Saturday, October 24, 2009

Pee Test Day (#3)

The truth is, Mindy peed on a stick again a few days ago...just in case. It was negative.

Still, though it was too early to test.

So, we made the decision that we'd test yesterday morning and that would be the first test where it really counted.

Mindy woke me up at 6:00 yesterday because she had to pee. For the ovulation test it's important to pee in the morning or some other time when your pee is more concentrated. Mindy decided to stick with the pee in the morning thing, I guess. Anyway, the light went on in the bathroom and I was still half-alseep, starting to write this blog in my head. It went something like this:

Mindy peed this morning and it was negative, but you know, I'm not too sad. After experiencing all the weird emotions that came with the insemination, it seems like I can handle it from here on out. In fact, it'll be nice to spend more time with just Mindy, maybe we could get a drink to........

"BABY, BABY," this shriek comes from the bathroom, "GET IN HERE NOOOWWW!" I run into the bathroom to find Mindy naked, this look on her face and she's staring at me and then pointing toward the bathroom counter. Still in a dream like stage of early morning writing in my head and sleeping, I look on the counter and see the pee stick. It has one very dark line (as usual), and one other line. The other line is not as dark. Mindy is still standing there, waving her hands around. I grab the instructions to read, "One line may be lighter than the other." I'm naked, too, you should know, hair all over the place. We just stare at each other for a while.Then she smiles. Then I smile. We stumble over words and laugh and get serious and laugh and get serious for what feels like hours. I hug her. She pushes me away and tries to read more of the instructions. I assure her that it is what it says. I say, "Get the camera."

So, there you have it, gentle readers. As far as we know, Mindy is pregnant. There, I said it.

Of course, I should mention that most women don't tell people they're pregnant until 3 months in. Mindy is in a high risk category because of her "advanced maternal age."

But, we're telling you all for a few reasons: 1. I can't keep secrets 2. Mindy will have to wear a special mask at work, so people there will know anyway...and then they'd say stuff on facebook and you'd all know accidentally 3. I wanted people to know how it feels to be gay and wanting to have a baby, to be gay and pregnant, or possibly, to become unpregnant.

Zygote Approves Uterus, Peace Talks Underway

Columbia, MO (AP)-Some time around 6 a.m. Central Standard Time, two lesbians were informed via urine intel that they would be hosting the nine month long meeting of sperm and egg and subsequent mandatory 18 years of economic, intellectual, and emotional support. When asked to comment, the lesbian playing the support role in the matter said, "It's awesome, but it's kind of like the last scene in "The Graduate."

Saturday, October 17, 2009


We cheated. We tried not to.

After Friday's trauma at the insemination, I couldn't stop thinking about Mindy's uterus. For three days I had trouble focusing on anything but thoughts about babies or no babies. I should add that I was Pms-ing during the insemination and that could be part of the reason I was so emotional. I was emotional all weekend, too, staring at Mindy's stomach, putting my hand on it pretending there was a baby in there.

For three days Mindy and I were certain she was pregnant. And somehow, this idea really turned me on. Normally, my sex drive is like, in neutral (or park), but I mean, she was totally the hottest thing on the planet for three days. (yes, again I realize it was and the fact that she is the hottest woman of all time ever)

On the third day, Mindy texted me from work saying she felt crappy: achy, headache, thirsty, cramps. I googled them and found this website:
So, I spent too much time looking at early pregnancy symptoms and convincing myself that was her problem.

On the fourth day, I was still turned on, but I could finally use my brain for thinking again, instead of obsessing. Mindy had a terrible headache. The website said pregnant women experience them when hormone levels change. Again, I knew she was pregnant.

But now it is day 8. If there is a little baby, it's the size of a pin head...and it's still trying to find a cozy spot to park itself for the next 37 weeks. If there is no baby, then Mindy should be drinking with me.

One of Mindy's coworkers told her she looked radiant and she should just pee on the stick now. I encouraged her to do it last night, (Yes, we realize that the hormone levels are usually too low to detect at this point) even though that's technically 9 days earlier than the doctor said to wait, and 3 days earlier than the pregnancy test said.

I was awaken at 6:30 this morning to the sounds of rustling in the bathroom. Then the light came on. I tried to pretend I didn't know what was happening. Five minutes later and Mindy crawled back into bed. "What are you doing?" I asked. "Pee stick." "And?" I said. "Negative."

There are two reasons this could be the result: Mindy is pregnant (the hormone levels are not high enough to detect yet) or Mindy is not pregnant at all. Not even a little bit.

Mindy said last night, "No matter what the stick says we won't believe it." I agreed, but told her to pee on it anyway. Just in case. But just in case what? Just in we'd have an extra 5 days to prepare for a baby? so we'd see two pink lines and obsess about them for 5 more days until we really knew the answer.

I remember, as we left the doctor's office, he said, "If you're pregnant at day 10, you'll still be pregnant at day 17, so wait until then."

Before Christmas day, when I was younger, I'd sit under the tree staring at the presents, trying to lift the corner of the wrapping paper with my mind (though I knew it was wrong and silly) just to see if I'd gotten what I wanted.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Baby Daddy, #3912

After much internal debate with myself, I paid the extra 17 dollars to see #3912's baby picture. This is him on the left. Yes, I'm serious. I also paid and extra 35$ to read his "long profile." It wasn't much more information than what I already knew, but it felt nice to have it. I printed it...for the baby book, I guess. For the zygote that may or may not be bedding down in Mindy's fluffy uterus.

I thought I'd give you some more information on me in man form. Here's what I know of 3912:

#3912 was born in Rock Springs, WY in November of 1982. He is currently 5'11'' and 160 pounds. He has fair skin with blonde hair and blue eyes. At the time of his donation (2006) he was in graduate school for Film Studies. His high school GPA was 3.7 and his undergrad was 3.8. He majored in Psychology and Film.

He has many strengths, he writes:

Mathmatical ability: Relatively strong
Mechanical ability: Strong
Athletic ability: good (varsity tennis in high school and runner in college)

He's played the viola since 5th grade.

Artistic ability: Extremely strong. He considers himself and exceptional writer/thinker, but only a strong visual artist.

He loves to read, write, and watch films.
He's a vegetarian. His favorite color is blue. He grew up with four dogs.
He studied at Oxford and would love to go back.
He claims to be easy-going, highly intellectual, introspective...and a terrific sense of humor.

His goal in life is to become a highly respected film maker and fiction writer. He says that a donor is purely biological; parents are people who truly nurture the life of the child.

His mother teaches English to Immigrants. She was born in Pennsylvannia.

His father is the VP of an Insurance company. He was born in New Jersey.

His sister is very athletic and is majoring in Neuro-psychology. She was born in Texas.

So, this is the DNA that could be mixing with Mindy's right now. Or, this could be the DNA that couldn't convince Mindy's egg it was worthy.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Bringing Home Maybe

At three o'clock this afternoon we were in the doctor's office...waiting.

By 3:15 we were in a room, Mindy with her pants off...waiting.

By 3:30 the doctor and an assistant had come into the room, looked at me, the assistant said, "you must be (pause) the other half," (and I said, "the spermless half") spread Mindy's legs, speculumed her, swabbed her cervix with a gauze, and injected 16.9 million sperm into her unterus. She said it hurt. I felt her squeeze my hand.

By 3:32 the assistant and the doctor had left the room and told Mindy to lay there for 15 minutes, "You've come all this way and spent the money, I figure it won't hurt, " he said.

And then it was just us.

So, Mindy got mushy and wanted to hold my hand. It was then that I felt a huge lump in my throat and my eyelids start to burn. I cried, but I wanted to fucking sob. I can't really say why. I cried and Mindy got worried. And at first she probably thought it was a good thing, but soon realized I was not crying out of joy.

And then I felt like an asshole. Here was my wife, her pants still off, lying on some sterile table (a terrible painting of flowers on the wall). "Are you grossed out?" I finally asked. "Kindof," she said.

I tried to compose myself.

The truth is, I cry every time I have to go to the gynecologist. Not because it hurts, because it does slightly, but because...and here's the reason I don't really know. And that's the reason I cried.

When I was 16 I had really bad periods. They'd last for 10 days. Bloody as hell. Curled up on the couch painful. Mom and I talked to the doctor and the only suggestion was birth control. I came out not too long afterward, and then Mom, it seemed, was forcing me to go to the gynecologist.

So, I was 17, a virgin, never planning on having sex with a guy, when some nurse practitioner stuck a cold piece of lubed metal inside of me. I kept my cool then. But the car ride home, Mom driving, I cried, and Mom just kept saying, "Oh, it's not that bad." And that was the only thing she said on the way to the place, too. "It doesn't even hurt." Like, I was just supposed to be ok with the fact that some person I didn't know was going to touch me that way for the first time. Like, any girl is just supposed to be ok with that.

And here's Mindy, my beautiful wife, and some old man I've never met, and some assistant with too much make-up on her leathery sun tanned skin. And he's like,"Is this your first insemenation?" Like, you know, it's just something that everyone does. He said, "I see you work at the vet hospital...have you done inseminations before?" And Mindy joked with him and so did I. I said, "she held the vibrator for the bulls." And we laughed. At the time I thought it was funny. We all did. The assistant piped-up, "We just had a lady in who worked on a farm...she said she felt like a mare." Mindy agreed that she felt like a mare. I looked at the floor and tried not to imagine how a gauze against my cervix would feel, or a long tube pressing into my uterus.

But it was over quickly. I think he said good luck as he left.

I cried on the car ride home; Mindy kept trying to comfort me, but I told her to just leave me alone. I knew she was worrying about me, about if I regreted it already. It had nothing to do with that.

But I thought, as cars rushed by on I-70, how clinical it all was--just like I expected it to be. How I had nothing to do with it. How, not only can I not have a child with the person I love, I can't even marry her. I can't even have rights to the kid without thousands of dollars and paper work. How people sometimes think I'm so tough and all I can do, right now, is just cry and cry about all the unfairness in the world. About how traumatized I still am. About how, at this very moment, Mindy had to go back to work, and some man's sperm (16.9 million) is swimming around inside of her. And we have to pretend that this is how it goes. That this is how you all have done it. That this is what we wanted from our lives. To be excluded and marginalzed. To have to pay $150 dollars up front at the window before the procedure can begin, when we've already spent $1,720 dollars on sperm.

When all some people have to do is make love. Have sex. Fuck. Whatever it is happens to be the moment you do it.

Now, I just sit here on the couch, waiting for my face to unswell, to unredden, to dry. And Mindy works at saving some dog's life while, maybe, just maybe, there's a life growing inside of her.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Because you might be interested in this...

Mindy started taking Clomid some days ago. Technically, she started it on the first day of her period, because that's what you do. Clomid is a fertility drug and we decided to use it because it has very little side-effects or risks associated with it.

So, we're pretty sure she's ovulating.

Tomorrow afternoon we will go to the doctor. She will do an ultrasound. But, of course, it's not the normal kind. It's more like a probe. It's what our friend nicknamed, "The Dil-Cam." The doctor will check to see if Mindy's folicles are open. If they're at 8cm, it's go time.

While visiting with close friends this weekend, Chris asked me to call him right before the insemination. I was happy to see he's interested and so caring. I sipped by beer, "Will you call me before you and Shannon have sex?" We all laughed.

Yes, I'm blogging about it, but it hasn't happened yet.

And I'm still wondering what that call might sound like:

Dude, ok, we're in the office. Mindy's all up in some stirrups. Ok, the doctor has this tube. Ok, she's looking at me like shutthefuckup, and now Mindy's, like, frowining....Dude. Yeah. Ok. Ok. Thanks. Uhhuh. So, I called. OKOK bye.