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She married at 17, then had fifteen pregnancies between then and 31. Her first child, my sister Gale, was born when she was still 17. I was born, the sixth living child, when she was 31. Between having six small children to care for, constant pregnancies, and working full-time, I can tell you she makes no bones about the fact that she hated the whole business. According to my oldest sister, she did her damnedest to induce miscarriage in all her pregnancies, and who can blame her? I certainly don't. A teenage girl shouldn't spend 13 years being continuously pregnant.
I was a post-vasectomy baby. Somehow, between her constant pregnancies and a paternity suit, my father was finally convinced to have the snip, despite being Catholic. However, they forgot to tell him that he wasn't infertile for a period of time following the snip. He didn't believe I was his, and left when I was six weeks old (ironic, isn't it, since he'd had a paternity suit filed against him by another woman?). My mother moved in with her girlfriend and the six of us and had nothing to do with men for 11 years thereafter.
I don't think my mother, to this day, regards heterosexual sex with anything but dread. She did grow weary of having a hidden, closeted lifestyle (this was in the 1960s, when being a lesbian was against the law and certainly would have gotten her fired), and married the first man to ask her, my awful, drunken, violent, child-molesting stepfather. But I also think my stepfather is essentially impotent with grown women, just based on incautious things they've both said. I think the whole business of sex soured for her horribly because of that long 13 years of constant pregnancy.
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