Family Matters

It’s no secret that my sister makes me crazy. We have very different lifestyles, priorities, tastes, friends, you name it. I was astounded when she announced her pregnancy because, for the 30+ years up to that moment, she had sworn she did not want to have children. She was never big on babysitting, and while she was friendly to babies and small children and certain animals, she never freaked out over them like some people tend to.

Throughout her pregnancy I viewed photos of her changing body and listened to morning sickness stories with a certain detachment, like I wasn’t really sure the whole thing was going to work out or something. I guess part of me was just totally incredulous that life had turned out this way, and that MY sister, my YOUNGER sister, was doing this – and doing it before me. I never identified a distinct sense of jealousy because I just plain refused to accept that, in nine months time, she would have a little person put into her arms while I was still peeing on test strips and shooting myself up.

It was very exciting when she delivered this weekend after 18 hours of labor and no drugs. Yes, you heard that correctly. 9 lbs of fat head with no medical assistance. That’s just not natural. I am planning on having a very 1950’s-style labor, where they shoot me full of all kinds of chemicals that have horrible affects on the baby and I drift off to a pleasant sleep, then am awoken and handed the clean and sweet-smelling baby (who cares if it’s mine or not? Screw the whole experience thing). I was a proper proud auntie, dutifully notifying my friends and posting pictures and providing all the details. Since I’m not allowed to go visit til June at the earliest, I still have felt very removed from the whole thing.

About 15 minutes ago I was ordering my new niece her first pair of Skechers when I decided to call and check in. My awesome mum is there with them for a few days, so I figured it was safe to call and ask her how it was going, how nursing was progressing, blah blah blah. Everything’s awesome, my sister and brother-in-law are very easy-going parents (so far), small talk small talk. And then Amelia cried. My mother said, ‘Hold on, that’s her, let me hold the phone up to the baby monitor so you can hear her’. She did so, and I totally surprised myself by promptly bursting into tears. Luckily I was able to compose myself when my mother started talking again, because heaven forbid in my family we talk about how we really feel (or at least I wouldn’t want to get into that while she was still at their place).

So, uh, yeah. Apparently it’s real. My sister has a baby and I don’t, and I’m jealous and frustrated and wish I could be there and am in awe and since I’m totally blubbering all over myself again I must be PMSing and therefore the most recent attempt didn’t work. Again. Argh. But ‘Amelia Jane’, how damn cool is that? That’s my niece, and she has an aunt far away in North Carolina who loves her already.

A Gay Sperm Walks Into a Bar

One of the single mother forums I'm on is abuzz lately about using gay sperm (begging the question, 'How can you tell the sperm is gay?'). Eager to type the words, 'gay sperm FDA' into Google, where as I learned this past weekend at a hacker conference the search would be stored and filed for all eternity, I learned that there really hasn't been much news on the topic since 2005. Too bad, because I would love a 'Legalize Gay Sperm!' bumper sticker for my car. I wasn't able to find anything new or noteworthy on the 1800's-style prohibition, but found it interesting that the women on the forum were sneaking around, lying to their doctors, and otherwise having to cover up the fact that their donor source was gay. I guess they were dressing the sperm in very macho outfits and drinking PBR with them.

I find the whole thing very fascinating, because we all know that straight boys are always safe and monogamous, while all gay men are slutty and sloppy. Well, let's leave Loud out of the equation for now, and I would have to argue that most of the 'mos I know are pretty darn faithful if in a relationship, and a heck of a lot more safe than the hets. So based on studies conducted in my living room and careful analysis of the 'down low' literature, I would argue that all donations should be handled and screened in the same way. Sperm equality, damnit. They're all just trying to get the job done.

Facebook is Making Me Melancholy

I succumbed, finally, to the intense pressure to get a Facebook account up and at 'em, and after becoming thoroughly disgusted with that other one, I decided I didn't have any more pride left to lose and what the heck.

It's kinda nice, because my MySpace account is based around my alter-ego, the name of which is generally kept quiet from a certain group of people (close friends, family, coworkers, anyone) in order to protect them from the rather uncouth behaviors that naturally occur as a result of hiding behind a mask of a secret identify. So my Facebook profile is me, for once, and I'm able to share the everyday little things with old school friends, my siblings, anybody. Usually this is incredibly boring, for the most part, since communication tends to be an occasional poke or wall posting.

But I found Jeff.

Jeff (his real name, hopefully he won't find this and sue me), was my very best friend in my last two years of high school. A brilliant and talented artist, student, comedian, dreamer - you name it (anything except for 'jock', as you might have guessed already). I owe any sarcasm talents today to him - he had a sharp, quick self-deprecating wit borne of years in a small town with small minds that neither appreciated nor understood him. The only reason I keep my high school year books prominently displayed and easily accessible is because I like to return to his highly detailed and very personal artwork pieces that are scattered throughout from when he signed at the end of the school year (yes, I went through a 'Hellraiser' phase, who didn't?).

We stayed in touch our first couple years in college, mostly via letters that Jeff wrote in an expressive hand and decorated with more original cartoons (my favorite was his 'What Really Happened to the Excess Material from Cathi's Reduction', it was hilarious and terrifying and mostly accurate). We saw each other on occasional holidays back in our home town, and, inevitably, fought because he fell in love with a girl that I hated and thought was a stupid tramp who was only using him so we lost touch.

Over the years I tried looking for him in different ways, and even asked my mom to tell his dad to call me (very high school, I know). I sent emails to what I thought might be his email address. But no luck. Or, maybe, he just still had some lingering grudge. I hope not. I hope he gets my little pitiful Facebook message and responds, and I can talk to him. I'd like to tell him that I cared for him more than he guessed, and that if I'd been a smarter/better person in high school I wouldn't have chased after his better-looking but jackass friends and would have appreciated him, and his loyalty and friendship, much more.

Strike Three, But Still in the Game

I know you have all been breathlessly awaiting the results of Attempt #3, and I'll bet you can guess how that went. No, third time was not a charm in my case, but whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? So as I suffer through another week of cramping, rollercoaster moodiness, piercing headaches and torrential bleeding (as if I needed another reason to resent my period, right?), I must set my shoulders resolutely and steadfastly march on.

To that end, rather than sitting and making excuses and whining (like I have been doing about this, my job, my weight, my friends, and pretty much anything else anyone would listen to), I have ordered some Ovulation Test Strips. You can never have too many things to dunk in your urine, I say. I even read the instructions, so it should be an exciting time. I just have a feeling that since I’ve been so stressed and irregular, I’m not timing things correctly, so this should help. Science, working for me. No, I'm not going totally crazy and getting FertiliTea or the sperm-pooling pillow or any other hippie new-agey weirdness. Yet.