“Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen” – Ralph Waldo Emmerson

Making the decision to become a parent is a huge deal. I know I’m stating the obvious, but when it is upon you to actually make, it seems so much larger than life and even myself.

How can little ol’ me be a Mommy AND a Daddy? How will I explain to a little human where their Daddy is?  This haunts me a bit, but like everything else I guess I will figure it out and come up with a satisfactory answer… “Insert answer.”  

After exploring adoption in Nevada and really thinking about this as an option, I have decided to instead have a baby via donor and artificial insemination. Wow, I actually am doing this! Holy shit!  Exciting and scary as hell!

It is said that when a decision is made and one takes control, they feel relieved. This has actually been somewhat true for me. 

I don’t know if this is because, in my mind, I am now free from the desire to meet a man at this moment? I have come to a place where the thought of being vulnerable one more time is too scary for me. I prefer to put this energy and effort toward starting my family.  I pray and really, really want to believe that I will one day again open my heart to love. 

The things that flood my mind are:

  • What will my child draw when they draw a picture of their family? (Mommy and…imaginary Daddy?)
  • How will I answer the question of, “What can you tell me about my Daddy?” 
  • What will I respond when asked, “Where is my Daddy?”
  • What is bigger – nurture or nature?
  • Who will come to every Dr. appointment with me? (I currently live 3.000 miles from my Mom)
  • Who will talk to my belly other than me?
  • Who will come to parent teacher conferences with me?
  • Who will tell me that even though my body is changing, it is still beautiful?

The list goes on and on. BUT, despite all of this, I am still moving forward and doing it. I will take each day as a blessing and do my best to remember that I made the right choice. 



Photo credit: Jennifer Salem 

First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage, Then Comes The Baby In The Baby Carriage…

December 2014…

Since August I had been thinking a lot about my situation. I really had envisioned a sense of relief by freezing my eggs, but that feeling never came.  

I never in a million years thought I would be making a decision to actually have a baby by myself either via adoption or artificial insemination. 

 As little girls we are taught that when you have a baby you do this with your husband.  Your husband is by your side in a Lamaze class, your husband will tell you that you look beautiful as you carry your child, your husband will be in the delivery room encouraging you.  At least this is what I was taught and believed deep in my soul. 

 I remember being a little girl and singing, “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage.”  Well, we see how that turned out.  I know that the times are different… blah, blah, blah.  



We are ingrained with these beliefs and when they turn out different it is scary and takes getting used to.  Changing this lens has been more difficult than I imagined. 

 I do know that I am tired of dating and if I am not willing to date then how can I meet someone?  I have been actively dating for 20 years and frankly, I am tired.  I just don’t have it in me anymore. This is a big dilemma.  One which suggests a pro-active decision must be made about a baby – either adopt or donor insemination.  Being a parent is not an option, this is something I will do. 

Of all the futures that I can imagine, I cannot image a single one that doesn’t have a child in it…

Day 1 -Egg Freezing 

Day 1 – July 2014 

Edit

The first morning has arrived. Not sure what I thought it would feel like. It is 7am and the women are reporting for blood work. I sit and watch them arrive. ‘Them’ as if I am not including myself. It kind of does feel like I am an observer from the outside looking in. 

Married, single, with a friend, one with her husband, lesbian partners. Different races and religions, brunettes, blondes. Wait, I’m the only blond… Let’s just say that highlights are my friend. Can’t get the Southern California out of me! 

Some read books, some thumb through magazines, some just stare off in the distance.

It feels somewhat like a factory. To the left you go for blood work. To the right you go to have a sonogram. What a mix of emotions is displayed in this waiting room.

I keep asking myself, “Why am I in this situation?” Not married, no kids. Is this a bad thing? Logically no, emotionally it is a different story. Hello logical mind are you there? Stop this thinking pronto!

At least I still have options. Truthfully, should have done this years ago. But, I didn’t and here I sit. 

Some women seem like they have done this before… Old hat.

$15,000 is the bill. Due before retrieval. 

 The couple and her sister (I think) have left looking defeated. They walk out in a single file line. My heart aches for them. You can see the sadness on their faces. Another couple checks out. She has tissues in her hand. More disappointed faces. 

 They call my name. The phlebotomist takes me back. Nice enough, although she doesn’t introduce herself. “Sit down, arm here,” she says with a smile. I do as I am told.

As I look around I notice a mural to the right of my head. Pictures of babies, babies, babies. I mean, really!?! They are working it! I don’t ask anything about the pictures, just sort of stare at the wall. Truthfully, the pictures kind of look old. 

 Back to the blood… ‘She’ (I still don’t know her name) proceeds to prepare me for the blood draw. In the needle goes. 15 seconds, it is over. Snap off the tourniquet and that is it.

“I will call you this afternoon,” ‘she’ says. “What is your name?” I inquire. “Jasmine (with a smile)”. Seems so transactional, but again, polite. 

Well folks, that is it. I am done. Just like that. At least I am getting service with a smile! 

 As I near the elevator I come across the man of the couple who was checking out. He stares off as he waits for his wife to come out of the restroom. I am willing to bet she is in the bathroom crying. Again, my heart hurts for her, them. 

 As I step in the elevator I remind myself that their stories are not mine, mine not theirs. I will be married and a parent one day. And hopefully they will too.

Photo credit – http://www.vogue.com