Though I have been thinking about this often, I am finally forcing myself to sit down and write about it. I am (pause pause pause) giving up on the idea of (no that isn’t right) choosing to move forward with my life by (here goes, breathe) having a baby on my own. There I said it. Technically, I am choosing an anonymous sperm donor, buying vials of sperm that will then be put up into my uterus by a doctor. No sex. No relationship. No man. No wedding. No. Just me.
This coming to terms with the fact that I am doing all of this solo is making me cry presently, sitting at a table with a giant latte on a rainy, winter Sunday in LA. Wonder if they have Baileys here. Kidding. Kindof.
Back to the point. It is devastatingly difficult for me to admit to myself that this is really it. This is how I am going to have a family, or at least start one. Who knows what the future holds. But even if I met the man of my daydreams tomorrow, I don’t want to wait another two years. Actually I shouldn’t wait. Physically- I have amazing ovaries, younger than my age looking reproductive girl parts, woowoo. But my FSH, follicle stimulating hormone, apparently is at the older end of the range it should be for my age, so the longer I wait, the less chance of me getting pregnant as naturally as possible. If it is meant to be, I’ll get pregnant on the first try. That’s what I am hoping for. That part isn’t up to me.
What it all comes down to is that the thought of having a healthy, happy, gorgeous little baby lights a such big fire in my heart and I’m all in. I was born to be a mother and I hope with everything I have, that I will be.