in my late 30s and single. Mr. Right has yet to show up, although Mr. Not Right At All and Mr. Not Ready for Fatherhood have both dropped by. I didn't "wait too long" to get married, as some conservative wags might criticize. Mr. Right just seems to be on a different time schedule than my biological clock.

So after much thought, I've decided to become a mother, with or without a partner. But I also want to become a tenured professor, with the job security and the sense of accomplishment that brings. Do I have to choose? Can I do both?

I will come up for tenure next fall, so the sensible thing would be to put the parenting part on hold until I achieve tenure next spring (if I do). But I came late in life to this academic career. And I can't believe that male faculty members would have to choose between personal and professional goals. By next Christmas, I should know whether I have attained one or both goals while still maintaining my sanity. So far, it is a toss up.

I decided to adopt from the child-welfare system in my state, as opposed to going through a private adoption or an international one, mainly because my budget is limited. I also wanted to help a child or two in my area, instead of one in Russia or China.

Dealing with the child-welfare system, however, has been a journey to at least the sixth circle of hell. I thought I knew what I was getting into. Like any academic, I did my researched and thought myself prepared. But I had no idea.

A few months ago, the pressures of the tenure and the adoption processes began to be too much. I was standing in front of a class -- the one that refuses to be motivated or participate much -- glancing into my students' glazed eyes and trying to pep them up.

My cellphone rang. Normally, I keep it off when I teach but I knew a social worker from the child-welfare agency was trying to reach me. I silenced the phone and did not answer the call, but my concentration was shot. Had the agency finally found me a child? Would I be a mother soon?

The answer was no. Later, I sobbed in the bank parking lot. I am not sure what set me off. Maybe the neon lights. Maybe I was just tired.

I want to adopt, not just be a foster parent for a child. But the child-welfare system so desperately needs foster parents that it kept asking me to take children for a few days or weeks. I kept saying no, fearing the pain in my heart when the child would be taken away to his or her permanent home. The social workers were persistent. They would call me at home, in my office, on my cellphone. It was getting to be heart-wrenching. I started pictured the kids' faces, floating around my head.

But I also pictured the face of my dean, urging me to stay on track to get tenure. The dean does not know about my adoption plans. The dean is a good person, but perhaps old-fashioned. The dean already considers me to be a bit of a maverick because I had a different career before I became an academic, and I don't want to give anyone at my university reason to doubt my qualifications. In my view, my personal life is no one's business so long as I get my work done.

My immediate supervisor also knows about my parenting plans but is a bit anxious about the few weeks I plan to take off as guaranteed by the Family and Medical Leave Act. The problem is I don't know when I might adopt. The child-welfare system does not follow the academic calendar.

In addition to my department head, my colleagues in our small department all know about my adoption plans. I thought it was only fair to inform them because my absence -- whenever it occurs -- will affect them.

My colleagues are very supportive and for that, I realize I am very lucky. But I am careful not to take advantage of their good will. I don't ramble on about my adoption plans and I do my work. If things stay that way, I am sure they will have no problem with my plans.

Like every other academic seeking tenure, I have to maintain good teaching evaluations, serve on department and campus committees, and publish, publish, publish. I am working on all that.

But here is what I have done in the past eight months to become a licensed adoptive parent: described my saddest memory; revealed whether or not I walk around my house naked; purchased a fire extinguisher over 5 pounds; gotten fingerprinted; had a physical and TB test; answered questions about my opinions on masturbation; installed safety latches on all my cabinets; expressed new curse words while installing the safety latches; watched movies about troubled foster children; bought a lock box for all of my medication; emptied the fridge of beer; begged friends for a crib, then begged them to put it together; boiled my life down to a 500-word autobiography; pondered which (if any) of a myriad of conditions I would accept in a child, including: fire-starter, runaway, prostitute, terminally ill.

That doesn't even count the 24 hours of parenting classes I had to attend while the social worker instructor told us in a monotone: "These kids. They got problems."

Last month, I broke my own rules. I accepted two foster children into my home. They were brother and sister -- ages 2 and 3. The timing seemed right, since my university was still on winter break. I thought I could care for the children and prepare for the spring semester at the same time. Ha! I got a crash course in motherhood.

I changed countless diapers, accompanied the older one to the potty, cooked a lot of hot dogs, and wrestled with their car seats. I also got no sleep (both of them arrived with colds) and wore dried phlegm on my shirt as a fashion statement.

The children's temporary visit and the start of the spring semester overlapped. I found a daycare center and filled out a ream of paperwork. The next day, the kids and I arrived at daycare at 9:25 a.m. I thought that was pretty good, since the boy had awoken fussy because of his cold and the girl had run around the house naked for a half-hour till I could get her dressed. It turns out we were all late. We had missed "Circle Time," which starts promptly at 9 a.m. And I had forgotten to write the children's names on their nap-time blankets. Bad foster mother!

Suddenly I wasn't worried about the dean anymore. Now I was worried about the wrath of the daycare people, who frankly, seemed more imposing.

The kids have moved on to another home and I am now settled into the spring semester, with pudding stains in my carpet and stray Cheerios as a reminder. When the children were here, they made me crazy. Now that they are gone, I miss them like crazy. I guess that is what being a parent is like.

So this is my life until I adopt, get tenure, or lose my marbles. I am burning the candle at both ends. I am stressed and tired. I have moments of joy. Wish me luck.