Well, the sperm has been ordered. In case you're wondering, I'm not even sure if it's our first choice.
While I was away for rugby this weekend, drinking and acting like I was young and single, Mindy was at home buying a book on lesbian pregnancies and ordering sperm.
The sperm will be at our clinic on Thursday. It'll probably be at least 2 weeks until we need to use it.
In two weeks I could go from a carefree, married rugby chick to a worried, lesbian mom. It's too crazy for me to even comprehend. If Mindy gets pregnant, it's all our fault. I mean, that's a life altering event that we chose. If we aren't prepared, it's our fault; we saw it coming. I can't believe we've made this decision.
Now, I know that when a woman gets pregnant, she's not supposed to tell people for three months because a lot of shit can go down in the first three months. But, since I'm writing this blog for you guys, I promise to tell you as soon as I know and parents and close friends have been notified.
Go ahead and ask If I'm ready. I don't know. I don't fucking know. If Mindy was my age, I imagine we'd wait a few more years. Just a few.
We're in debt. I don't have health insurance. Mindy says our house is too small.
But people have had babies for thousands of years under the same circumstances. But, I guess it was all on accident. If we fail as parents, as providers, we are scum because we made the decision to bring the baby into the world. Jesus. Into a world of war, global warming, hate, hate, hate, pollution, over-crowding, and overeating. Of ipods and text-messaging. Of Brittney Spears and Taylor Swift. Of greed and reality shows.