"Oh, Baby" Update

First of all, get your filthy mind out of the gutter. (As soon as I do, I know.)

My dear, loving, and most courageous husband has decided to "be (my) Christ" and undergo a most <ahem> delicate procedure to give his beautiful wife (that's me, dumbass) what she desires more than apple pie ala mode.

A baby. Yes, a baby. I said it, or rather wrote it.

My earlier whining and my constant blathering about my biological clock has finally worn him down. That's pretty terrible, isn't it? In some ways I feel sort of guilty and worried about it now. My cajoling (never subtle) has made him throw up his hands? Yikes.

However, I think part of him would also love to see another little one around the house, too. He's such a wonderful father, obviously (and I do not exaggerate) a magnificent husband, and all-around good guy, despite his insecurity about, well, being secure, financially that is. With good reason, of course. We aren't the most frugal people in the world. We tend to spend what we don't actually have sometimes. We aren't the most fiscally responsible people, but we never spend more than we can't back up... later.

Anyway, he revealed to me last night that he was willing to go to bat for me and for our future offspring one last time. For the past few weeks, months, even years, we've considered adoption and in-vitro. I've been talking to a few different adoption agencies lately, and we are not impressed with the procedures, policies, and run-around, not to mention the exorbitant fees some places charge. Domestic adoptions can range from $5000 to (sit down) $50,000. Why the large spread? It depends on everything from cost of the home visit to the cost of medical bills for the birth mother. However, some places nickel and dime potential adoptive parents with paperwork and filing fees. And when I say "nickel and dime," I'm really talking about thousands of dollars for paperwork handling. It's a racket with some of these places. I'm surprised anyone is adopting these days.

We have decided, then, to go the ICSI-IVF method since right after our youngest was born nine years ago, we chose a vasectomy as our method of birth control. For those of you in the blogosphere who aren't fertility-challenged, ICSI is NOT a new television show about crime scene investigators in Indianapolis. It stands for, um... hold on, let me look that one up. Feel free to hum the Jeopardy theme song while I retrieve this information.

Intracytoplasmic sperm injection. Ewww, I know. Sounds gross, huh? Almost what Dr.Venkman might use on Dana Barrett.

Actually, it is a procedure in which a doctor (OK, if there are any males reading this, you might want to skip the next few sentences or maybe find something to stuff in your mouth before you scream) inserts a needle into the you-know-where to retrieve a single sperm. (Uh huh, told you it might make you scream! Now get your hands off your nether regions before someone sees you.) Then, the sperm is inserted into an egg that has already been retrieved from the ovaries. Now, this is AFTER the woman has undergone injections (possibly for months) to stimulate egg production. (You don't hear women screaming or holding their fallopian tubes, do you, boys?)

Once all this needle stabbing has occurred, the egg and the sperm do a little turn on the petri dish floor - a little love dance - and hopefully, fertilization takes place. This is the IVF (in vitro fertilization) part. Once it does, the fertilized egg goes back into mommy and again, hopefully, implantation takes place. It's a tricky little phenomenon. Most of the time, several eggs and sperm are retrieved at one time so that fertilization of several embryos can occur. A few are implanted at once, just in case; the rest are frozen <brr> for later implantation, if needed.

This is what we are signing on for. OMG. Scared? Hell, yes. But hopeful. Very hopeful.


I have probably never been so excited in my life either, with the exception of learning I was preggers with both of my boys. I love the thought of raising another child with my husband. There is nothing on earth that gives me more pleasure than watching my babies grow and learn. And watching my husband be a father is priceless. He's so loving and tender.

My plan is to continually update this blog as we go on this little journey. Stay tuned. I've got the paperwork to fill out this weekend so that I may fax it to the RRC (Reproductive Resource Center) on Monday. I have to talk to my regular doc as well, to make sure all my ducks are in a row with immunizations, etc. I'm so glad I haven't taken but one sick day this year. We might be spending a few days in waiting and examination rooms in the next few months. YAY!

Baby Crazy

For the last few years my biological clock has all but smacked me on the head each day, alerting me to the fact that I am now in my <upper> thirties, and, while I have two children already, I have not yet "completed" my family. Now, honestly, for a while I was content with two children, both boys. I had them fairly early in life, at least the first one, at ages twenty-three and twenty-eight. They are terrific boys, too. More loving and sweet than any mother would want. I'm proud of them daily, and thank my lucky stars that they are such great kids. So, what's the problem? Why do I think I want more children? My husband and I used to pride ourselves in not contributing to the world's overpopulation too much by having more children, as we've only had enough to replace ourselves in the cycle. Why is it that I feel this great pull to procreate and to start all over with another set of diapers, bottles, day care, preschool, sick days taken by someone other than myself?

For a long while I believed it was my need to mother. My boys are obviously maturing, and as they do, they need me for the basics a little less. Although they need me more in some regards, like homework and social issues, they no longer need me to feed them, to dress them ("Get out of my room, mom! I'm getting dressed!"), or to hold them while they fall asleep. I miss those days terribly. Believing that was the case, we decided to get a puppy for me to mother. Actually, we got two. And for a little while, a very, very short while, that worked. Puppies take much work. Unfortunately, they grow even faster than children. Their infancy and toddlerhood only lasted about a year. They're fairly self-sufficient now, other than food, the need to go outside, and general petting and playing. Besides, like my boys, they play together so much and so well, they don't need the grown-ups with whom to play or cuddle so much.

I accept the fact that my children are growing up, that they need me in different ways now, and that one day all too soon, they'll be leaving my house to seek out their own lives. I'm surprisingly OK with that.

So what keeps pulling my biological clock to the end of my nightstand to ring so loudly in my ear?

Is it the fact that I always wanted a girl? Possibly. As a former tomboy, however, this is a little surprising to both me and those who surrounded me while I grew up. I never learned to braid hair or to wear high heels without falling on my face. I never liked girlie and frilly things. My sister was the girlie girl. I was daddy's little helper on the farm. I've been happy in jeans and a pair of boots all my life. What on earth would I do with a little girl? She'd either be such a tomboy as to put my mud pies to shame, or such a prima donna, we'd fight ferociously every day.

Insanely, I wouldn't mind either.

I look around at my friends and family. I was the only one out of all my current (city) friends to have kids while in my twenties. Most of my college friends and those I have met since waited until their thirties to begin parenting. I was the one who had to find a babysitter or leave my spouse at home in order to hang out with them while they simply had to find the right shoes. Now, they've got young children or babies on the way.

My sister stopped at one. After her divorce, she never remarried. My brother (step) is having his first this spring. He is in his early thirties, but his wife is about my age, and this is also her first. My sisters-in-law are quite another story. Quite possibly, I look at their families and am a bit jealous. Both had their older children in their twenties. Then, they have both had a "second set" in their upper thirties. R. has two children with her second husband and two from her previous marriage. Her oldest is eighteen, her youngest is one. A. had her first two children early in her marriage, and her husband (like mine) had a vasectomy after the second was born because they didn't want to have to worry about birth control or any surprises. In her mid-thirties, she decided, more than anything, she wanted another baby. Even though her husband (like mine) was reluctant, he finally acquiesced. They used a fertility specialist to perform an extraction/in-vitro procedure. They ended up with twins on a single round, which terrifies my husband!

I ask A. often for advice and guidance. While she sympathizes and encourages me to continue persuading my husband (her little brother) to take the plunge, she is also caught between a rock and a hard place. Her brother isn't as excited as I am. In fact, he is horribly reluctant. He has good reason, too! Financially, we are fine, but the cost of adding another child to the family would be a little bit of a strain. He's always in fear for his job. He's survived cuts for the last decade. He's waiting for his number to come up every day. It's a precarious place.

Beyond that, he is ready for it to be "just us." Kids weren't necessarily on his radar when he met me. I've always been the one who has pushed for them from the beginning. He has wanted to make me happy, so he's agreed. He has been a wonderful father, too. He's so much more than I ever imagined he would be. This is one of the very reasons I want to have another. We are good parents, and we make beautiful, wonderful children. I know I should be happy with what I have. Every day I admonish myself for the thoughts and feelings I have regarding this. For some crazy reason, I can't help it. While I also want our "just us" time, too, I'm not ready to give up the "all of us" days either.

Unintentional Consequences

While chatting with a former student of mine on facebook, I came across his blog - right here on this very site. I was only attempting to find information on his band (Madrid), but found instead a rather insightful conversation about love and relationships - how they last, how they're true, etc.

I am a writer. I am a conversationalist. (I am woman, therefore I have to say whatever it is I need to say.) Consequently, I have now embarked upon a blogging enterprise. I don't have any expectations of myself or my endeavors, but this is it. Let my musings begin.