The shipment of two vials of sperm has been scheduled, paid for and is on it’s way as of today. It arrives wednesday night and we pee-test and sit and wait. Have I mentioned that I pee on my thighs every time I do the pee-test? Every single time- and tilting that way is the only way to ensure I’m peeing on enough of the stip for a long enough period of time. Lots of showers these days.
It is very, very exciting and there are also moments of “this is so wierd” and “what the hell are we doing?” I have never had sperm in my body and the thought of it grosses me out. Fortunately the “washing” process seperates the sperm from the seminal fluid and replaces it with something more innocuous- so that helps. Mostly there is this Mystery to it all (and I love all things mysterious) because it’s just not up to us to decide when we’ll concieve, I have no control and it’s confounding how one sperm finds its way to the egg. Some kind of homing device. Our bank account is banking on this magical homing device! Or is it the egg that calls out an irresistable song? I guess the feminist version is the latter, the egg not being passive. In my head, she sounds like the little mermaid right before Ursula steals her voice..”Ahahh..ahahh…ahhhahhhhh…”
Not taking any antihistimines has been really heinous. And I have never used the word heinous in my life until now. Even though they don’t really work there was a sense that I was at least trying to help myself. I told K. last night that if it weren’t for the fact that I have her and a really wonderful life, the hay fever might make me suicidal. I am very tired of washing and folding hankies and waking myself up because I can’t breathe. Hopefully our trip to Berkeley over July 4 weekend will calm it down and I will return to dry, dead grass in Seattle. Or maybe I will get pregnant very soon and my allergies will magically dissapear! A girl can dream.
Also, with temperature charting, my normal temperatures are about a whole point (10 tenths) lower than most women. So, I’m a little bit dead in the mornings, but I knew that. This means I have had to draw my own chart because the printable one cuts me off. And it means I’m slightly terrified that the one degree difference will make me not able to “incubate” a baby properly. And so begins my tapping into the “Am I A Bad Mother?” universal thread.