This is the first post that has been really, really hard to write.
Not because this next part was painful or difficult - quite the opposite, in fact. In many ways I find it easier to write about the things that have been hard, as though my voice has gained importance through struggle. Who wants to read a blog about "everything went right and now we have a baby!"? (me, probably, actually, because parenting blogs are like crack to me no matter how far removed from my own experience).
With each of my other entries, I've felt like I had something I'd learned, something to teach. I guess I also felt the need to bring a team in around my family and I, to share that we are navigating a dimly-lit and difficult path and to feel a little less alone on this journey. And gosh, have you all proven yourselves to be excellent company and I'm so very pleased I made the choice to start sharing.
This post, though? This is completely different. This post will not teach you anything, except the power and strength and joy of friendship and generosity and love. For once, my family does not need your support, your sympathy, your well-wishes or your crossed fingers. Because this time, finally, the luck was on our side.
You see, by the time we found out that we needed to bring our own sperm to the party, we'd already had four wonderful men approach us entirely of their own accord and offer to gift us the genetic materials we required.
Ever since Linda and I started dating, people have been offering us sperm. Ex-boyfriends, old pals, new pals, and an endless supply of female pals offering us the sperm of their male partners. This was always done casually, almost always with a laugh, and while the offers may have been serious we never took them too seriously. The conversation would move quickly on, as we always thought we would be using an anonymous donor.
In 2016, however, the tone changed. We were married, and although we hadn't announced our plans to start procreating, I am an unabashed baby-fiend and once let loose with a burst of frustration about the shortage of sperm donors on Twitter which may have served as a clue that we were in the market. In the space between our wedding in March and finding out that we needed to use a personal donor in June, four men reached out to us in writing to seriously offer their services as a sperm donor.
I know how lucky this makes us, and how far this is from the experience of many others. I see the postings on message boards of women desperately seeking sperm from strangers, from anybody, and my throat grows tight with sadness and guilt. Not for a second have we ever felt that not having a man in our marriage might mean that we couldn't have a child, and it's a blessing that we are incredibly aware of having.
All four of the men that offered will be names in our family's story forever. One of them I had known for almost ten years, one of them neither of us had ever met. Two had children of their own, three were married. Two of them were at our wedding. All four of them are intelligent, generous, kind, wonderful human beings who any child would be lucky to share genetic material with. I am sure four prospective parents could look at them and each choose a different donor, and all of them would have chosen a winner.
We attended a counselling session where we spoke through our options, then went home and messaged the person we'd decided we would ask first. (For the purposes of this blog, this wonderful human being's name will be Buzz Lightyear - probably Buzz, for short. Don't ask.) It had been a while, at this point, since his offer, and there was the initial burst of anxiety that maybe he'd changed his mind. He hadn't, and we began the strangest journey I have ever taken with another person other than my ridiculous wife.
I can't speak to it from his end - (wanna do a guest post, Buzz?) - or from Linda's - (hi babe) - but from my perspective Buzz has been the sperm donor that dreams are made of. Like, I can't even. We spoke to him on the Sunday, sent him the details on the Monday, and he'd been in touch with his local clinic on the Tuesday. Our group FB chat (called "#teambaby" bc this is all a bit fucking cute) has over 700 messages in it and for a few weeks there we spent a whole bunch of time on Skype. We worked through an incredibly intense document together with questions like "who else will know? whose information is it to tell? how do your respective relatives feel? what happens on birthdays and Christmas and Father's Day? what happens if one of you dies? what will you do if an abnormality is diagnosed in pregnancy?" and NOT ONLY did he not immediately nope right out of this whole situation, he thoughtfully answered every question in completely perfect ways and made us feel like actually maybe using someone we knew was even better than using someone anonymous. He has 100% made us feel like Linda and I are the parents and his only role (beyond a lifetime of ongoing friendship) is to provide what we need to get started as parents, which is exactly what we wanted.
So that is that! We have everything we need to make a baby, except an endless supply of money.
This will be my last blog post for a while, because not much/everything will be happening soon and my wife and I have very different ideas about how much you all need to know about that. While I would happily blog every clinic visit, every insemination, every pregnancy (and loss of pregnancy) as it happens, Linda is very firmly of the opinion that no pregnancies that are happening in her body will be written about in this blog until she is in her second trimester, and so it shall be. I will let you all know any news the very minute that I am allowed.
Not because this next part was painful or difficult - quite the opposite, in fact. In many ways I find it easier to write about the things that have been hard, as though my voice has gained importance through struggle. Who wants to read a blog about "everything went right and now we have a baby!"? (me, probably, actually, because parenting blogs are like crack to me no matter how far removed from my own experience).
With each of my other entries, I've felt like I had something I'd learned, something to teach. I guess I also felt the need to bring a team in around my family and I, to share that we are navigating a dimly-lit and difficult path and to feel a little less alone on this journey. And gosh, have you all proven yourselves to be excellent company and I'm so very pleased I made the choice to start sharing.
This post, though? This is completely different. This post will not teach you anything, except the power and strength and joy of friendship and generosity and love. For once, my family does not need your support, your sympathy, your well-wishes or your crossed fingers. Because this time, finally, the luck was on our side.
You see, by the time we found out that we needed to bring our own sperm to the party, we'd already had four wonderful men approach us entirely of their own accord and offer to gift us the genetic materials we required.
Ever since Linda and I started dating, people have been offering us sperm. Ex-boyfriends, old pals, new pals, and an endless supply of female pals offering us the sperm of their male partners. This was always done casually, almost always with a laugh, and while the offers may have been serious we never took them too seriously. The conversation would move quickly on, as we always thought we would be using an anonymous donor.
In 2016, however, the tone changed. We were married, and although we hadn't announced our plans to start procreating, I am an unabashed baby-fiend and once let loose with a burst of frustration about the shortage of sperm donors on Twitter which may have served as a clue that we were in the market. In the space between our wedding in March and finding out that we needed to use a personal donor in June, four men reached out to us in writing to seriously offer their services as a sperm donor.
I know how lucky this makes us, and how far this is from the experience of many others. I see the postings on message boards of women desperately seeking sperm from strangers, from anybody, and my throat grows tight with sadness and guilt. Not for a second have we ever felt that not having a man in our marriage might mean that we couldn't have a child, and it's a blessing that we are incredibly aware of having.
All four of the men that offered will be names in our family's story forever. One of them I had known for almost ten years, one of them neither of us had ever met. Two had children of their own, three were married. Two of them were at our wedding. All four of them are intelligent, generous, kind, wonderful human beings who any child would be lucky to share genetic material with. I am sure four prospective parents could look at them and each choose a different donor, and all of them would have chosen a winner.
We attended a counselling session where we spoke through our options, then went home and messaged the person we'd decided we would ask first. (For the purposes of this blog, this wonderful human being's name will be Buzz Lightyear - probably Buzz, for short. Don't ask.) It had been a while, at this point, since his offer, and there was the initial burst of anxiety that maybe he'd changed his mind. He hadn't, and we began the strangest journey I have ever taken with another person other than my ridiculous wife.
I can't speak to it from his end - (wanna do a guest post, Buzz?) - or from Linda's - (hi babe) - but from my perspective Buzz has been the sperm donor that dreams are made of. Like, I can't even. We spoke to him on the Sunday, sent him the details on the Monday, and he'd been in touch with his local clinic on the Tuesday. Our group FB chat (called "#teambaby" bc this is all a bit fucking cute) has over 700 messages in it and for a few weeks there we spent a whole bunch of time on Skype. We worked through an incredibly intense document together with questions like "who else will know? whose information is it to tell? how do your respective relatives feel? what happens on birthdays and Christmas and Father's Day? what happens if one of you dies? what will you do if an abnormality is diagnosed in pregnancy?" and NOT ONLY did he not immediately nope right out of this whole situation, he thoughtfully answered every question in completely perfect ways and made us feel like actually maybe using someone we knew was even better than using someone anonymous. He has 100% made us feel like Linda and I are the parents and his only role (beyond a lifetime of ongoing friendship) is to provide what we need to get started as parents, which is exactly what we wanted.
So that is that! We have everything we need to make a baby, except an endless supply of money.
This will be my last blog post for a while, because not much/everything will be happening soon and my wife and I have very different ideas about how much you all need to know about that. While I would happily blog every clinic visit, every insemination, every pregnancy (and loss of pregnancy) as it happens, Linda is very firmly of the opinion that no pregnancies that are happening in her body will be written about in this blog until she is in her second trimester, and so it shall be. I will let you all know any news the very minute that I am allowed.
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