OK, Fine.

I tested.

And it was negative.

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Big Fat You Can’t Make Me

December 5, 2009

So the time to pregnancy test is coming nearer and nearer. More and more near.

December 10th, basically, is what I’m saying.

And I’m thinking, “Why bother?” I mean, really, it just seems like insult to injury if it comes back negative. I mean, why not just wait for my period, seriously. I mean, I know that getting your period doesnt automatically mean you aren’t pregnant, but since we are taking December off (we are taking December off) it just seems like there’s no need to jump to a conclusion on this one.

Basically, this is how oppositional I am. And avoidant of rejection. You say, “Test fourteen days post ovulation” ? I say, “I’ll do it when I feel like it.” You say, “There’s a 90% chance of it being negative”? I say, “Not if I don’t test.”

Considering all of the new-fangled atrocities I am having to endure with this frozen-sperm-for-sale-in-the-syringe-ship- it-on-dry-ice process, it seems like good old-fashioned fun to just miss a period!

In other news, Wifebian and one of her parents were agreeing that the parent’s son was not as hard as he was portraying himself to be. Then, to emphasize her son’s total harmlessness, the parent said, “Yeah, he wouldn’t bite a biscuit.”

We woke up the next morning, booked our own Zipc@r and arrived at the sperm shop ten minutes early. Le!@nd met us, sold us some sperm and lectured us about marriage equality. He is angry with marriage-only activists. I kind of understand where they are coming from. He was still mad at marriage-only activists. I said, “Le!@nd, I could talk with you all day (because truely, I could) but I think our sperm is thawing.” He agreed and spoke some more about marriage-only activists. I told him how happy we were that we got to meet him, how sad it was that we couldnt see one another every month, but that we still had our phone calls to look forward to. He hugged and kissed us each before we left.

We also got to sneak in a few questions about our donor. His sperm has only been used twice and it has never gotten anyone pregnant. It didnt occur to me to ask how many times the couples tried, why they stopped and what they did next. Le!@nd said he is childlike and playful, which we liked, cause that’s what Wifebian is like. We asked about how much of the stuff is left. I think he said about 10 months worth.

We got home without incident and enjoyed the empty streets of the Mission District on Thanksgiving. I bought a pineapple. We got to the place we were staying. Wifebian secured a towel and set up shop on the kitchen table. I masturbated with olive oil and implements. Wifebian agreed to kiss me some. I came. I put a seashell on my belly. We inseminated. I stood on my head for fifteen minutes. Wifebian cut the pineapple. She fed it to me. I surfed the ‘net and counted the minutes until one hour had passed. It was upbeat and productive, pleasant, sweet. It was morning. Me and the Wifebian are just such morning people.

Then, I hopped up and snapped the next pictures for our insemination installation, which is above and pictures the pineapple, the vials, the syringe, two pumpkins, the seashell and a copy of the San Francisco Bay Guardian for the week of 11/21/09.

So, the seashell. The day before Thanksgiving, we went to Ocean Beach and I snatched a mussle shell from the surf. It’s for the baby. I figure each egg is a different egg and thusly a different baby. The child that I would have this month is different from the child I would have next month and so each child deserves their own present. In part, I think of it as a bribe. What little bauble or trinket would entice the little spirit to materialize in my womb? But also I think of it as a symbol. I want to be able to say to the thing, once it can imagine such a mammoth concept, I want to say, “I was holding this when you were conceived.”

Since my own conception was such a colossal oopsie, I am delighting in not only the extreme intendedness of this pregnancy, but also the total and unique individuality of the kid that does come to me. I am hoping to blow the mind of the thing upon it’s ascension to adulthood by presenting her with her present. (What a lovely 13th or 16th birthday present. Or a lovely “You got your period!” present.) So, after each period starts, I will spend the next two weeks looking for a present for the next baby. I will think about the egg and say to myself, “Hm. What do I feel that this egg would like? What leaf or rock or candy could convince this idea to leave the comfort of nothingness to take a gamble on the maybeness of family?”

(The other things you should about try #1 is that not only did the San Francisco Bay Guardian depict Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden the week of our inseminations, which is clearly a very ironic fertility sign, but that on our way to the airport to fly home, I get up from the bench in the BART station only to find that a cardboard cut-out depicting a baby bottle, like some baby shower decoration,  is taped, unbeknown to me, to the bench beneath my bottom.

I mean, really . . . it doesnt get anymore sign-tastic than that.)