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.

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.

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.

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