Aaron and Josie spent the night last night, which was fun because I got to give J-dog a bath with extra bubbles and sit with her while she played with her fishes and duckies. I wish I could tell you the first ten million of my thoughts, but they are gone now in a cloud of energy long released. Only one stuck. I am still confused over whether I want to have a child………….. or I was until this morning (leave your eyebrows where they are). I did not decide to have a child today. I decided to stop saying no. To open the door to “if it happens, the world will explode with my agreement.” That being said, I’m not sure that I want to put any effort into it. I like Dana’s sperm count where it is. She tried wearing boxers for a week or so, but……………….
I am not saying we’re having a kid. I’m saying that we are starting to pray on the spaces a little harder than we used to about it because I will be 38 in September and Dana will be 40 in June. We are praying for clarity and discernment, not wishing for the stork to just drop one off, even though we are somewhat prepared. The house already has a built-in nursery. We can tell because one of the closets is lifted off the ground and it has layette drawers (are those what they’re called?). We found this awesome, unusual piece of furniture and didn’t realize it was a solid oak changing table until we started decorating it. Now you have to tilt your head to the side before you realize it’s a changing table. We put Beyonce on it, a ceramic chicken named, of course, for Jenny Lawson.
Wi-Phi can still use it, and it’s not like we don’t have friends who are parents or parents to be. Nice to have in a guest room, that’s for sure, especially since we put Wi-Phi size diapers and wipes in it to trick it out for Kelly and Will (and us when it’s just him).
We’re not even going to justify the Baby Bjorn (I am SO kidding).
We’ve gone through this several times before. It’s not our first rodeo. I’ve talked about it before, but the basic rundown is that we got dressed up to meet the doctor that would carry us on our journey and she was so snide and aggressive that we went home and put the idea away, because her advice was frank………………. I don’t think you can afford me. I think you should just find a friend and go home.
She didn’t know us from Adam. She sized us up by the clothes we wore. In one way, she was right. We couldn’t afford her. She was also wrong. There is just no limit to the amount of people that would shit a brick if Dana and I announced that we wanted to get pregnant or go all Angelina, giving money and sperm (which, I have found, is extremely expensive despite its overabundance) hand over fist to see what a mini-Lanagan looked like (just FYI, if you are planning to conceive, count on about $3-500/month until you get pregnant ordering from a catalogue and having it sent frozen).
Also, every relationship with every man who has offered to give us sperm has ended in complete disaster, save one………………… the one queer. The concept to straight men is foreign and emotional. Gay men in touch with their feelings about children don’t think of their sperm as children even though other characteristics are the same because they don’t have eggs and are in the exact same boat we are.
One did not understand the concept that he was giving away genetic material. He wanted a bebe and two tias. One set up a meeting with us saying that he’d bring his girlfriend, and they stood us up and never talked to us again.
All of them (again, save the gay) thought I wanted to sleep with them. Because of course they did. If you think that I am exaggerating, if you ask a man for sperm his mind does not go to a bathroom with Juggs and Big Butt. This does not happen exclusively to guys we’ve talked to about conceiving. This happens every time there’s a man in the room when we talk about trying to conceive and he just happens to walk by. I am not singling anyone out- I have had hundreds of male friends casually slip into a conversation that if I’m looking for sperm, they know where I can get it. I am sure they do. I feel demoralized about it sometimes, and then I think to myself that it’s kind of fun knowing that anything they’ve pictured is is ten times worse than I actually am in bed….. or that is what I have to believe in order not to feel grossed out about the entire thing. I tend to emotionally shut down and walk away. When it’s in person and not over e-mail when I am put on the spot to respond, I have a variety of one liners and quips designed to rip ego to shreds because I am not playing around. I do not want you to think I am anything but Dana’s (and you would have to kill her to get to me, because I guarantee you that she would go mama gorilla on you and she fights dirty).
When Dana and I talk about pregnancy, it’s not the child that scares us. It’s getting pregnant. For us it’s clinic visits and fertility specialists and taking basal body temperature and charting my cycle and all of those things that add up to TAKING OVER OUR WHOLE LIVES. We are not prepared to jump off that ledge.
But we’re prepared to think about it.
What opened the door was the checker at Family Dollar. He was young, Hispanic, with eyes that marked him as an Indigo, a soul as old as The Doctor in a 21-year-old body. We were just trying to make conversation as he worked and I said, “I have a little girl staying with me and I needed some emergency supplies (ponytail holders, etc.)” He said “do you want to have children?” as quietly as I have ever heard anyone speak.
I started and looked at him. Really, really looked at him. Restrained myself from giving him a hug. I knew that look. Parental exhaustion was written in the lines of his face and his carriage. I knew that anything I said could be misconstrued and I didn’t want to ruin the moment. I just said “I don’t know yet.” He said, “you should do it. Your kids pull you into being better people way faster than you could do on your own.” I looked at this boy deeply and remembered what it was like being 21.
Having no words of wisdom, I just said “that was really profound. I think you’re older than me.”
And walked out.