I have been given many labels in my life, and had many judgements made about the things I have done, or that have happened to me. I don’t normally take much notice to be honest. Its incredible how intolerant people can be, but you learn to accept that when classified as “teenage mother” or “single parent”! However, there is one judgement I have made of myself that I could never have predicted – I should have thought long and hard before bringing a child in to the world when I knew nothing about the type of person that had helped me to create that child.

At first it was all fairly straightforward. I had been married, had two children, and was subsequently widowed. Following the death of my husband, myself and my children were firstly distraught, but after that came desperate hope for something good to happen.

About a year after his death I had a short relationship with a man a few years younger than me, and about 6 weeks into the relationship I found I was pregnant. The man disappeared pretty quickly once he was armed with that information, and has never been seen since. Most people recoil in horror at that, but for me and my children it was not really ever a concern. We were just so happy and excited about our new baby that I spent little time fretting over the deserting father. We spent hours sat round my growing belly, talking about what we would call him, all the things we would do with him, all the places we would take him. It finally gave us something to look forward to which we all sorely needed.

The fact that I didn’t really know anything about the person who had helped to create that life never entered my head. I never once thought about the implications of bearing the child of a stranger. My husband and I had been together for 8 years, we knew each other inside out, and anyone who has children will know that similarities between child and parent go much deeper than little Johnny having his dads nose. I could see my husband in my two children, in their faces, in their mannerisms, in their perception of life, and their reactions, even their preferences for food. These are all things I took for granted.

I recall feeling a little embarrassed when the midwife asked about the fathers medical history, but I was defiant in my determination to show people that you don’t need a man to be a family, just as I had been defiant that I wasn’t going to be a stereotypical teenage mother all those years before.