Working on it

I used to day dream about moments with a man, anything from picnics, vacations, happy hours, lazy Sundays, etc. etc, that’s since changed.

For the past year, I like to daydream about you.

I don’t think about the hard times, like when you refuse to sleep and instead choose to cry your lungs out. I imagine moments when you’re usually older than that, at some sort of semi-independent yet incredibly annoying age where you can communicate your thoughts and feelings yet still be able to throw a tantrum to send my nervous system into complete distress.

I picture buying you ice cream and us having a long drawn-out conversation on why “blue” is or is not a legitimate flavor. Your argument will be flawless, resulting in a very generous scoop. You’ll offer me a taste, which I will take, because you were so kind enough to share. I will applaud you for sharing with me in that moment and all future instances, although I will eventually refuse—because “blue” is not a flavor.

I envision you sharing chicken nuggets with Taks, in a way that is mutually beneficial for the both of you, but in reality it’s more of a 60/40 win ratio in his favor. “I finished my food, mommy” as I see Taks obediently sitting and chewing at your side.

I dream of singing, dancing, and laughing with you on weekends we’re not obligated to a single thing. I want to cultivate your creativity, because, TBH your mom is the perfect person for that. I just hate messes, but we will figure it out. I apologize in advance if I pass down my parent’s obsessively compulsive requirement for neatness, it is beyond a doubt a hereditary trait.

I hope you’re smart and witty, and I secretly hope that you are so sharp that you leave me speechless. I deserve ALL THE SMOKE. ALL OF IT. I will be ready for you.

I’m doing the best I can to get you here. 

It’s taking longer than I thought and it’s a lot more difficult that I expected, but I’ll keep trying.

L

I decided to terminate my pregnancy on Halloween. I would’ve been 8 weeks. I was going to miscarry eventually, I had something called a blighted ovum (anembryonic pregnancy). 

During my first ultrasound I learned that my body was doing everything it should to host a growing fetus—however there was no actual embryo growing inside of me. Apparently this the cause of half of all miscarriages before 12 weeks.

It’s a cruel AF to feel the symptoms of pregnancy but accept your body would not yield any actual baby. My body is finally just starting to feel normal again.

I didn’t really factor in the difficult shit into this overall process. I had such a successful experience during the initial IVF period that I was blindsided by bad news. Sure, I was cautiously optimistic during the initial pregnancy phase but I was also just completely ignorant to all the ways it could fail.

I’m not necessarily devastated that no baby existed, but I’m high key upset about all the things I romanticized when I was “pregnant”, all the physiological symptoms, all the sacrifices, dealing with my insomnia (because I cut out edibles cold turkey), and mostly all the shit I saw as “signs from the universe” that I was finally seeing a dream come true.

I’m salty about all of it.

I’ve already spoken to a therapist about the loss. She said while I’ve accepted there was no baby, I’m still dealing with the loss of the idea of the baby. That’s most definitely facts.

On the positive side of things here’s the deal:

1. Thank God I live in California and I still have reproductive rights. Had I lived in a conservative state I would not have any options and would be forced to truamatically miscarry naturally and hope that all the fetal tissue expelled itself on its own.

2. My body became pregnant. My uterus got tagged in to do its job and it performed to the best of it’s ability. I’m grateful for that.

3. I still have 3 “excellent grade” boy embryos on ice. The doc says that all embryos are individual cases and one blighted embryo is not a reflection of the “batch”.

So that’s where I am. I told you the road to a championship ring was a long one. I don’t want to be coddled regarding this. I don’t want to dwell on what was. I just want to heal, mentally and physically, and move forward. I just want to try again as soon as humanly possible.

I just want my next shot at bat. I just want possession of the fucking ball again.

In Defense of Single Women: Part 2

It’s still not a compliment to ask a single woman why she’s single. 

No matter how much you might admire her personality, appearance, career, etc. etc. Don’t do it. It’s an insult, period.

It’s always married women who want to get to the bottom of everything. It’s women who have been in relationships most of their adult lives, the ones that fantasize that single women live glorified and sexy lives where we hook up with men we meet on dating apps and purposely refuse their advances to continually stay single. As if it’s some lifestyle we perpetuate to avoid being tied down.

It’s not our faults, except for the fact we don’t know how to settle.

Our demise of not settling allowed us to get aged out. 

Why deal with a woman with a lot of requirements, has a ticking biological clock and won’t deal with bullshit when you can filter them out for a younger, less demanding woman?

Don’t act like I haven’t done my research, I ask my male friends all the time what their age parameters are. It’s always a younger range. They can shoot for a whole decade younger and still pull.

Sure, exceptions exist. They always exist, but women like myself are the rule—we are not the exception.

Of course there are caveats. It’s easier to be interested and attracted to someone (regardless of their age) when you actually know them on a personal level, but for the most part… we’re talking about the world of online dating. The fucking wasteland called online dating.

Just trust us.

You would have hoped we could’ve cracked the code by now. We all wish the same. Most of us are accomplished in every other avenue of our lives except the love category. We’ve mastered everything else except finding life partners.

Also, don’t suggest for me to allow to be searched by older men. I don’t have the patience to find out if a 55 year old wants to be a step dad to an infant. He’s closer in age to being a grandfather.

I said what I said—and that is all I will say.

Divisional Playoffs

It’s my fault. I announced this whole IVF/sperm donor/pregnancy journey publicly and now people think they can just ask me if I’m knocked up.

I’m not a good liar and I’m not a good deflector. I don’t know how to avoid a subject when it’s brought up directly to my face.

AGAIN, SURE… That’s my fault. I made an intimate part of my life very public. Also, these people are not just random strangers… they’re loving friends and family.

But we’re at the sensitive part now.

I will explain it like this:

I apologize that I’m using a sports analogy (again), but hopefully I can explain it in layman’s terms easy enough to interpret.

The NFL and the MLB have similar playoff structures. There is a wild card round, then divisional playoffs, then it’s the conference playoffs, THEN… it’s the big ‘ol championship battle (Super Bowl or World Series).

I managed to move forward through the wild card round. I got a spot, I have a fighting chance to keep going.

Upon receiving the news I didn’t cry, I didn’t even really celebrate, but that’s only because I knew. My body told me I clinched that shit a whole week ahead of time. Tako told me, if we’re being real, but that’s another post for another day.

I felt joy for a second. It was mostly just relief which instantly turned into giant balls of anxiety.

I don’t want to celebrate yet. I don’t want people congratulating me. I barely wanna talk about it. I just wanna get through it, cause I have a long way to go.

There’s A LOT of weeks between me and that championship ring, for now—let’s just get through the divisional playoffs.

The Cynical Hopeless Romantic

I am still very much HIGH KEY obsessed with romantic love.

I realize I sound bitter, cynical and emotionally unavailable most of the time. Those are all hard facts. I’ve accepted that sometimes I am just a walking contradiction, subject to whatever I feel on any certain given day or time.

I reserve that right. I can be a cynical hopeless romantic if I want to be.

Just because I gave up on dating doesn’t mean I gave up on the idea of “THE ONE.” Even though I purchased an anonymous man’s sperm doesn’t mean I have given up on men altogether. 

I’m just a realist with a goal to accomplish.

Unfortunately for me the choice between a search for a partner and the reproductive ability to conceive a biological child went head to head and there was only one obvious choice. I am exceptionally good at prioritizing tasks whether that comes to my professional or personal life.

I can probably fall in love in any decade during this lifetime. My heart doesn’t have an expiration date, however my ovaries, eggs and uterus do.

I know I’ve expressed sadness about not having a partner for my potential pregnancy and anxiety about not having a father for my (future *cross fingers*) son. However I’ve just chalked it up to the fact that no one in my life has worked out because they were not meant to.

I still believe that corny ass quote:

“Someday someone will walk into your life and make you realize why it never worked with anyone else.”

So although I’ve given up on baby daddy that doesn’t mean I’ve given up completely.

The man for me is out there. I just don’t think I’ve met him yet. 

Whole on a Baby

Off the dome, mostly.

I’m in the last leg of my process before I try to implant an embryo into my uterus. My doctor has me on birth control as it’s supposed to regulate my hormones. I on the other hand, feel like my emotions are going haywire.

I’m incredibly anxious, upset, and angry all at the same time.

I cried today while texting one of my best friends:

Why didn’t I ever come across anyone who wanted to do this with me?

She responded with ALL THE RIGHT THINGS. Everything she typed was a fact and then some. 

I agreed, agreed, and agreed with her some more, but now it’s 10pm and I’m still asking myself the same question.

You can say you’re proud of me, that I’m a strong AF, or that you admire WTF I’m attempting, and while I appreciate the kindness and words of affirmation—that’s all they are.

No one was there when I inserted the needles into my abdomen during IVF. No one was in the waiting room after I woke up from anesthesia after my eggs were retrieved. No one else will be there with me when my baby is inconsolable in the middle of the night. I’ve started a tally, that list is just going to get longer.

I know. I know I’m not really alone. I know I have the love and support of my family and friends. I know millions of people have been single parents since the beginning of time and I am nothing special. I know how blessed and privileged I am to even have this opportunity.

However it doesn’t mean I can avoid all the negative feelings about lacking a partner. And if we want to keep it a full 100, my ego is bruised. Why didn’t I come across anyone who wanted me to go half on genetics and an upbringing? Why didn’t anyone see my potential or just want that with me? And if they did… why wasn’t I ever worth acting on?

BTW no one has to answer that. I know it’s nonsense. Those were rhetorical questions. That’s what you call spiraling. It’s alright, I quickly recovered.

I guess I’m still mourning the finality of not having a baby daddy. I’m still closing that door.

Every tiny daydream I’ve had about someone being THAT DUDE just has to die. I have to let go of all those sweet rom-com like imaginations of sharing every pregnancy milestone with your person. I’ll never get a loving monologue from the father of my child as I’m giving birth in the delivery room. I have no one to send out for a food craving at exactly 1:45 in the morning when I can’t sleep. IDK Hollywood BS LIKE THAT. 

I WON’T GET THAT.
AT. ALL.

Not even a little bit. Not even a tiny taste.

Being independent doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t want to be dependent. Most of the time it just means you have no one to depend on.

I just wish someone wanted to do half so I didn’t have to go whole.

Conception Diaries: IVF

I cried for an entire week after I decided to go with IVF.

I cried the hardest immediately after I made the decision. Then I just cried every morning after I woke up. The only thing that made me stop crying was doing research and owning the shit out of my choices.

You only get 5 seconds to be emotional then you gotta be a gangster again.

That’s it. That’s all the fuck you get.

I’ve been going through psychological olympics for the last 6 months. My mind is a cerebral battlefield.

I’ve always been a very cerebral person. I’m in my head A LOT. Every time I walk Tako by myself I am having an internal discussion. I have always been more objective than emotional, but this subject takes the cake.

I’ve realized how blessed I am to have a fully-functioning reproductive system, to have a hell of a support system in place, to have the financial independence to choose to have a child on my own, and to have kick ass insurance to cover the process. To be perfectly honest tho, I would’ve liquidated my e-Trade account to fund this. Cause what’s the point of trying to create generational wealth if there is no generation to follow? Even if robots/artificial intelligence and an environmental crisis are humankind’s eventual demise. Nah. I’m not joking, but I digress…

I’ve reduced the plan down to a checklist and a timeline, shit to get done to execute the dream. 

I’m currently in a holding pattern. I have an active infection that needs to clear before we can begin the IVF journey. I’ve had it for months and although I feel nothing from an external standpoint, internally it can be detrimental to a developing fetus.

Someone asked me how I currently feel in this process. My answer was a surprising one.

You know how pro athletes arrive at the stadium before a game? They’re usually fitted pretty sick, holding a gym bag, and have noise-cancelling headphones on hyping them up for the match to come.

That’s exactly how the fuck I feel.

I’m arriving at the stadium, in a sick outfit, listening to this song, ready to suit up so the game can start.

LFG.

Future Baby Daddy

I always thought I’d use “baby daddy” as a term of endearment. 

I know for some situations the bearer of that seed might not be so significant. Maybe they conceived by accident, as a mistake, through less than ideal or absolutely terrible circumstances.  But for me, I always knew it would be a conscious decision made out of love. I honestly think it would be the highest honor I could give a man I love.

Over the past year I’ve had to mourn the idea that’s never going to happen. I never came across anyone to partner up with and go half on a baby with, someone so down for you that you create life—together. I’ve grieved the fact I have to let this idea go. I’ve processed it so I can move onto the new phase that is required of me. 

This is THE MOST calculated decision I’ve made in my entire life.

It’s the decision of all decisions…

And I’ve decided to go with someone completely anonymous.

I’m gonna stare at this kid and wonder if all the things I don’t recognize in myself are from him.

That part is a trip to me.

I wonder if you got that from your dad…

Even “dad” feels like it should be written with quotes. It feels so cold in context. He’s not really a dad, he’s a donor who provided 23 chromosomes to match my own 23. He is literally a donor. I’ve picked the father of my child from a search engine that provided the best match based on my filters,

I’m still trippin this kid will only be half of me.

Half me. Half mystery.

Sounds like what my next blog should be called.

KR Grimes Havoc Tour 2021

A few years ago I took a 36 hour trip to Las Vegas and my alter ego, KR Grimes, was birthed. I’m usually a very neat, organized, and extremely chill person. KR Grimes is messy, she says EVERYTHING on her mind, and forces a lot of alcoholic consumption on her friends. She’s fun, but her lifestyle is not sustainable.

I’m usually great (not just good) at closing out the different chapters in my life.

When the world began to open up again I told my closest circle of friends about my plans to TTC (try to conceive) a child on my own, that we would have an amazing summer and that Halloween/Outsidelands was going to be KR Grimes “Grand Closing Ceremony.” So after A HELL OF A LOT of blackouts, hang overs, 2 trips to Vegas, 2 trips to Hawaii, and a bunch of extra belligerent behavior—we have arrived at the end.

For anyone who thought I was crazy for being out at midnight on a Thursday or downing shots of tequila on a Sunday night—there was an obvious method to my madness.

I’ve taken many moments for myself savoring the high points in my life that I will never get back. 

I (partially) understand the huge undertaking I’m trying to do. I’m aware that once I create life my life will be sacrifice after sacrifice.

BUT WE’RE NOT THERE YET. *devilish smiling emoji here*

We still have one more weekend to go… So….

Let’s fucking go.

Conception Diaries: Enough

I’ve never really considered if I was “enough,” not for any job title, not as a friend, wife, sister, daughter, etc etc etc. I’m confident I’ve fulfilled every role I’ve held to the best of my abilities. But I woke up the other day and I asked myself this question in terms of being a parent and I just started crying.

It’s not likely I can fill both roles of mom & dad. I don’t know what will happen one day and the kid starts asking for a father.

I’m getting ahead of myself, I should probably back track.

So I’m cleared.

I’m good to go. My egg follicle count is above expected. My fallopian tubes are unobstructed. My uterus is a suitable environment to grow a fetus. In theory my reproductive system is as healthy as can be for a woman my age. I say the term “in theory” because I have yet to figure out how well my body will work in practice.

I wanted to write about how I kept showing up to my fertility clinic appointments hung over and how fitting those moments were since I view my life as a Judd Apatow movie, but the reality is all this shit is serious as fuck.

You’re there in an examination room eagle-eyed spread open as an entire medical team is sticking a probe up your lady parts and you’re holding your breath hoping they tell you everything is ok as you try not to read into their facial expressions. Alone.

It’s serious shit, I’m always just trying to make jokes to cope.

God, it’s so fucking serious.

To ease my mind I’ve allowed my self-assured Leo psyche to remind me that while I not might be able to fill the role of a father, I’m pretty fucking sure I can kill the job of mom without question.

…and in the end, I’m hoping thats enough.

PS. My genuine thanks to anyone who has reached out to me who is an actual mom. Having the support of those who actually know how difficult this job is and believe in myself/my plans is a type of love that hits different. It’s gonna take an entire village and that includes care for myself as well. <3

QWAC

“I got a lot of bad bitches, she’s the only one good.” - Tunechi