So, years of consideration/hemming/hawing, and months of serious planning and preparation, I am ready to take the plunge. I have decided to become a single mother by choice. This is the type of thing that you don't just wake up and decide to do. Unlike what you see on movies and TV on a regular basis, this process isn't as easy as walking into a sperm bank, plunking down some plastic, leaving with a vial of sperm, and getting pregnant immediately. (I keep thinking of a certain Family Guy episode, but that is another post altogether). Until you go through this yourself or know someone who does, you have no idea what you are getting into. I admit it, I knew this would be hard, but I had no idea either.
My first visit to the doctor for "pre-conception counseling," aka, "getting your ass in gear so your body cooperates with you" was this July. I left that appointment with two pages of what is, "the first layer" of the plan of action to get me ready to try to conceive. First up was getting a head to toe once over, the kind that only a woman can truly experience if you know what I mean. Next, I had to go through a string of doctor's appointments. After that, I had to undergo a lot of tests. Then, I had to wean myself off of medications I was taking which were contraindicated in pregnancy. Then, I went through health insurance crisis (still fighting that one out). Finally, I entered into an indentured servitude under the control of a magic white box. This box now dictates what I do every day. I have a window of time in which to get up and receive my instructions for the day. Because visits from my monthly friend are not coming as scheduled, I have to deposit my first liquid bodily excretions of the day on a miniscule magical white stick. I have quickly learned to keep a disposable cup readily at hand to collect said deposit, since the white box is occasionally unhappy with my chosen magic stick and demands another. Of course, only the best quality sample will do, and I only get one shot per day at producing it.
Long story long, it's now mid-November and I am off to the midwife next week to discuss "the next layer." And, although I have what I have currently decided to call "juice" on ice at an overpriced laboratory ten miles from my house ready and waiting, I still have no idea when I will get the green light to buy a ticket to what I am affectionately referring to as the "big show." (It had better be by my birthday in Febuary or I will flip a lid...just sayin').
You're probably thinking, "But in that one movie Jennifer Lopez got preggers the first time she tried, and she didn't have to do all this." Yeah, I've come to realize something. Hollywood movies are made by men. Men who portray things as a means to an end in the way they would like to see them happen. I.e, when it comes down to it, when men make babies, their participation comes down to grunting, depositing, and rolling over to let the boys do the work. (Male factor infertility issues not included in here; again, another post). Ergo, men make the act of entering choice motherhood just as easy. The beyond attractive woman lays on a table in stirrups while the MALE doctor does his thing in about 30 seconds. She wistfully stares off into oblivion while internally chastising herself for not getting a pedicure before the appointment. She lets the doctor "finish" quickly, then is magically pregnant two weeks later. Then, prince charming walks into her life, and she lives happily ever after. Moral of the story: don't believe everything you see on the screen. If you're read this and want to take away anything at all let it be the following statement: It truly takes a woman to do a man's job.
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