OMG!

I’m all a-flutter sitting here typing this, I can’t sit still. Not being very effective at work. Nothing matters here amidst databases and deadlines, nothing is as important as my big secret! I have gone inward, and also outward (from work anyway), preferring to connect with people on line, thinking about family and home rather than targets and follow-ups. I have had this secret for 8 weeks now, 8 weeks of being somewhat here, somewhat elsewhere, daydreaming, clumsy and forgetful. Content and full of quiet hope. No fear. Is it really possible that I’m 12 weeks pregnant?? The evidence seems to be conclusive, as there have been no periods, three positive pee sticks, sore body parts, random emotional outbursts, and best of all, as of yesterday, au audible heartbeat, strong and steady. A little baby in the making. I don’t know the mechanics of miracles, but it sure feels like one. Thirteenth try it was, lucky 13. I had not been trying since 4 months before Ben was conceived in 2010. My first try was Sept. 2007. Our donor only gave us one dose this successful cycle too, since his folks were in town. We did not think it would work. We had no precedent to even believe it possible. Why now? Why this time? I wish I could answer that conclusively. I have my list of potential contenders; you can choose which one(s) you think helped:

2    * Going vegan for six months prior to it working (eating really healthy, possible reduction in inflammation, dealing with unknown allergies, less exposure to certain hormone-ladden products).

* Having a baby in the house already (hormone soup).

3     * The planet Venus doing her once-every-8-years fly-by transit right around insemination time. The goddess Venus is known for her powers of manifestation in the realms of fertility and love.

*      * Manifestation map (a collage of the desired quantities in my life, especially related to pregnancy, family etc). I meditated on it nightly, its colorful images and encouraging words flooding my mind and inevitably my subconscious.

       * A total attitude shift from it being all about me, my spiritual journey, my failing body, my personal issues, to it being about wanting to increase our family and to be the conduit for more joy.

       * Lastly, and likely most potently, our donor has super-sperm. Seriously. We’ve had several donors (fresh and frozen). But the first time we tried him, A produced Ben. Second try with him worked for me. And I’m pretty sure I was preggers the first try but then we all got a wicked case of the stomach flu and everything was flushed. He is clearly the right guy for our family making plans!

       * Ok, lastly, lastly, there is the ephemeral, ineffable quality of mystery.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me over the years. We have developed a wonderful community from becoming parents, and also from shared trials. I love you all! And I am loving this little human bean that has magically germinated, impossibly choosing my womb as its fertile earth. I can’t believe it, but I must! It’s really happening…

E

tick tock

That ol' biological clock is still gently doing her thing, ticking away like a constantly there sound that disappears. Similar to Ben's white noise CD or the soft static of the baby monitor. I am always hearing it, but I am not often listening. I am 34.5 years old. The pregnancy I would have, should it happen, would be called "geriatric" at this point (can you believe medical doctors actual use that as an official term for the preggers-over-35 set?). Although it would obviously affect Ben and A, this next step in our family journey feels like a really private, interior one. Between me and my gods, me and my body. There are heaps of muck to wade through, reconciliations to make, most of all with this earthy container of mine. I sometimes shook my fist at fate (which is fruitless, as I'm sure you've discovered), all those months of trying before. More so at first, when I experienced the earth shattering shock that egg+sperm does not =baby. I mean, for having been a lesbian all these years, you would think my body would positively throw down the welcome mat at its first chance at replicating our quirky species! Maybe slip into something more comfortable, turn on some nice music, make it a martini. Alas, my lady parts weren't up for playing hostess to suitors, nor zygotes. Spiritually, my faith was shaken in whatever powers I felt were guiding me. But I found ways to ask different questions and to make different prayers. Instead of a baby, I asked for grace or the strength to get through another cycle. I certainly wasn't anything like serene but I did find some peace eventually and a gentle surrendering to the mystery.

My relationship with my body on the other hand still suffers. I want to torture it with cleanses and special diets and crazy exercise (okay, a bit more exercise than none is probably not such a bad idea...). But I won't. I am seeing a new naturopath (for overall health), am going for some Reiki, and am back into yoga (definitely a major missing ingredient in my life since Ben's arrival). I am really trying not to make it a big deal, or focus too much energy on fertility. This body and me are stuck together until the end of this lifetime, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. I need to nurture that relationship, not take it for granted or wish it were anything other than the miracle that all of our bodies are. It's not easy though, and there are parts of me that I fear, or find difficult, or which I resent (like some genetic issues). There is also much to love and be grateful for. I guess where I am now is in a middle place, somewhere liminal like dusk or dawn. I am neither mired in the traumatic muck of the past, nor fully engaged in trying again. I am spending this time learning to feel good in the here and now. I want this body to feel like a good place to be; a good thing to be made of, to live in, and to come through. I still wonder if I have enough to offer, enough energy, enough nutrients, enough love, to still remain intact at the end of it. I guess that's not the point, really, since how can it be anything other than completely transformational? It's scary, and A is always so tired in such a deeper way than me. How do I explain to her, who has so gratifyingly experienced the mind-blowing, heart-exploding ability to create and sustain life, that I need more time to get there?

E

the pineapple project

Why pineapple? It all started when some hokey story we heard early on said an American doctor recommended IVF patients eat pineapple and an egg McMuffin the morning of the procedure. Since we were taking any tips, medical, folkloric or otherwise into consideration we dutifully trudged over to the A&P, bought a pineapple, cut it up and put pieces into a little Tupperware we took with us to McDonalds for a “hold the meat please” breakfast! Now don’t think it didn’t hurt our self-image to eat at Mickie D’s. We were prepared to face the imagined wrath, which turned out to come mostly from our inner voices, of eating at such a multinational, cow-killing conglomerate. But a baby! It’s like we got the pregnancy stupids early! The pineapple was nice though.

Then, years later in the journey after mostly giving up on egg McMuffins and pineapple I did an obscene amount of internet research on the benefits of pineapple core to sustain implantation. It must be ripe; the lady in question must only eat a sixth or so of it each day, and only from ovulation on for 5 days. It sounded good so we tried it. And lastly, what a fruit, all showy and armored, tart and sweet like a hot military chick. Thus the blog title was born. Our project had been code named “gardening” for a long time as well, for obvious reasons, so it had to be something that grows. You know, I remember seeing a pineapple growing in England as some kind of British agricultural curiosity. It really looks like the pineapples are just popping right out of the ground! I guess we were hoping for the same thing, a fantastic and improbable-feeling miracle of nature.

E

a fertile journey?

A play on words of course. If I was a fertile myrtle myself I wouldn’t feel as compelled to blog about it all. I am taking back the dark night of my soul, reinventing “fertile”. Who needs babies when you can birth blogs with so much less pain? I just visualized if childbirth were more like blog, with the latest contraction, dilation size or shouted obscenity at the top. There would be comments from the avid fans underneath like:


bunnylegs – OMG! you go grrrrl. i can’t believe your vagina is so HUGE. shit. i just wrote vagina, LOL!


I remember going to a play in university in Montreal where a lesbo couple had a midwife who told them to remember that during labour, “an open mouth is an open vagina,” no doubt reminding them to breathe and chant and vocalize. Well readers, here’s my open mouth. OMG!

Hope you like it.

E