Ass-Umptions

I'm continually stunned at the number of crazyass assumptions people are making about how we're attempting to conceive. Some days, I ignore it, some days, I explain (but not too much) and some days, I want to smack my friends/aquaintences upside the head and say, you know, I'm willing to bet you wouldn't say that to your straight friends so why don't you just shussh yourself right now before one of us gets upset?

It's only been 7 months

Since we decided to start on this whole baby-making journey and already I can't remember a time when I drank all the Coke I wanted, when I never had to pee on a stick, when I didn't record every piece of my reproductive cycle on a chart, when we weren't moving in 2 week cycles.

And though I want this baby very much, that doesn't stop me from wanting those simpler times back again.

Misunderstood

My co-worker: So, was that your last one?
Me: No, we do our last one tonight.
My co-worker: (puzzled look)
Me: Oh, you meant meeting, not insemination.

The Home Version

Though mucho research suggests that inseminating at home has a lower effectiveness rate than doing it via IUI (though I don't think there's much info on home IUI vs. office IUI, which is not unlike SpIUI vs. SpIUI for all you madd magazine fans out there), I will say this.

Doing this at home is a hell of a lot more relaxing than rushing to a clinic an hour away then getting poked and prodded (painfully) by someone you don't know. Especially when that poking and that prodding costs about $600. Out of pocket, because as lesbeeans, we're technically not infertile so my insurance doesn't cover it. I know, nice.

It's hard to top the thrill of pulling specimens out of your very own rented nitrogen tank, watching the hissing smoke rise out like the precursor to lava, then watching your girlfriend panic because we didn't have any insulated gloves to handle the very cold swimmers with (it turns out that 2 pairs of underwear will do just fine).

In the end, it was super mellow and filled with laughter. You know, the way I imagine a lot people try to make their babies. Even though the success rates are lower, I think we'll stick with this way because it was a whole lot more fun.

We Got The Stuff

Since my timing seems to be way off, (either that, or I just had some wishful thinking about ovulating early) we just said screw it and went to PRS to make a withdrawl. They made this big deal about how you have to have an appointment and I thought that meant they'd sit down with us and explain how to do the procedure, etc.

Nope, a nurse-looking person came in the front door of the place with a ginormous box in hand, called my name and said 'good luck.'

Gee, thanks. Or shall I say, tanks?

Brought it home, Thomas was there yelling at the dogs to stop barking. He's not really into them and I respect that, but it couldn't have been any more akward for me to be standing there, holding the tank full of jizz, admonishing him not to shout at them.

So now we wait for two lines on a stick and/or a number of other signs while I fight a nasty cold/flulike thing.

A Mind of His Own Already

Not that we could possibly know the gender of a baby who has not been conceived yet. But for argument's sake and because most of the world is one gender or the other, let's just say Murray will be a boy. And already, before he's even been conceived, when he is merely a glimmer in Andrea and my eyes, the man has a mind of his own.

He'll be made, and arrive on his own time. Looks like we're heading up to make our withdrawl a few days early. Whatever you say, Murray, just get here already.

Sweet! An Upgrade

The sperm bank just told me that it's only $5 more to rent a tank than to use dry ice. So we've upgraded the Murray Makings Transport Device.

It's just like getting a Dodge Stratus instead of a Kia Sephia!

What is it with McDonald's?

Reading Maybe Expectant's tale of learning she's not pregnant in a McDonald's bathroom is a story not unlike my own.

When I was 17 or 18, I had a boyfriend (yes, people, a boyfriend. You've got it right, I did what you think I did. More than once. Ew.). During the year plus we were together I had a brief, but fleeting experience with being on the pill. During the transition to that hormonal horror machine, I was about a month late.

Being me, I'd done my homework on the transition, so I wasn't too concerned. I knew that going on the pill could totally fuck up your period so I figured that's all it was. But one of my co-workers at the library got very antsy when somehow, it came out that I was but a teenager and my menses were on hiatus.

So I bought myself a pregnancy test, took that boyfriend and my best friend at the time to a McDonald's, where they ate while I peed on a stick for the first time ever. I was waiting for the second line to not appear when my best friend came in and put her hand over the top of the door, where we held hands until we were sure I was indeed, not with child.

And yes, holding that Hot Girl's hand was more exciting than the sex that had brought me to that moment. Chalk it up to the moment I knew I wasn't a teenage pregnancy statistic and the night I started to figure out that girls (now ladies) were more my deal than dudes.

Which brings me to a lifetime later, when my lady friend and I actually want to see a positive result on that stick. Last weekend, Andrea and I stopped at McDonald's for a Le Snack. We were both very much hoping that I was pregnant but once again, the McDonald's bathroom told me that I'm not With Child.

Except that this time, it wasn't a negative of great joy. I assure you, there will be no McDonald's after our next attempt, lest we create and confirm the Pregnancy Curse of McDonald's.

All Systems Go

After the initial and vast confusion around getting an appointment, I finally got into my doctor's office, where I was seen by a nurse practictioner whose name I keep thinking is Kimlan, which it's not.

But I was poked, prodded and found to be in good health, other than some 'inflammation,' a word that's a whole lot better than 'infection'.

I spoke with a midwife, who is going to work with us on our timing. She pointed out that sperm literally costs more than gold, then encouraged us to create a space in our home to welcome Murray. Apparently cyberspace doesn't fit the bill, so fine. I'll move all my porn to a different shelf and light a candle if it helps.

Injury to Insult

Calling my ob/gyn's office today was a little painful:
Me: "Hi, i just had my first insemination and i think it gave me an infection"
Receptionist: "The NP can see you for a UTI"
Me: "It's not a UTI, it's an infection from an IUI"
Receptionist: "We can schedule an IUI for you"
Me: "No, i don't need an IUI I need to see a doctor"
Receptionist: "Okay, we can see you tomorrow."
Me: "Okay."
Receptionist: "We'll see you then."
Me: "Don't you need my name?"
Receptionist: "Oh. Yes."

All of this was followed by about 2 minutes of her misspelling my last name, then being completely unable to find me in their system. I'm going in tomorrow fully expecting them to be ready to process my non-existant husband's sperm for an IUI. That, or to take in my dry cleaning.

Why Is It

That the day your period comes, an angry flash of red mocking your well-planned reproduction efforts, the world is crawling with people holding beautiful babies and obviously pregnant women?

I stood in line at Fanstasia today behind a woman with a very young, very lovely, half-asian little boy who slept like a rock on her shoulder. It was all I could do to not cry at the little half-asian baby who is currently not growing in my belly.

On the upside of things, I was able to enjoy half of a delicious toffee crunch because of that baby who is currently not growing in my belly.

Sigh

One of the books I have on donor insemination says that a failed cycle is an opportunity to evaluate what went wrong and find ways to change things for the better next time.

Now we have that chance. Given that, I don't think I'll even blog about it here.

Thanks

To Heather M for telling me that if peeing on a stick were an Olympic event, I'd have a gold medal by now.