Conversations

People's main criticism of this blog has been how personal it is. Whether it's me talking about my job, my dates, my friends, my son, or my uterus, people seem to think that I'm sharing too much. What is funny about that is as I've gotten older, my willingness to share information about myself has actually decreased. Yet, there is this blog. This blog creates a dissonance within my external and internal life and has honestly brought me a significant amount of trouble over the past seven years.

I don't really have a good answer as to why I write in this forum, on this site, and on the Internet other than I'm vain enough that I like having people read what I write. I like connecting with other people that might feel the same way as me. Or people who think so differently that they challenge my view of the world. I like reading other people's blog, so I blog myself.

My sister made an interesting point about the posts I've been putting up recently. Whether or not to have another child and how to go about that task are usually conversations between partners, held behind closed doors. Very few friends and family members are brought in on those discussions. Writing through the process is opening myself up to all kinds of observations, criticisms, and doubts. I get that. Normally, when one committed person comes out of a bathroom with a positive pee stick in their hand, it's considered good news when they tell the other person or post a picture of it on Facebook.  I've never once had a woman tell me she's pregnant and asked her if she's sure that it's a good time for a baby and if she's ready for the massive changes in her life. I've never once asked a woman if she could afford to have another child. Never once. Usually because her partner would kick my ass. That, and I live in the South and that would just be considered bad manners on my part to make a pregnant woman cry, even if I did have a valid point.

I'm not sure where to take the conversation from here. So much in my life has changed since I had Zac, but detailing those changes would seem like I'm trying to defend myself. I don't feel like that's necessary.

Out and About

When I came out in this post and declared: I want another baby! there was no caveat to that statement. No asterisk where I said in fine print, "I want another baby unless a well meaning person with good intentions convince me otherwise because I haven't really thought through the consequences of my decision yet". I came out, boldly, with pride, with my decision already made. I knew that there would be detractors. I knew that my family probably wouldn't support me. Didn't anyone think it was odd that I came out as gay and baby-ready in the same post? That I might consider both comments would be met with similar disdain?

I know I'm going against social norms by wanting another child without a partner. I find strength from my LGBT community, many of whom live every day without the support of their immediate or extended family. There are many, many people out there who live their lives every day, out in our communities and in our work places, knowing that people hate them simply because of who they love. People consider them an abomination. I exist within this world and identify with this space.

I'm trying to live my life as authentically as possible and for me, that includes another child.

I came out about having a second child and decided to blog along the way. There was never a question in my mind as to whether or not I would have another child. The only question was when and how. I'm working toward answering those questions. THAT is the process I'm blogging about.

Would this really be easier for people to understand if I went to a bar and picked up a man for a one-night stand? Could it then be considered a "happy accident where I made the best of a bad situation"? Even better, wouldn't it be great for me to form a false relationship with a man, wait until he cares about Zac and me, then drop the bombshell on him that I got pregnant "accidentally". No. That would make me a horrible person.  I would prefer not to trick someone into fatherhood. I'm trying to be as responsible as possible. If Clicker decides he wants to be involved, then he will be. If I decide to use donor sperm, then I will.

Just please don't assume that you know more than me - more about my history, my family, my lack of relationship with the FOB, and most of all, don't even consider uttering one word about Zac. My decision is made. I love my family and would love to add to my family. That's all that is really going on here.

Selfishness

I genuinely meant the disclaimers from my last post, I don't judge any families for their choices and I prefer to have the same amount of respect shown to me. I knew going into this journey that some people wouldn't understand. Going even further than that, I knew that some people would actively dissuade me from having another child without a (preferably male) partner. I've not been disappointed. All those fears that I had about coming out about my desire to have another child were born out of my history of experiences.

Probably the most common comment I've heard is that I'm selfish - I'm not thinking of the child. Along this line of thinking, a child deserves a two-parent family. Depending on who I am talking to, it's either assumed that one parent would be male and the other would be female or that I would have a female partner. Either way, there seems to be an assumption that I haven't fully thought through the consequences of raising another child alone.

The word "another" is really the kicker in the last sentence. I left Zac's biological father, which I refer to as FOB (Father of the Baby) when I was a three-and-a-half months pregnant. I drove across country in a 1995 Honda Civic, hauling a 2,000lb Uhaul by myself until Hershey, PA. My tire blew out spectacularly on I-95 and I panicked and called 911. Then I called my parents. My Dad flew into Pittsburgh the next day and we drove the remaining miles to Texas together. I didn't see the FOB during my entire pregnancy. My Mom was my birthing partner and attended all the birth classes together. My parents took me to the hospital when I was 39 weeks pregnant and ready to be induced. When I needed a C-section about laboring for close to 36 hours without much progress, it was my Mom that scrubbed up to come into the OR with me. When I woke up after the surgery, I was alone in a room, bleeding. My parents were with Zac, who had to go to NICU for three days. When my Mom came back into to check on me, she found me in a pool of my own blood. I left a large pool on the ground that had soaked through the gurney when they wheeled me into another room. With Zac in NICU, I had nothing to do but try and recover from major abdominal surgery alone. My parents went home to get some rest and every time I tried to stand up, more blood would come out of me. I just remember so much blood and being so alone, although in reality I'm sure my parents were there every moment that they could be.

I didn't see the FOB until Zac was six months old and I flew up to New Hampshire to introduce the two of them. He wrote in Zac's baby book and I took some pictures. Then I left, and took my baby with me. Because he is my baby. There is no father listed on my son's birth certificate. Zac used to ask me a lot of questions about his "Dad" but he's never known what it would be like to live with man. He is mine and I am his.

So the argument, "you just haven't done enough research and need to hear about the stories of other child from sperm donors and how the felt and if you just knew more, you probably wouldn't want this for your child" falls on deaf ears with me. How could I ever look Zac in the eye and tell him, "It's ok that you have a biological father you don't know, but it would be cruel to inflict that pain on another child"?

I've chosen my path. I knew what I was walking away from when I left FOB. How is this process any different? Why would I need to listen to other children, when I have my own, who was essentially born to a sperm donor. I don't know, maybe I'm downplaying the comfort it provides my son to have a face and a name to half of his DNA. Maybe he's too young to express into words what that means to him. To me, it almost seems crueler to say, "Don't get your hopes up. Your Dad probably won't write back if you text or e-mail him. He's busy a lot" (and really, I have no idea what he's busy doing. Something I assume, other than avoiding his responsibilities).

Sometimes I'm even willing to accept the harshest criticism that I'm being selfish. Maybe I am putting my desire to have another child over the psychological health of my second born. If I really believed that, then wouldn't I have to logically accept that every woman that walks away from an abusive relationship is being selfish since she is depriving her child of the cherished, two-parent household? Aren't people who get divorced just as selfish as I am?

I've made no secret that some members of my family do not support me giving Zac a sibling. They don't think I'm ready. They argue that I'm not mature enough, not secure enough, financially, emotionally, and professionally. The unsaid threat lies beneath the surface that since this will be my decision, I will be left to face the consequences and will be alone and ostracized. I think that's why I started blogging again. Through my words, I hope to find the community (shit, let's call it what it is -  the family), that I'm defying. I can't think of anything more selfless than to give my body over to nurturing a child in my uterus and promising to love it for the rest of my life, but maybe I am being selfish. I just don't know.

Educational Attainment

As I mentioned previously, I've been simultaneously amusing and horrifying myself by delving into the world of sperm donation. Let's just say that after even a cursory level of research, I understand why couples and single women post ads on Craiglist asking for help. Before I get into this, let's start with the disclaimers: 1) I am in no way an expert on intra-uterine insemination, other than what I've been told by the man I fondly refer to as Repro Guy. He's a Reproductive Endocrinologist, so I basically trust him, even if he has a stern dislike of my ovaries and my treatment of them; 2) I have only looked into two sperm banks. I recognize that literally thousands of banks exist across the country and internationally. I base my opinions solely on these two banks, which were recommended to me by Repro Guy (see comment 1 for more info); 3) I firmly believe that everyone is entitled to make their own decisions based on what is best for their family at any given point. I am not judging or dismissing anyone.

Ok. With that being said....let's talk about sperm. I feel like I should back up and tell any new readers that I got pregnant accidentally ON THE PILL. It was an open bar at one of my friend's wedding and I was on strong antibiotics for an abscess tooth...yada yada, yada...five weeks later a very kind nurse at Planned Parenthood had the misfortune to tell me no less than four times that I was actually pregnant. I bring up this story to note that I've only ever given a fleeting nod to the importance of sperm. I mean, rationally, I knew it was there and I knew that I needed to avoid it. I'm sure that's as far as my 23 year-old mind got when it came to family planning. Hell, my 31 year-old mind hasn't gotten much farther from that until recently.

Sperm - can't carry it on your body and can't get knocked up without it.

I would need pre-washed IUI ready boys. It never occurred to me that there sperm could come in menu format: as in, "I'll have the un-washed intra-cervical sperm today and why don't you just put a four months supply on ice for me while we are at it?" Yeah. Sperm comes in three different levels and if I were more responsible, I'd be able to tell you what exactly what happens to sperm during the process of "washing", but I can't. Literally. I have no idea. I feel like I should feel bad about that, but my doc will only do one kind of insemination, so I don't feel the need to be empowered on this issue. At least not at this point. With this, as with all other areas of this process, I retain the right to change my mind later.

As a consumer, I can tell you that pre-washed IUI sperm is the most expensive. In fact, price was the first thing I noticed when I looked at the bank's websites. The sperm I need is the most expensive by about $150 - $300/vial. Just for reference, with every vial of sperm, I have approximately a 20% chance of getting pregnant provided my doc does it at exactly the right moment of ovulation, which makes me wonder, "How in the hell does anyone get pregnant accidentally anyways?" I was told to buy at least six vials of the good stuff for any serious attempt at baby making.

Even within a particular sperm category, there are hundreds of choices. I want sperm from a Caucasian man, but I really don't care about his eye color, hair color, personality traits, educational attainment, national origin, or college major. I'm completely neutral on the fact that my donor could have a Slavic or Germanic family history. I feel like I should care on behalf of my Mom since she's the family genealogist, but since she's opposed to Baby Number 2, I prefer to remain neutral. I just want to know that my sperm is free of major genetic defects and won't give me a STD. I find it hysterical, however, that the more college the donor goes to, the more his sperm costs. "Pursuing a BA" sperm is less expensive than "MD/PhD sperm" and no, I'm not kidding. "MD/PhD sperm" can cost up to $900/vial and some of the most highly sought after sperm has a waiting list. Read that again and think about that means.

Some sperm has a waiting list.

What the hell are they waiting for? For the man to make another "donation"? For the mysterious washing process to be complete? Are they simply just holding back some sperm to create demand for the product? Do men with a high degree of educational attainment get paid more for their donation? What if I really want doctor sperm, but I'm actually settling for a PhD in History or Psychology. Am I really getting the full value for my money? See...this just brings up so many questions for me, all of which I find vaguely amusing. I could go on for a long time posing hypothetical questions about this sperm. Like: What if I want full biological siblings, but I used all the sperm up on getting preggo with the first kid, do I have to wait for other women to get pregnant before I can give my kid a a biological brother or sister? What if the guy gets deployed or travels out of town or gets into a serious relationship and decides he doesn't want to be a sperm donor anymore? Then what? What if he gets a D in microbiology or chemistry and drops out of medical school, will they reclassify his sperm as "MA or MS sperm"?

But, let's face it, I'm cheap. See also: I've been poor a long time. While I have a list of things I don't care about, I care about price. If I was being really honest, I'd say that I want discount sperm. I'd like the sperm that goes on a 2-for-1 special. If Kmart sold sperm, I would find a Kmart and buy it. So, I'm mainly looking in the "Pursuing a BA" sperm categoy. I'd like to note that, "High School Dropout sperm" doesn't even exist at these two banks. There is also an option where a child can find out the donor's information when they turn 18. That sounds good, until I realize that most men pursuing a BA are probably 18 themselves. Let's imagine this: some banks don't put a limit on the number of pregnancies that can result from their sperm. For simplicity's sake, let's assume that my donor is 20. At the age of 38, do I really want my child, along with 10 or 12 other kids, to seek this man out? Does this 20 year-old man really grasp the consequences of getting paid $50 bucks for a masturbatory session?

There are just too many questions right now. I continue to remain amused, horrified, and very confused.

Welcome to my Uterus!

It's not very often that I invite people into one of my body's organs, but there has been so much activity in this particular organ that I thought it would say hello. Really, if my uterus could speak, it would say, "Get that fucking thing out of me and never go back to that doctor again!"

Let me back up. Start at the beginning, as it was. Like an egg forming in my ovary perhaps we'll get to my uterus one day (was the analogy too much? Sorry. It's all I've got. I'm a little rough around the edges with writing these days. Ever since the facebook fiasco).

I announced a while ago, in this post, that I wanted another child. I'm not sure how we got from January to now without having a post about my uterus, but all I can say is that I've been busy. It took me a while to schedule appointments with all the doctors that would weigh in on my decision to have a baby. I had to see my wonderful ObGyn in her new building, I had to get referred to a Reproductive Endocrinologist, I had to talk to my bariatric surgeon about whether my body could handle pregnancy, really, I was quite busy.

My ObGyn was very confused at first, as in "I just put this IUD in you a year ago, why are you taking it out now?" Then she looked pleased with herself when I told her I wanted another baby, like she personally would be getting me pregnant. Getting out my IUD was a momentous day. I have been on either birth control pills or intra-cervical hormones since after Zac was born. Basically, I am now hormone-free for the first time in seven years. It's been easily five years or so since I've had a period and I've had two in the past four weeks. My body rocks! Anyways, the ObGyn referred me to the Repro Guy. I didn't want to go alone to that appointment and, man, that was a mistake.

I ended up asking Clicker to go with me. The doc took one look at him, looked at me, and asked how long we had been married in his thick Turkish accent. When I told him I wasn't married to Clicker and was thinking about using donor sperm, he jerked his head sideways to Clicker and asked me in a low tone, "What's wrong with him?" I think I blushed through that entire interrogation, I mean initial consultation. I quickly assured him that we had no idea if anything was wrong with Clicker and that I hadn't made my mind up as to how I would have a child yet. He turned to his resident and was like, "Really?", then turned back to me, "And you have NO history of infertility? This is very strange." I agreed. Then, again - I couldn't even make this up if I tried - he looked at my chart on his computer and said, "You're 31, with a history of smoking, you could have 40 year-old ovaries!!! We need to look at your eggs, immediately. Like, today." I was overwhelmed and frightened. "What do you mean, today?" I asked. He said, "Right now. Get up on the table."

Flash forward to me getting my first transvaginal ultrasound and thinking the whole time, "Wow, this really is as bad as Democrats make it out to be". Repro Guy was shoving that thing so far inside me that I thought it might just pop the whole organ and take pregnancy out the window. Turns out, ovaries are like acorns, with follicles inside them. Egg-making follicles. He flattened them out, which involves pushing the wand on the ovary, to count the follicles. If I've said it one time, I've said it a thousand - internal organs are not used to being fucked with. They don't like. They fight back. It felt like someone had sucker punched my ovaries. I was horrified. Repro Guy was pleasantly pleased with the number of follicles I had and pronounced me fit for breeding.

I went back three weeks later, because apparently I enjoy punishing my uterus, for a HSG test. I could google what HSG stands for, but I'm lazy, so I'll give you the short-hand. It stands for, "OMG. My doctor has his entire hand inside me and just squired dye into my uterine cavity via my cervix. Ow. I would like to curl up into the fetal position, but first, I would need to remove Repro Guy's forearm. Oh look, now they are taking x-rays of my junk. This couldn't get any better if I tried." Then, the test was over and I, again, wondered why so many reproductive tests make me want to cry.

Ok, let me wrap this up. No baby in the uterus right now. Look forward to a post about donor sperm and how much fun I have thinking about men that are "Pursuing their BA".

Does She or Doesn't She?

I always know when someone likes me, even as a person, when they read my blog. Actually, I've had people hate me as a person for this very blog, but at least I knew they were listening. They hated me, but I least I knew they cared enough to read.

And oh! This blog and I have been through so much. So many iterations, so many times when I've wanted to start writing and haven't had the courage to hit publish.

What can I say now? Work is great, my  love life is complex at best. I just made appointments to see my ObGyn and a Reproductive Endocrinologist as a completely single woman, but then I met someone. And oh how she made me smile. She made me feel like I had been waiting for her, but then there is all the fear and insecurity. All the people that tell me it's not what I think it is and "oh grasshopper, you should slow down".

So consider me officially slowed. I'm not even answering my phone right now. I'm so slow that a slug couldn't see me. I just had a great Easter dinner with my parents, Zac, and Clicker, and now we are all almost ready to go to bed. I'm so alone it hurts. As always. Just alone....and even when I thought I was through waiting for my white knight, I find myself wondering, "Just maybe...."

Red Dress Photoshoot

Here are a sampling of the photos from my red dress photo shoot. My wonderful photographer, Trisha Fisher from Trisha Fisher Photography. It was a beautiful early spring day and I was so glad that Trisha welcomed Zac at my photoshoot.

My red dress was lovingly donated as part of the Red Dress Project (I'm not sure if she wants to be named here). The dress has already been advertised and will soon be passed on to another woman to continue the cycle of empowerment, beauty, and mystery. The basic premise of the project is: sometimes you just have to wear a red dress for no reason, just to be, for one minute or one hour, the embodiment of the person you want to be.

The day of my red dress shoot, I was definitely challenged. My friend Seven and I had a brutal fight and we stormed off the phone swearing we were never going to talk again. I was fighting back tears when I put on the dress, which had been described to me as "a stretchy size 12". Well, it was looser than the first time I tried it on, but basically very, very tight. It also had skinny straps, so I decided to wear a short-sleeve black sweater. Then to stave off any feelings of being in drag, I decided to wear my casual Merrill shoes, which I'm pretty sure Trisha frowned at when she saw. I ended up taking most of my photographs bare foot.

Zac was there the whole time, usually playing on the wooden bridges and pavilions, constantly asking, "Is it my turn to take a picture". He forced me not to take myself too seriously, especially since my hurt was still hurting from the fight I had had just minutes before putting on the dress.

Did I feel powerful, beautiful, and sexy? Did I feel like I was celebrating losing 50lbs? Yes and No. The old insecurities still plague me. Most of the photos I'm looking up because I was sensitive about my double chin. In every photo, I ask myself, "How do my arms look in that? They don't look too big do they?" But it was fun. It was fun being with Zac at a park in the late afternoon. It was fun playing with all the props that Trisha had brought in her huge duffel bag. It was fun when she would take a photo and be so happy with the result that she would show me with this knowing smile in her eyes.

I don't want the back story of the photos ruin the photos themselves. They are beautiful and have more to do with my talented photographer than me. Some of the photos thought, where I'm looking directly into the camera lens, belies some of the strength in my eyes that has come from seven years of trial. Seven years of living as a single Mom, struggling in my career, getting a masters degree, trying to make a life for myself. That shows in my eyes.

Then in contrast, there are the pictures with Zac. The pictures where I look so happy and Zac is so happy and we are such a family. It's he and I, taking on the world and we love each other so much. 6 1/2 has been such a good age. I'm so lucky to have Zac, even when his love for me astounds me, I've tried to never take it for granted. Even when I was sick and thought he would get over the loss of me and be better off with another family, I knew, deep down, that the love we share was and still is a powerful force.

He's silly and funny and charmed Trisha with his jokes about the evolution of dinosaurs. Man I love that kid and I'm so happy he got to celebrate the red dress with me.