My little embaby.
It’s finally here, the day I meet you and welcome you to your hopeful home for the next 9 months. I want you to know how precious you already are to me, how much I have longed for you in my life. You will be my first child, my first everything, really. I hope you will stay in the cozy nook I have made for you. And that you will let me provide you with a safe and comfortable place to grow.
And if you choose to stay in your home until next Christmas, I will teach you how to navigate this crazy world with grace. You will have a mother who would go to the ends of the earth for you. A family that will be by your side to protect and support you. Your family might look different than others because you will get bonus … Continue reading
Insemination #8 went fine.
I worked from home yesterday, which I do strategically to cloak my suspicious number of appointments. At 9:45 am, while peeing on mute during a conference call, I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t called the sperm thaw hotline before 8:30am as instructed. Dropped off the conference call, called the sperm thaw hotline begging them to call me back with confirmation, called Olga hoping she’d put in a good word with the lab. Slight panic. Can you imagine how ridiculous it would be to miss a cycle because of forgetting this easy step? But, now that I’ve missed the deadline twice, I see that it’s ultimately negotiable and probably more of a guideline. A nice lady in the lab called me back within 5 minutes and called me “dear”. Olga also called back and said, “You’re all good!”
Phew. Sigh. Gratitude. Thank you.
Half an hour before … Continue reading
When I started this blog, I told myself that I would post regularly, that this space would help me find my writing voice again. And it has certainly done that, giving me a place to work through some of the complicated emotions that I’ve been experiencing since I began this adoption journey. Many women, after all, keep pregnancy blogs, documenting each new bodily sensation, the growing, tangible evidence that, in a specified amount of time, there will be a baby.
While waiting to adopt, though, there is nothing tangible: no growing belly, no swelling ankles, no blame-it-on-the-hormones bouts of moodiness. No timeline. In a normal pregnancy, there are nine months to plan and prepare, a date in the future that clearly delineates the before and after of baby’s arrival. In a normal adoption wait, there is… nothing. There is daily life as usual, and that life could last nine months, … Continue reading
During this Single Mother by Choice (SMC) journey I’ve realized that there are two versions of myself: me before making the decision to try the SMC path and me after making the decision to go the SMC path.
Let me tell you about the pre-SMC me. She was like the Rabbit from Alice In Wonderland. Rushing all around town, trying her very best to meet, date, and marry Mr. Right. Why? Because her biological clock was ringing quite loudly in her ear and the voices in her head kept shouting: “hurry up, hurry up, you’re late! Late! LATE!!” It was such a sad, frustrating, and frenetic time!
And then something shifted. I decided to start dating myself. I began with solo trips to the movies and even sampling restaurants with just me, myself, and I. It became routine and quite fun to take myself out whenever and wherever I fancied. … Continue reading
The Welcome email from Single Mothers by Choice (SMC) arrived and I was excited to receive it. I made dinner and sat down at my table to read it. I was looking through it, clicking through the links and reading absolutely everything. Then I got to a post and the words that jumped off the page at me completely caught me off guard. It was entitled “Last Call for Motherhood” and right under it said “Calm your panic. You don’t have to decide today.” From somewhere in the depths of my soul came this horribly painful, primal and unrecognizable half gasp, half cry. I immediately covered my mouth with my hand almost in disbelief that the sound had come from inside of me and the tears started to flow.
I was shocked at how hard these words had apparently hit something inside of me so deeply that I, without thought … Continue reading
I was fifteen. From the window of the doctor’s office, I could see the shapes of buildings on Manhattan’s east side, beyond which lay the East River and a sky that, I remember, was bright with sunshine. It was so long ago, twenty-three years, but I remember the day as a sunny one, autumn and brisk. My endocrinologist was a tiny woman with a rich Scottish brogue, and I had enjoyed, during our many visits, learning about the inner workings of my endocrine system, the complex interplay of hormones and their various failings which had led me to her office. On this day–after weeks of tests involving two sonograms, an ACTH test, endless vials of blood–I would receive my diagnosis: polycystic ovary syndrome. She explained the factors involved, that it was the likely cause of the visible symptoms I’d been experiencing since I hit puberty, that there are various effects … Continue reading