The concept of donor siblings is a funny one. Sibling often means someone you’re related to and/ or have grown up with. Add in the (unknown) donor element to the sibling relationship though and it often means you have no connection beyond a stranger’s kind deed. But for those who want, social media is changing that.
We’ve all heard the “horror stories” of 100 plus siblings from one man’s sperm. It’s most people’s go to comment (read: jibe) when they hear you’ve used an unknown donor. Before embarking on this path I had the odd concern of a large number of donor siblings, it sounded overwhelming for any child or donor alike. But my biggest concern lay with my children. How would they deal with their own – unique – paternal heritage?
I already had one wonderful son when I decided to go down the path of donor conception. For me, and my children, without a doubt the most important sibling relationship is the one between my boys. They are the ones who have shared my womb, my bed and my love. They are the ones who are living and loving together as we grow as a tight knit family of three.
My eldest son was born of the traditional love-procreation-divorce method. My second of the more progressive donor-IUI-birth method. The eldest has two half siblings from his father, a number that may rise in time. Currently, having little relationship with his dad, means he has had no relationship with them.
When I was a mother of one, I thought if my eldest ever had a relationship with his half siblings then perhaps I’d look into the donor siblings of my youngest so he wasn’t left out. Once my second born arrived, I realised I couldn’t base decisions about his life primarily on his brother’s situation. With second borns, when they are safely tucked away in your womb, you can’t imagine them apart from in relation to your first. But once they are here, and their own little person with their individual needs and desires, you learn that you have to make decisions concerning their life for them, and them alone.
Watching my sons’ bond grow in those early days it became clear that one child’s half sibling, whilst not genetically related to the other, was still connected, be that by love, brotherhood or a sense of family that transcends continents, blood lines and heritage. This would work both ways. My boys, after all, are inseparable, bound by an incredible love. The idea that one could have a sibling relationship which the other wasn’t engaged in is impossible. Their bond is strong enough to pull every sibling into their forcefield, no matter their genetic conncetion.
And so it was, well before my baby could sit, let alone walk, I had bitten off more than I could chew. A Google search of donor xyz123, quickly revealed three children, one on the way and a couple of additional possible siblings. My little Z was suddenly one of five. My mind was blown.
It’s pretty odd, looking at Facebook profiles of otherwise strangers, to see someone who – for a split second – appears to be your child but is actually their child. Add in birth trauma and anxiety, and the health and development of children thousands of miles away suddenly takes on a much greater meaning for my own baby’s wellbeing. In those first weeks, I found these connections overwhelming.
On challenging days, their online presence forms a melting pot of paranoia. One sitting there ‘reading’ books at seven months. Mine won’t at fifteen. What’s wrong with him? Worse still, what’s wrong with me? I’m the missing link. The genetic difference; me. The societal difference; me. It’s all on me if this kid turns out messed up and his donor siblings don’t. Having a second parent doesn’t just give you someone to rely on, it gives you someone to blame. It’s pretty rare (outside the solo mum community) to have a (relatively large) control group to mentally compare your own child with. When my anxiety is bad, it’s the worst: ever scrolled through facebook feeds wishing someone else’s life were yours? Now imagine that even their child looked like your own – it’s confusing at best and a topic I’ve yet to hear raised at baby group (or anywhere in fact).
Slowly, connecting with these children and their families, has become our new normal. Another thing I’ve had to accommodate and adjust to on this rollercoaster journey that is donor conception with an unknown donor as a solo mum. I’ve introduced the idea of these children to my eldest; shown him a few photos. He’s still young to understand the science behind it all and for now, their existence in a far away land is irrelevant to his everyday life. In time I will talk about them more. Re-introducing them every now and then so his understanding can grow and his brother can learn from the start all about these people he is connected to.
We now have a private Facebook group so all the donor families can connect. Slowly the sharing of photos and experiences has grown, but on the whole we don’t talk about our children beyond cute photos and milestone moments. I’ve made a conscious decision not to ask and (I try not to) compare for fear it will give free reign to my anxiety. As I watch these children growing and developing from afar, I realise that just because these children share some genes, that doesn’t make them carbon copies. Yes, there is something familiar in their little faces and chubby thighs, but each baby is unique in their own beautiful way, reflecting their other genes, the uterus they grew in and the family they are being raised in.
I know we will get to know them better in time, but for now I can look through their social media feeds with a sense of shared interest and wonderment at the amazing joy one man has enabled all our families to experience. They have become a group who interact from afar thanks to a very special connection. They are some of the first to love the posts on my social media feeds, and often show an interest and appreciation in my child’s growth and development which isn’t there from many much closer to me. It makes sense, they have an added incentive to see my child thrive and flourish – it’s like an insight into what might be in store for theirs – or perhaps it reminds them of their own child at that age. When something happens to another child in the group, we feel it deeply too. The other week I cried when one of the babies was in hospital. I’m emotional at the best of times and I had PMT, but still it’s hard not to react. Is it because I fear their health concerns could be replicated in my little one? Maybe. Is it because looking at a little face so similar to the littlest face I love, strapped up with tubes triggers a deep maternal fear? Perhaps. I’ve not met any of them yet and sometimes, as the only one in the UK, I feel like the odd one out. There’s a geographic as well as cultural divide. Yet we all know that one day our children may feel they share a special bond, and they may want to develop a much closer relationship and I’m certainly open to that.
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If you liked this you might enjoy reading about my donor conception journey as a solo mum.