Princess and the Pea
According to the ticker gadget that I’ve now installed on my desktop, I am 4w5d pregnant. The funny thing is that the MaybeBaby was only conceived 3 weeks ago. I suppose in pregnancy math you get to add a bonus two weeks to your total just for trying.
I never thought that I would be one of those people. The kind of girl that gets pregnant on her very first try. I’m apparently very fertile. I’m pretty amazed at what my body can do.
I’m tired, my boobs are huge and I feel massive. In all likelihood, I’m also hormonal. I almost lost it on Wifey this morning when she tried to hand me a hair ball from the shower drain to throw out. Admittedly, she smacked me in the face with it and I got overly exasperated, and unfairly so, with her accident prone nature. Everything just feels so, um, major at this point in time.
I wish the little grain of arborio rice that’s taken up residency in my uterus would let me sleep through the night. The MaybeBaby is only a collection of cells and already it’s keeping me up at night. I fear for what it will do once it develops limbs.
We’re having a baby. I have to repeat this to myself over and over again. On the weekend it was real. Today it doesn’t feel very real. My emotions have ranged from ecstatic to ambivalent. I read somewhere that the later was normal. It just doesn’t feel right to feel this way when I read through my enormous blogroll and various forums where all these queer people are trying so hard to get pregnant. All we did was have our donor show up, asked him to do his thing into an artichoke jar, Wifey made the transfer, and I sat with my legs in the air for 20 minutes. We repeated this process 3 times over 4 days. But after the rigmarole of adopting kids this seems, dare I say, too easy?
But it’s also so complicated.
I’m grappling with our choice to use a known donor. We made a conscientious decision to have him take a role that was more than donor but not quite a parent. It was a leap of faith to create something that was a hybrid and we definitively have nothing to model it after. We’ve asked him to be involved in all our kids’ lives and not just the one he has a biological connection to. He’s keeping up his end of the deal and yet I’m feeling infringed upon. Like this is too much. I don’t want to update him all the time on how I’m feeling. I don’t want to have to call all the time. And, I feel awful because all he wants to do is be included. Yet, I don’t feel like sharing today. I resent that I have to share and I resent that I don’t feel like sharing.
I’m also grappling with issues of race and questioning our decision to have a multi-racial baby. I’m white. Our donor is brown. Aside from hoping (actually, all of us have our fingers crossed) that our kid won’t be ugly, I’m wondering if we’ve done it a disservice. What do I know about the other race that’s going to make up half of its genes? Nothing! Our donors’ parents think that it is awesome he bred with some white lesbians. Our parents initially wondered why we didn’t choose a different gay male who also happened to be white.
There’s no politically correct way to say this, but skin colour is linked to privilege and we intentionally opted out of giving this child the very white privilege we’ve come accustomed to enjoying our entire lives. While there is the whole queer marginalization thing and knowing what it’s like to be a minority because you’re gay, I don’t obviously read as gay and I have to come out. Our kid won’t. Its skin colour is a difference that we’ve made visible. Or not. This is an increasingly a multi-racial country. In my kids’ class photos the white kids have shifted to become the classroom minorities.
These complex feelings I’m having around race are for the child I’ve conceived and not for the children I chose to adopt. Bubaloo is a combination of Chinese and aboriginal and white. From some angles you can see the Chinese. And from others, the aboriginal. Mostly he is mistaken for white. I never once questioned my ability to parent him and involve his cultures in our lives. I’m now questioning my ability to be a good parent to this baby.