A Natural Mother

On a Sunday morning in May 2018, I accompanied Vivia Wampler to a mall in Chico, California, where she often went to eavesdrop on other families. She held a Coke in one hand and a Subway sandwich in the other, her eyes scanning the food court. She was hoping to see a temper tantrum, so she could learn how a parent reacts. But today was unusually slow. 

Vivia let out a sigh. “I don’t know why, but tomatoes are so good,” she said. 

In the stroller next to her sat Emma. Vivia picked her up and gently rubbed her back. She’d always known she wanted to be a mother, and handling Emma came naturally to her. She inserted a bottle between her lips, tipped it back a few times, and returned to her sandwich. 

A woman’s voice called out from behind the smoothie counter.

“I’m sorry: is that baby real or not real?” she said. “Oh my god! Not real.”

“I’m just practicing,” said Vivia, hugging Emma to her chest.

*

When Vivia was two years old, she fell and hit her head on the stairs. Her mother, Connie LaCroix, brought her to the doctor in South Lake Tahoe, where they lived at the time. Vivia received a checkup and was quickly dismissed. But a few months later, Connie noticed that her daughter’s eyes weren’t tracking, and her speech seemed delayed. It was eventually discovered that she had permanent brain damage. 

In grade school, Vivia was painfully shy. She barely spoke, didn’t make eye contact, and avoided being touched. When kids bullied her at recess, she retreated into the trees and shrubs. Plants became her best friends. As she got older, she began caring for family pets. Her mom brought her on trips to Mexico, where she said Vivia was treated more like a whole person. After high school, Vivia began working more hours at the child development center in California where she had worked during her teenage years. She was an intuitive teacher, with a big smile and a penchant for tie-dye.

But into adulthood, the feeling that she didn’t fit in remained. Social cues were hard for her to pick up on, and she struggled in conversations. She would monologue on topics she felt comfortable with, like childcare, and often forgot to ask questions of the other person. Even within her family, she lingered on the outskirts of conversations, waiting for a pause when she could leap in. “Sometimes we might be having a conversation about politics, and she’d want to chime in about her bus ride,” said her aunt Becky Milani. When Vivia was unable to participate in a conversation, she grew frustrated....