The Holiday Season

This holiday season is different than usual. For the first time in years, I feel like decorating, listening to Christmas carols, and celebrating. Maybe it is the baby?

At the same time, an old friend came to visit from out of town and wanted to visit to "touch my belly." I wanted to scream and run away. Belly touching has been on a case-by-case basis. If I get a good vibe, it is okay. This is the second good friend who hasn't had a good vibe. I wouldn't have guessed this would be my reaction, and it puzzles me.

Baby arrival time is getting close, and I'm eager to meet the little one. I'm also eager to be able to put on my shoes without it turning into an event.

So here's to the holiday season and family and friends. Next year there will be a little one to help celebrate.

The Registry

With the third trimester rapidly approaching, my fears that there will be no baby have evaporated. They are being replaced with the sense that I've just wasted seven months of preparation time. Even the animals at my house seem to know something is arriving. They jockey for a position on my lap that allows them to put their front paws around my belly and rest their chins on the big lump.

Staying home yesterday would have been so pleasant especially with the furry creatures who want to snuggle. Instead, I went to Target to register for baby things. The staff was friendly and helpful. The inventory was completely overwhelming. I was completely unprepared for the volume of things.

The babies I recall baby sitting for had a few toys, diapers, food, and a crib. I registered for a baby swing and a baby bouncer. A small portable crib got on the list. A mother walked by with a screaming toddler who threw himself on the floor and couldn't be persuaded to walk away. I started to feel anxious about the whole parenting enterprise.

The baby bottles were next. I plan to breastfeed, but baby sitters will need bottles. I was getting a little dizzy and wanted to sit on the floor with my head between my knees. Another mother with a wailing child walked by in the cart. With the registry only partially completed, I went home exhausted. The nice folks at Target say I can finish later in the store or online.

Naptime

Sleeping is the most attractive thing these days -- aside from food. I awakened at 4:30 this morning because my stomach was growling and wouldn't be ignored. After a cup of yogurt, I got a few more hours sleep. Later this afternoon, I had a double helping of nap.

So much slumber is not good for accomplishing tasks. As the six-month mark approaches, I feel the need to check items off of the to-do list more quickly. (The list continues to grow as well.) Some home redecorating is scheduled for completion in late November, and the next item is the nursery. Baby might not have a freshly painted room. I may just settle for moving the desks and computer out of the room. (See sleeping above.) The painting could come later.

As for now, I think it is high time I went back to bed.

Mental Health

Last week I got quite concerned about the emotional ups and downs I'm experiencing. People at work are irritating me, and that was unusual. I like my job and I'm count myself luck to be employed. Fortunately good manners covers most things. I didn't even have unexpected tears.

My wonderful therapist, the one who coached me back to life after a divorce, managed to work me in for an appointment. We talked, and I told her I didn't quite know what was wrong. I just felt like a teenager with wild emotions and the idea that other people just don't get it.

She laughed and made her diagnosis: "You're pregnant." She also said I was welcome to come back for therapy if I needed help handling the ups and downs. Somehow, hearing that I wasn't crazy makes it much easier.

On the Work Front

Things at work are roller coaster on the way up. The coworker who makes me feel uncomfortable has moved away from my area. Not sitting next to him is going to be such a huge improvement. It was just awkward and painful with him moping.

Another coworker wants to do something special for me. She wants to get some other people involved in it too. I'm tickled at how much people want to spoil this baby, and I'm delighted to let them.

Even with all of this support, I'm still feeling dissatisfied. This was my dream job, and I loved it for years. Now it really isn't a dream job, and the thrill is long gone. While other people would be preparing nurseries and nesting, I'm getting my interest inventories together and polishing my resume. If I still feel this way after I've been back from maternity leave for a few month, I'll be ready to move onto something else. I keep hoping that it is just hormones or just anxiety about the baby. I'm afraid that it really is about the work.

Wondering, Dreaming

The days feel autumnal. The sky took on the rich blue hue and the sun is yellower. It gets dark earlier, and I've had to dig out my sweater. The garden chores to get the garden ready for winter are beginning, and I really enjoy it.

I'm wondering what it will be like at this time next year. The baby will be seven months old. Will I have to sneak outside? Will the little one want to help? I feel as if I'm leaving all of this behind, and I don't have any regrets. In my experience, people who don't have any fears about the unknown are completely ignorant. I hope my education will be kind.

New Pants

New pants with a special elastic panel in the front are being shipped to my house at this very minute. It's getting chillier outside, and my waistband is getting tighter and tighter. At the beginning I thought I might avoid those silly looking pregnancy pants, but right now, I'm giddy about getting them.

The pregnancy bra arrived earlier and life is infinitely more comfortable. This has also put an end to trying to discretely rearrange my boobs and put them back into a bra from which they've escaped. I'm hopeful that the pants will reduce the high risk enterprise of not having my pants fastened and covering them with a long shirt.

Tis the sneason

I love that my employer offers a flu shot at work. All that is required is showing up. I also have a history of getting sick right around that time. Just as the scheduled flu shot approached, my throat felt sore, a river of snot poured from my nose, and the coughing and hacking began. People have asked whether it was H1N1. Honestly, I don't know. I called my doctor's office. The nurse said to treat it with comfort measures. That meant Benedryl, Chloraseptic spray, and Tylenol. Three days later, I felt pretty good and got a flu shot.

One of the things that surprised me was what a difference the Tylenol made. I felt better soon after taking it, and I could tell when it was wearing off. I guess that those small, lingering pains really added up. It even makes me question whether I'll treat a cold differently when I'm not pregnant. I hope the H1N1 shot will be available at work, and I'm taking extra care to eat well, exercise and take my vitamins. Maybe I'll miss out on the pre-requisite illness with this shot.

One benefit of being sick was the opportunity to read Anna Quindlen's book Rise and Shine. Quindlen certainly knows how to tell a story, and I enjoyed it a great deal.

Growing conditions

I'm expanding these days. Last night it became apparent that I need a new, larger bra. I've managed to ignore it this far, but the crowded conditions simply lead to too much grumpiness.

Adding to my misery, I ordered the largest size bra I can find. I'm terrified that the girls will continue to expand. What does one do when there are no more bras? I like to maintain some sense of control.

Thankfully, the maternity pants can wait a little longer and they come several sizes larger than I do. Whew!

Oh the emotions!

I suspect the hormones have a part in this and so does excitement. I am feeling quite emotional. For the sake of coworkers and friends, keeping it under wraps is important. I'm not prone to tears of joy and actually thought they were a myth. Here are the things that have made me cry tears of joy this week:

* My father offered to paint interior rooms for me and tried to sell me on what a wonderful job he'd do. It was an easy sell. He's the best painter I know. Plus those rooms need paint.

* The kitty came to snuggle with me last night. She nestled her head in my hand and purred.

* A coworker left pink-suede, moccasin booties in my locker.

The love is overwhelming and wonderful.

The other emotions are just inconvenient. The coworker who offered to put his name on the birth certificate and pay child support has not mentioned it again. He's trying to put things back to normal. I'm just feeling uneasy and awkward about the whole thing and wish he would vanish for the next six months. I literally feel queasy when I see him now.

Drama at work sucks me in faster now, and I'm feeling overwhelmed by daily chores.

But since it is such a roller coaster, having coffee with a friend and cutting a bouquet of zinnias from the garden made me happy again.

Wild Nights

Last night it rained and thundered starting at 2 am and didn't stop until early afternoon. A thunderstorm is a lovely thing. It is exciting and dramatic.

However, my dog seems to believe his life is in jeopardy when he sees the first flicker of lightening or hears a rumble of thunder. Some people have suggested locking him out of the bedroom, crating him or sending him outside. When he's super anxious like that, he will scratch up the door, escape the crate or eat the screen door off.

Since he's such a mild-mannered, delightful fellow the rest of the time, I coddle him. We go downstairs and watch a movie. That seems to drown out the flashes of lightening and muffle the thunder. Usually he will sleep as long a something is on the TV. It isn't restful at all, but it is better than no sleep. My sister laughs about this. She says it is great preparation for having a child.

This morning I dragged through getting ready for work and then got sick. I feel guilty for not going to work anyway, but after the storms subsided this afternoon, I slept a deep and dreamless sleep. It was wonderful.

Weekend Rumaging

The nesting phase has clearly kicked into gear. This weekend, I've cleaned out two closets. That might not sound like much, but I've been able to ignore sorting through those closets for years. It's like emotional time travel.

Oh the pictures:

Picture of me with my mom, sisters, and grandma when everyone lived in the same state and everyone was up to hiking around and taking adventurous day trips. Pictures of the wedding to the ex. Pictures of beloved cats and dogs, now long gone. Pictures of friends from summer camp. Pictures of friends from high school and college. Pictures of friends babies. There is so much hope in those pictures. Looking back from the future, I can say that nothing has turned out as planned, but everything has turned out just fine. Things are going well, but it did leave a sore spot near my heart for those who aren't here anymore. Sometimes I wish I could bundle everyone up and keep them forever.

And the future will see the "office" converted into a nursery. That will be exciting too. I've been shopping for cribs.

Unexpected Responses

The news is getting out. Most people are simply delighted to know that there is baby in the future and they haven't gotten overly concerned with provenance.

Grandma didn't say congratulations, but she did say, "That's an unusual way to get a baby." In Grandma terms, it means it is going to be okay. She's just needs to wrap her mind around it. What a relief that she is not going to lecture about it.

Completely unexpectedly, a coworker, who only knows that I'm a single mother, said he would be willing to put his name as the father's name and pay child support. He was trying to be helpful, and I tried to decline in a sensitive fashion. I also told him that this is planned, and I'm happy about it. That seemed to rattle his brains. Poor guy.

Second Trimester

This week is the official beginning of the second trimester. I've told my coworkers and my friends over the last two weeks. My parents knew about 8 weeks in. Holding out until the 20th week seems to silly now. Everyone is supportive and happy. It is a good feeling.

Grandma doesn't know yet, but Mom has volunteered to tell her. Grandma's 94 and has been open to new ideas until the last five years when she began to value routine and tradition more highly. I've got my fingers crossed that it goes smoothly.

Now I'm looking around the house and thinking about what needs to be cleaned and organized in the next 6 months. That sounds like such a long time, but the last three months flew past.

Take a Test

I'm getting accustomed to waiting and waiting each month for a test or two at a lab. Man or no man, the tests are showing fertility issues. I wasn't ovulating and, although my blood sugar levels make people envious, a blood-glucose test showed insulin resistance. I feel grateful to know now. I can take some steps to deal with it, and perhaps it will never become diabetes. 

The doctor has never offered a diagnosis, but each month she adds a medication. I put it into Google's search engine, and I'm starting to come up with my own diagnosis. It looks like a much healthier diet and weight loss is in order. 

Last week, I did ovulate, thanks to my pharmacy. The drive to see my doctor for insemination was so much different than the first drive to meet the doctor. The first drive was blowing snow and it was kind of scary. This time I was excited; it was a sunny day; the cows were out frolicking in the pasture. It felt better. 

Now it is back to waiting for more tests. Test progesterone levels in a week. Pregnancy test in two weeks. I'm starting to feel biologically relevant. 

The Un-Secret

By now my secret plans are not top-secret. Who knows? Several friends, my sister, and, oh yeah, the Internet. And the insemination hasn't even occurred. If my ovulation is similar to last month, I'll have my date with the turkey baster in a few days. I don't like to think about otherwise.

With all of the recession news, I fret about being a single parent. On the other hand, I'm in the middle of my career and make enough money to support myself and a child. I'm salting away as much savings as possible and hoping for job security. Time seems like a bigger luxury than money.

I think about making baby clothes and painting a nursery. I imagine which children's books we will read together. I contemplate whether the child will have any resemblance to my family or if we will just wonder. These are happy dreams. They're still very fragile, but they are happy dreams.

Reality seeps in through more than just the recession. A dear friend would very much like to be my labor coach. She's hinted and a mutual friend has mentioned it as well. Having so much love and support from my friends and sister make this far less scary. It lets me dream a little. If my mother is amenable to being a labor coach, she's the person I'd really like to have with me. I've also read that doulas are wonderful. They have experience and they focus on the patient's needs. I like the idea of having a person like that to assist. Some might mention including all important people, but I'm not wild about having a crowd at delivery. 

In the meantime, the weather is unseasonably warm and sunny. I go for walks in the evening and plan a garden for this summer. 

Waiting

This is a time of waiting. I'm getting accustomed to waiting. Back in the fall, when I first decided to do this, I thought, "Okay! Let's get the turkey baster out get inseminated." That was before I learned about doctors, waiting lists, requirements and tests. Oh my. The tests. 

But turkey baster day is arriving soon. Possibly even this month. Last month I didn't ovulate until very late in the cycle, so I'm crossing my fingers that eggs will be released at the proper time and voice mails will go to the proper people. Really, I don't have nearly as much control over this as I would like. Older, wiser people tell me this is a mere teaser when it comes to having children. I will look back on these as the days when I had perfect control in my life. But I can still dream, and I am.

In the mean time, the weather has been springlike and beautiful. I walk in the evenings and soak up the sun. Seeing beyond the gloom of winter gives me hope and optimism. The anxieties over whether this is a good decision, whether my nest egg is big enough, my job secure enough, my family supportive enough just melted away. This is right. 

Medical Communication

A friend warned me not to let the fertility specialists get under my skin. She said, "They're a little distant and impersonal." I should have written it down and kept it with me. Today was one of the days I spent on the phone with a nurse for the specialist. They wanted to remind me to get an HSG and to get my progesterone test. They also wanted me to get my infectious disease blood work (which they've taken several times since mid-January).

Finally, I was able to speak to a nurse on the phone -- not just voicemail. She said that they didn't really know which lab work had been done because they didn't have my charts. "Your charts are with Doctor." They're going to check. I have my fingers crossed. Since this nurse was fairly forth-coming about the communications problems in her office, I asked whether I really need to meet with the psycho-social specialist. "Doctor," as her staff calls her, specifically said she didn't see any reason for me to have that appointment. I've got my fingers crossed that I'm off the hook for that too. 

In the meantime, I've got to figure out a way to communicate with the staff that doesn't involve eight phone calls a day. My stress increases with each phone call. Plus, "psycho-social" and "infectious diseases lab" aren't things I like to say once let alone repeatedly in the office. For my Valentine's Day gift to myself, I'm not going to procrastinate one minute longer. I'm filling out the paperwork for the specialist who works in town. If it isn't better than this office, at least I'll feel as if I had a choice. 

Thank goodness I can dream of knitting baby booties. It makes it all better somehow.

Finding Daddy

One of the donors stood out from the others. Aside from being healthy, having a good family medical history and sharing my blood type, he's a got math skills. My math skills are functional: the checkbook balances and simple interest is not insurmountable. Mathematical brilliance is another subject entirely. It would be a good balance to my language skills. The description was of a kind, reserved, goal-oriented person who got a 32 on his ACT math score. 

Early in the process, I decided not to read the donor essay. They were kind, clumsy and sometimes a little judgemental. They read as if they were written by 19-year-olds who were away at college, which, come to think of it, they are. The grammar and punctuation weren't precise, and I can get riled up about apostrophes. Realistically, apostrophes don't correlate to genetic material.

This donor seemed so right, and I took a chance with some insight into his personality. His answers to the form questions were appropriate and reasonable. He even used a semi-colon correctly. I decided to overlook the improperly inserted comma. He's only human, right?

Whoa! Details.

It feels like some progress is being made. After waiting for an appointment and waiting for the next cycle, tests are being done. The blood draws aren't too bad. The HSG was supposed to be a "go to work" afterwards test. It hurt. I hurt. I spent the day curled up in bed feeling like a wuss. One of my friends who is normally has beautiful manners and wouldn't dream of hurting another person's feelings says she told the doctor, "Fuck you." after her procedure. I didn't say much. I just wanted to go home and hide. 

Sperm ordered. Check.

Sperm shipped. Check.

I'm waiting for a few more tests. If they go well, I start trying next month! The HSG did give me reason to Google "artificial insemination pain." The sites report the same mild cramping and discomfort that is expected with the HSG. I plan to loaf on those days. 

The Uncommunicator

I once saw a card at a baby shower that said, "Congratulations! (And thanks for not telling us you were trying.)" Some people just don't want to know the details. They still love you, but they don't want to know. I've been thinking about this with my parents. In someways they would love to be included. 

Choosing a donor with my mother could be fun. She really enjoys the details and nuances. I, on the other hand, look for a basically well-adjusted, reasonable person with a decent health history. Mom would fuss about preferences and balance possible potential for the baby. She would pour over the personal history and medical history and try to make the perfect decision. I stopped believing that perfect exists a long time ago, but I think Mom still believes. She'd be delighted to help me over think this whole adventure. Maybe that's what scares me. I'm afraid she make the list of obstacles and err on the side of safety. No baby. 

Mom may know because she and Dad talk about everything. He was sad about my childlessness, and I said, "It's not off the table. I might not do it with a partner." He sounded surprised but pleased. He said, "I could support that." 

My sister said Dad mentioned it to her and was excited. And there is the situation in a nutshell: talking. My family loves to talk. They have opinions. They love each other. They want the best for each other, and they share all of the opinions with everyone they love. I could swear them to secrecy and they do their best. It might last a week, but eventually it would slip out. Someone would tell one of Mom's many siblings or Grandma. Within a month my aunts, uncles, twenty plus cousins, and anyone in the tri-state area would know. And I don't even know whether I ovulate. I'd rather invite them to the second act of the drama, and I'm looking forward seeing them there. I was very tempted to tell Mom and Dad this weekend, and I decided that it was best to stay quiet longer.

Communicating with the doctor, on the other hand, is a challenge. I want to tell her and her nurses important things like when I start my period. It is so challenging. I leave a message on the nurses' voicemail, and the message tells me that messages received prior to 3 pm will be returned on the same business day. They have faithfully returned my calls, and yet we don't quite understand each other. It began with my first visit to the clinic. The first visit was rescheduled to be an hour earlier in the day -- 1:00 pm instead of 2:00 pm. I arrived on time and was ushered into an exam room where I waited until 2:15 pm. After waiting 45 minutes, I inquired about the doctor and was told she was double booked. I wished I had brought my book.

But the doctor was so gracious and articulate and her nurse so sensitive and understanding that I immediately overlooked the waiting. They explained everything I would need to do. The doctor said I wouldn't need to see the counsellor because it wasn't an issue that involved a father. Using someone else's sperm introduces legal and emotional difficulties for couples . . . but that's not me. The nurse drew my blood to check for HIV, TB, CMV and some other scary abbreviations I don't recall. The doctor was certain that I needed to know the blood type to pick sperm. The Rh factor is a big deal. It took two veins to draw two vials, but it was no big deal because she was gentle with the needle. I was assured that blood type was on the testing. She said I could call late the next day to find out about the results.

The nurse who answered the phone that day didn't have the lab results. She said she'd call me. She didn't. Two days later, I called her. She said the lab results were great, but there was no blood type. Since I needed to have more blood work done in my home town, she faxed the orders to a local lab and said she'd include infectious diseases. 

At this point, I was at work trying to communicate by whispering into my cellphone and leaving messages on the "calls received prior to 3" voicemail. Discussing artificial insemination and infectious disease labs discretely in a land of cubicles is impossible. The bathroom has a surprising number of visitors throughout the day although I resorted to making more calls from there. I spend lots of time in meetings so I was getting messages back on my telephone. The messages were proceeding like this:

Nurse: doctor's orders were faxed to the lab. We added infectious diseases. Doctor said you also need to see our psychosocial counsellor.

Me: Thank you for faxing the orders. Isn't infectious diseases for HIV, TB, etc? Because that was the lab work done in your office and you said it was ok. I really need to know my blood type for the selecting a donor. Can we get that? The doctor said I didn't need to see the counsellor.

Nurse: The infectious diseases are HIV, TB, Hepatitis, . . . that's the order that was faxed to the lab. No, we don't know your blood type. The doctor wants you to see the counsellor.

Me: The infectious diseases have been done. What has changed about the counsellor? Can I get a blood type?

Nurse: We won't know about your infectious diseases until you have the lab done. I can ask doctor about the counsellor, but I'm sure she wanted one. You could only have your blood type determined through a lab.

I gave up. I was tired. I was running out of discretion at work and dignity on the phone. The lab couldn't type my blood without an order from a doctor, and the man behind the counter tried his hardest to help me. He called the doctor and expressed frustration by the voicemail that would be returned if left prior to 3 pm. I smiled sympathetically. He even drew an extra vial of blood in case he got a belated order from the doctor. He called later to tell me the nurse didn't fax it. A friend said the Red Cross will tell give you your blood type when you donate, and I think that sounds like a good option. It may even help someone who needs blood.

I called the counsellor with all of the grace of a teenager who has been coerced into an unpleasant task. I didn't want to drive 3 hours and pay $250 to talk to someone about a decision I agonized over and read about for years. My teenage mind was pouting and screaming about going to a bar and finding some guy to do the job, but that wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be fair to me, the baby or the guy. 

Last night, while I drifted off to sleep, I remembered college. I was a good college student. I got As and liked my professors. However, I wasn't receptive to my advisor's advice. She would have steered me toward the Rhodes scholarship and other opportunities. I was young and thought I knew everything. It wasn't that I did poorly without her, but I could have done better with her advice. I hope the counsellor will offer me useful advice, and the baby and I will fare better because of it.

More than ever, I hope I get pregnant on the first try and not just because I'm ready for a baby. I want return to my regular ob/gyn and his nurse. I understand them. The office is close, and I understand the system. I miss my doctors and their staff. 

Thank goodness for friends. Two close friends went out to dinner with me on Saturday night. They said, "Tell us everything. We want to know. How do you feel? Are you excited?" I told them every last detail. They listened, asked questions, and understood. Then they gave me some good tips on the best deals for ovulation predictors. 

Got Eggs?

On Thursday morning, I set out driving across miles and miles of grasslands. It was bitterly cold, snowing, and the sky was gray. Not too much snow fell, but the wind blew it in swirls across the road. I didn't see any accidents but the radio kept talking about accidents to avoid. I was tense and wondering how my appointment would be, and then after the first hundred miles, the sun broke through and the snow stopped. I started to feel as if I were making my own decisions about my life, and it felt good.

The doctor was pleasant and professional. She thought that everything looked good. Apparently I ovulated last month and she admired the number of eggs that I had. No one mentioned my weight. Perhaps that will concern the ob/gyn who oversees the pregnancy. The next month is going to be comprised of monitoring. A checklist encourages me to call when I get my period. Then the nurses remind me to get the first of three tests. 

I was very relieved to learn that these tests can be done by local doctors. Even the local doctors who are unwilling to perform single woman inseminations for moral/ethical reasons would be willing to help with some of the testing that leads up to the insemination. If these go well, I'll be ready for insemination in the next cycle. 

The timing is tight. I need to let the doctor know when I ovulate by three pm. Then I need to be in her office at 7:30 am the next morning. The three-hour drive is a complication, and I dread explaining it to my supervisor late in the day. "Um, I just got worked in for some, um medical testing. I'll be out tomorrow." He's a fifty year-old man and is tremendously supportive of me at work. He even identifies issues I've had as sexism before I'm willing to put them in that category. However, I try to keep it strictly professional. This gets pretty personal. Eggs? Ovaries? Artificial insemination? If all goes well, I will eventually tell him, but he won't need or want all of the details. 

In the meantime, I've got a list of sperm banks to peruse.The California Cryobank and Xytex are the top recommended banks from nurses I've spoken to, but I'm sure some other good ones are available. So much to think about. . . I'm actually starting to feel like I can imagine a baby. Just a little. 

More Details

I'm trying not to hope too much and to pay attention to each step along the way instead of thinking about the outcome. Obviously, a happy, healthy baby is the desired result, but that would be too much hoping. I'm not decorating a nursery or telling lots of family and friends. The next step is vacation from work next week and a drive to the fertility clinic.

I expect my family and friends to be happy for me. I've got a safe, supportive, nurturing group. There will be surprises. Not everyone deals well with changing situations. Overall though, I expect my parents to be happy for all of us. It's still too soon to start hoping. Dealing with their disappointment would be as hard as dealing with mine.

The intake paperwork for the doctor needs to be completed. I'm working on that this morning. The intake has so many questions about the father, the sperm and how long unprotected sex has not resulted in pregnancy. But I try to be a good girl and follow the rules. I've never had unprotected sex. I've never had a pregnancy scare. Should I worry? Does it mean anything? Is it time to start thinking about sperm bank selection?

Plans Change

I live in a mid-western town where the metro-area is just shy of half a million people. That’s big enough to foster business, diversity, and education. We’ve got an art district and independent business districts. The larger culture has a strong conservative flavor, and I’m sheltering myself from that as long as possible. I have only spoken to a few supportive friends about my plans, and I didn’t anticipate a cultural road block so soon.

The irony of going to a fertility specialist without actually having any infertility is not lost on me. However, I was surprised to learn that the local fertility specialist will only treat married couples. The next closest option is 200 miles away. They want to do an initial consultation and discuss my options at that time. I already feel like I’m on approval and hope they will work with me. I’ve been diligently saving vacation time for after the baby is born, and each trip I make requires a full day of vacation. 

Popular wisdom says that parenthood delivers many unexpected changes of plans, and I suppose it is only fitting that they would begin now. In the meantime, I intend to drink a latte today and take a nap – things that are either not recommended during pregnancy or are scarce once a child arrives.

The Beginning

Having a child on my own wasn't the way I planned to do things. A child should have a father and mother, I thought. Because. Because that's the way it is. Because that is the way it should be. Life has a way of colliding with my assumptions and beliefs and turning them on their ears. I learn this again and again with increasing humility. Each time it is new and each time I have the same niggling sensation that I've learned it before. 

It's been nearly a year since I divorced, and marriage doesn't hold the slightest appeal. However, I've wanted to raise a child for the last ten years, and I have never made it a priority. While I'm beginning to be interested in dating, serious dating just sounds gross. I don't see wanting a long-term relationship for at least a several years. But, with my thirty-fifth birthday just weeks away, I realize that I want a child, and the time for waiting has passed. I've spent a year thinking about this decision and questioning the wisdom. It seems right for me. 

I've made an appointment with fertility specialist to discuss how I will become pregnant. Not having sperm is a huge fertility issue, and I'm about to dive into the realm of sperm banks and turkey basters. It is unknown and scary and hopeful--all at once. There are too many stories about dashed hopes, and I try to restrain my dreams of a child until the unknown factors are more certain. But hope is a stubborn thing.