The Diving Bell and The Butterfly

A parent (client) told me recently, “Motherhood is an endless series of opportunities to feel bad about yourself.” She said it flippantly and we laughed. Today I thought, “Adoption is an endless series of opportunities to feel like you are having a psychotic break.”

Like early adolescence when your emotions and hormones change second-to-second, I do not know how I’m going to feel hour to hour. It’s been almost a year since we started this process.

Last week, a birth mother “picked” us. In the insanity of this roulette wheel, I did not make time to post about our enthusiasm, trepidation, and guarded optimism when we thought we might be parents in April (!!!). So many things happened between then and now, it hardly seems worth mentioning.

Today, our agency called us to tell us that the expectant mother had been working with multiple agencies and multiple families simultaneously.

We had talked to her daily, for at least an hour a day, for the past week. I am not here to wax poetic about grief; we hardly have any. It has been such a short time. And I am more than fully aware that a birth/expectant/first (or whatever your term of choice) mother’s journey is not easy. We do not believe that we had any “rights” to her child. And whoever she is, whatever she is going through, I can honestly say that I do wish her the best.

Nonetheless, what we have come to learn about this woman leaves us guarded, confused, frustrated, tired, and (at times) paranoid. I am not sure why she picked us. I am not sure why she lied to us about working with at least one other family at the same time. I am not sure why she lied to her partner (supposedly) about having picked us. Yet, all of this seems defensible to me– it is a scenario I cannot imagine. But then, at the end of the day, I cannot come up with any reason why, after our agency contacted her and said they would no longer work with her, that she would continue to communicate with us as if nothing had happened. I am not sure she was even pregnant.

There is no tidy conclusion to this; just the ongoing insanity of it all. The frustration, sadness, and humiliation of having to go back and “untell” everyone that we told, “unmake” the arrangements.

We go back to waiting.

On the Eve of Our Home Study

On the eve of our home study home visit (one of many, realistically), my wife sleeps peacefully (as she should be; as I should be). I tear around the house, trying to make it look like the person who lives here is… well, not us. I can’t help but suddenly notice how incredibly cluttered our house is. Between the two of us, I am ABSOLUTELY the messier one. Like, barely-functioning-as-an-adult-human messy. So I wonder if this sudden frantic activity is in some way an attempt to erase the “personality” from our home that is largely mine (I know, I know. I can’t help it. I’m a psychologist.)

All of this homestudy stuff and hemorrhaging money and talking vaguely about being parents has happened mostly in the background of our lives. It seems so far off and so far from complete that I am aware I am protecting myself by pretending it’s not happening until it gets closer. Ironically, this is more or less what the adoption agency recommended– don’t buy anything, don’t decorate anything, don’t plan anything. You don’t want to be disappointed. So it’s a weird backdrop to the rest of our lives which we don’t talk about.

And we don’t know anyone who has gone through this. So we don’t really know what to expect. I am literally not sure what a home study “home visit” IS. I know as much as you probably know, reading this, based on pop culture and my assumptions, but I actually don’t know what it is. The uncertainty is hitting me now, and it’s bizarre.

There is no other way to describe the experience for me except bizarre.  This is not something I have a template for; I literally do not know what to feel. And I am, for the first time, acutely aware of how much our “expectations” impact how we feel about things.

Even when I am aware of what I am feeling, I have been so hesitant of talking about it. My minimal exposure already makes me tired of hearing that either a) our “hardships” are just the same as any heterosexual having a baby (e.g. lots of people have fertility issues and have to spend tons of money to have a baby, uncertainty is part of parenthood, leaving the entire possibility of being parents in someone else’s hands is exactly the same as what every parent faces, because once you have a baby you realize you have control of nothing) of b) we will never truly be “parents” because we don’t understand what it’s like to conceive and birth a baby. It’s very confusing, really. And why people feel the need to say such things is baffling– because god help me if I should ever suggest that my experience is in any way similar/different from another woman’s natural birth/breastfeeding/babywearing/cloth diapering journey, lest I want to bring the fury of an entire internet MOVEMENT down upon my head. (Let’s just pretend we already had the discussion about how we all have different experiences and they’re all fine and jump ahead to the next part of human existence when we all accept that and are not threatened by it. K, thanks.)

This is not a cohesive story. But perhaps, that’s the point. I don’t know how to sum up my ramblings. Other than to say, this is a messy journey, a lonely journey, a weird journey. Just like life in general. Show me one person who doesn’t feel that way about living in this world, and I will say to them, “I don’t want to be friends with you or talk to you anymore.” haha. Wish us luck tomorrow. As on the eve of all important things in life, I wish to be neither Hillary nor Donald.

Be Human

Some days it feels like we just embarked on this parenting journey. But then I remember that really, we started this whole thing around the time I started this blog… which was quite a while ago.

Now, we are well on our way. Not to say that we don’t still have doubts. I think we both have doubts pretty much constantly. But the weird thing is that they still feel pretty abstract… so they’re not super bothersome.

To be honest, I feel pretty detached from the whole process. We both do. And I think it could be easy to blame it on “adoption”, but it’s not that. Even when we were (briefly) considering biological “conception”, it never really felt real. I wonder if biological parents feel this way. Probably, but you never hear them talking about it. Other than the fact that our life is now filled with so. much. fucking. paperwork., nothing has really changed.

Sometimes it makes me feel like a robot. I have literally spent my entire life preparing for “how I would feel” about becoming a parent. I spent much of my professional training and now my day-to-day work life with parents, thinking about parents, dedicated to parenting. But… when it comes to planning our own family, I honestly feel…. nothing.

Not in a bad way– of course I feel dedicated and excited and I want to do this. But right now, it’s so abstract. Which to me, seems totally normal. Yet, what you hear about from basically any parents starting their family in any way is that it is so emotional. There are books, podcasts, blogs, and articles about it.

I spent a lot of time predicting how I would feel at each step of the way. Thinking about and planning for these overwhelming rushes of emotion. But… it hasn’t happened. I keep attributing it to the fact that we’re “not very far along” in the process. Which is potentially true. But again, reading/hearing all of this content, I hear other couples describe things we’ve gone through, which felt relatively minor to me, as intense or traumatic.

For example, it feels like it should have been more difficult/impactful to decide exactly what path we want to go down to form our family. And don’t get me wrong, it WAS difficult, but not in the way I thought. I kept expecting to feel something I didn’t feel– some grief about having to even consider “nontraditional” parenting, some strong drive for biological parentage, some jealousy of my pregnant friends…

But I just didn’t feel it.

I never felt any of those things. The strongest thing I felt was guilt and confusion for NOT feeling those things. And I felt deeply pragmatic. Which I guess should not be surprising, because that’s sort of how I approach everything. Still, should I really be approaching this most monumental of decisions with data analysis?

I don’t know; maybe I have a kind of parenting Aspergers or something. It makes me sound like an ass, but at the end of the day i just can’t force myself to get fired up about any of the pro-birth/anti-natural-birth/pro-breastfeeding/fed-is-best/IVF-insanity/PPD/pro-adoption/anti-adoption etc etc etc etc etc things on social media. In spite of the fact that I adore my mom friends and that their experience is important to me, the content-in-and-of-itself always feels like just… not that big of a deal.  (And so help me, if anyone dares to tell me I ‘just don’t understand” or “it will be different when you have your own child” I will stab them). You know what is a big deal? Whatever is a big deal to YOU. For me, loving a child is a big deal. Being a honest, humble, and a good human is a big deal. So far, all of the rest is just details.

I think that everyone’s experiences and feelings are valid. (Some are more offensive than others, for example if you have orange hair and hate the american people, or if you had baby animals… just saying.) But as someone who grew up in this bizzaro-land social media culture, I’m still trying to make sense of this experience of pre-interpreting your feelings. We already PLAN how we’re going to feel. And whatever we do actually feel measures up against that, for better or for worse. It turns out, a lot of the internet is posturing. Probably, even this post is posturing, if I’m honest. I want people to see me the way I see myself, even if I’m not exactly sure what that is.

I joined this particular facebook group a while ago.  It drives Sharon crazy in a lot of ways because I seriously spend way too much time on the group. It’s a “confessions” professional group, where people can post whatever they REALLY feel (within some limits, of course) about themselves and their profession. The motto/tagline is: Be Honest. Be Humble. Be Human.  And okay, like everything else on social media, some of it is posturing. And appearances. But its also just transparency, and honesty, and humility. That’s why I love it so much. So many corners of the internet proclaim to be this. But how many people can say that they are a part of a social media group where people ACTUALLY admit their faults? And when they fuck up, rather than digging themselves deeper into a “I’m right and you’re an asshole” trap, they ACTUALLY apologize. That’s my group. Sixty percent of the time at least. 😉 (Which is better than the 20% you get on the rest of the internet.)

I want that for parenting. And family-ing. In any capacity. I want for all of us to be able to put ourselves out there and say, why don’t I have any feelings?? and I don’t want a “you’re-doing-so-awesome-you’re-so-amazing-you-said-the-same-thing-100000000-other-people-have-said-but-you-said-it-so-perfectly-#metoo” response. And on the opposite pole, I don’t want a “passive-aggressive-I’m-your-friend-but-this-is-a-little-confrontational-or-trolly-response-or-i’m-an-actual-troll-so-i’m-just-gonna-be-an-asshole” response. I want people to say real things to me, like they would say in person, whether “positive” or “negative”. Maybe that can’t really exist on the internet the way it is now, I don’t know.

If my revolutionary online group experience is any indication, plus the latest episode of Longest Shortest Time, Being Human is the next iteration of the internet. Being Human is the next iteration of families, not gender or biology. I’m okay with that. Being Human means that I can say I don’t feel how I’m supposed to feel about becoming a parent. I don’t feel how you feel.

I know you might feel compelled to praise this post, or dissent it, in an act of all-or-nothing social media pseudo-“democracy”. I’m okay with that, too.

But if I were going to misappropriate a quote of nebulous origin, I would say:

In a world where you can be anything, be Human. 

The Gaybies Project.

As I mentioned in a previous post, Wife and I decided to embark on the thrilling adventure of trying to procreate. We quickly discovered that this was weirdly difficult due to having the wrong set of hardware between the two of us. So this is the post about everything-you-never-actually-wanted-to-know-about-same-sex-family-making-and-therefore-never-asked.

Before starting this blog I did actually think about whether or not I wanted this journey to be a public one. But here’s Thing One about deciding to become same sex parents: none of it is easy or private. There are a lot of doctors appointments and nosy people and weird decisions you have to make. It’s not like you just wake up pregnant by accident one day. Not that getting pregnant as a straight couple is always easy, and honestly our fertility journey (so far) is a lot easier than most people struggling with infertility. But the thing is whether you’re a straight couple going through this whole process or a gay couple, it’s not really that easy to keep it quiet.

Plus, I’m also not great at keeping secrets anyway. And I like to talk about myself. (Okay, these are the real reasons I’m documenting this.)

Besides, these are all the juicy details that people secretly want to ask you about and now I can just give them a business card with my blog address on it and be done with it. I was thinking about making business cards in the shape of Tiny Dog’s head.

So, here’s the beginning of this.

I wouldn’t know what the road is like for gay men trying to become parents, but here are the basic choices for gay women:

1. Adoption. You can just chose to forego the whole pregnancy nonsense and adopt.

2.  One of us provides the egg and carries. The “simplest” biological option, this is basically like being a straight couple except you have to borrow some other guy’s sperm. Once you choose to do this, you can pick a donor. If you know someone you want to use (and they’re not completely freaked out by the idea), you can use a known donor and ask them to provide a sample. Or, you can go with a donor through a sperm bank.

3. One of us provides the egg and the other one carries. More expensive and convoluted, you can have one partner take a lot of drugs to convince their body to pump out a ton of eggs at once, harvest them, fertilize them outside the body, and put them in the other person. This is similar to what straight couples do when they do IVF.

4. Outsource the whole deal. You could use a sperm donor and an egg donor and carry it yourself, or do option 3 but then use a surrogate. I’ve never heard of anyone actually wanting to do this option, mainly because it’s super expensive, but it’s sometimes a choice for people having fertility issues. Also I guess if you were both totally grossed out by pregnancy but did want to have a biologically related child, you could go with a surrogate.

Wife and I opted for choice 2 (at this point). We decided early on though that if we had major fertility issues we wouldn’t spend a lot of time and money trying to make it happen; we would then consider adoption instead. Door number 2 is a lot like being a straight couple having a little difficulty conceiving naturally, at least at the beginning.

They use a procedure called “IUI” or “intrauterine insemination”, which means they inject the sperm into the uterus directly. This is different from “IVF” or “in-vitro fertilization” which is what most people associate with fertility treatments. Even for straight couples with difficulty conceiving, IVF is not the first option and usually comes after a series of many other procedures because it’s pretty expensive and complicated and painful. In IVF, they take the eggs out (as described in option 3 above), test to see which ones are the best, fertilize those, test the resulting embryos to see which ones of those are healthiest and then put one or multiple of those back in the woman’s body and cross their fingers.

But, back to IUI. This is what we decided to do and we decided we would go with whomever was more fertile, although it’s not exactly a perfect science. Since Wife has never really had the desire to carry a baby (though said she would if it came to it), we started with me. Unlike with straight couples, you then have the option of going through the pre-insemination testing. We opted to do this because I have really good insurance and we’d rather do the work on the front end than try for a year without success and then find out there’s some type of fertility problem.

When we had our first appointment, it was really long. They took blood to see what my blood type was and to see if I had antibodies for the CMV virus (another weird thing most straight couples don’t think about). They also do an ultrasound to look at your ovaries to make sure everything looks good and count how many egg follicles you have, which is a weird experience. Wife was sitting there with me and we were both asking the ultrasound tech things like, “what’s that black thing?” and then feeling strangely victorious when she pointed out that I have an excellent number of follicles.

Then we had to meet with a psychologist (ironic) for pre-insemination counseling. Wife and I have a long history of being weirdly enraged/offended about all of the wrong things (for example, McDonald’s in our midwestern state should NOT have two drive through lanes because they are clearly not ready for that technology and it actually makes things slower). Other things which should bother us do not, so we were kind of surprised when our friends pointed out that it was annoying and unfair that we had to meet with a psychologist just because we are gay, but i’ll be honest that didn’t really occur to me. And it’s true that most straight couples would not have to do that if they didn’t need fertility treatments, but it also sort of made sense for someone to remind us about all these weird decisions we didn’t know we’d have to make, like do we want our baby to be able to know the donor some day, etc etc. It was a condition of our appointment anyway.

We also had to sign a lot of forms saying that we won’t sue the clinic if the baby turns out to be a serial killer or a conjoined twin or needs glasses.

There was another test I opted to get which is a really long name I can’t say but basically they inject radioactive dye into your body and watch it travel around your uterus and Fallopian tubes to make sure there’s no blockages or tumors or other weird things. The bummer about that test is that a) it can be painful and b) they have to do it a certain number of days after you have your period and before you ovulate so it’s a little bit hard to time. Also my doctor’s office only does this type of scan on Wednesdays, so it’s been a pain in the uterus to schedule (see what I did there?? hahaha).

After all that is done, if everything looks good, you then pick a donor. See future blog posts about the supreme weirdness of picking a sperm donor. We didn’t really know anyone we liked enough that we felt comfortable putting in the extremely bizarre position of being a donor, so we decided to go with a sperm bank. The other weird thing that I didn’t realize about using a known donor is that it can actually be pretty expensive. You would think you would save money, but all the samples from sperm banks come pre tested and treated, whereas your average Joe off the street has to provide the sample and then they do some fancy stuff at the lab to make sure it’s “clean” and everything. Plus you have to pay for storage anyway.

Sperm is pretty much the only thing my insurance won’t cover, and it can be pretty expensive. It’s usually between 600-1000 dollars per “vial”, and each vial can only be used once. You have the same odds (basically) of getting pregnant with IUI as you do with regular straight-people-trying-to-start-a-family sex, so you could get pregnant on the first cycle if you’re lucky. For most people it takes about 4-6 cycles though, which translates to 4-6 months and 4-6 vials. That’s kind of expensive. And yeah, I get that babies are expensive and so I shouldn’t really be complaining about it, but realistically most straight couples don’t have to drop $3000-$6000 just to START trying. So that’s kind of a bummer.

From there it’s basically like regular family planning… you try to figure out when you’re ovulating and then you have se… er, pop over to the doctor’s office and have them stick that stuff in you. A side note, some people opt to do this at home (read: the “turkey baster method”), but Wife and I decided that would be totally gross and weird and potentially messy, so we’re not going to do that.

For those of you who have never tried to get pregnant or don’t know much about it, basically there are a few days every month for a woman that are best to get pregnant, when you are “ovulating”. This is when your body releases an egg, and you try to time sex so that the sperm and the egg are in the same place at the same time, basically. You can use these handy-dandy things call ovulation predictor kits (“OPKs”) which is like a pregnancy test because you pee on a stick every day and then you get a smiley face when you’re ovulating. Then you call the doctor and they tell you to drop everything and come over there right away (or within the next 24 hours), and slam, bam, thank you ma’am, deed is done.

And…. that’s basically it. See? I told you it was something you never wanted to know and therefore didn’t ask. But I spent enough years creeping on other people’s personal blogs about similar topics that I thought some people might want to know.  We are somewhere in between the testing phase and the selecting a donor phase, so I’ll write more later about what it’s like to try to find a sperm donor (it’s hilarious and strange and stressful all at once. And my mom had a lot of opinions.) In the meantime, we will be blissfully enjoying our (hopefully?) numbered nights of uninterrupted sleep.

2018: Choose Your Own Adventure.

Happy 2018. I realize blogs aren’t a thing anymore.

Don’t even get me started about how everyone and their brother is doing a podcast or a video blog these days, and the only remaining “real” blogs are bankrolled by cooperate sponsors. Even if I had audio equipment, it would most likely be water damaged within a week. I have a brand new laptop I bought 8 months ago which I still have not even set up because I cannot figure out the quick start guide. Not to mention the power plug has 3 prongs, and all of the outlets in our house only have space for 2. I’ve always been a writer (mediocre at best), so this is the medium you get.

(Remember when the word “blog” didn’t even exist because we still used “web log”? Or when everyone had one to deposit their solipsistic ramblings alongside their MySpace Top 8? Or then they became completely obsolete like 3D doritos or fruit-shaped trix? Yeah, me neither. Asking for a friend.)

It’s not clear to me yet whether this will be a blog about a) two lesbians trying to make a baby, b) autoimmune disorder food allergy hell , c) the ironic attempts of behaviorist trying to train and raise a tiny, terrible Chihuahua, or d) the misadventures of a hapless-but-still-sometimes-useful child psychologist.

But, YOU, my four readers, will get a chance to find out. Let’s run down the options:

A) My wife and I want to have a baby. But we are both women. Apparently this makes us “functionally infertile”. Who knew? After a year of trying without success, we decided we should seek medical intervention. Note: we are not responsible adults. Coming into this marriage, we both had best friends who doubled as life coaches, whose entire job it was to prevent us from doing things such as, for example, purchasing a pig as a pet and digging a mud wallow in the backyard. Or to answer questions such as “Are cuddle duds a real thing?” (answer: They are.) or “We are stranded on a mountain in a blizzard in a Pruis with no preparations even though this is a totally predictable situation for a normal person; what do we do now?” (These are all real, non-ironic examples.)

B) After about 12 months of experiencing idiopathic nausea and vomiting, followed by severe upper abdominal pain, and then about upteen million medical procedures which were only slightly less unpleasant than the actual symptoms, I got diagnosed with Eosinophilic Esophagitis. Which, in case you didn’t know, is a highly unpleasant but mostly harmless autoimmune disease of the esophagus, usually triggered by food allergies. Generally, it’s no big deal, but it turns out I’m having a teeny tiny midlife crisis about this, because I’m tired of being sick all the time and it’s starting to make me feel like a failure. Also, I have to stop eating all of my favorite foods and basically any foods that would be considered “favorite foods” by anyone ever.

C) The adventures of Tiny Dog. He’s adorable, and awful, and as a behavioral psychologist it is a constant ego-check that I’m pretty terrible at training him.

D) In my spare time when I’m not at the aforementioned medical appointments (and it really is starting to feel like the minority of my time at this point…), I work at a children’s hospital as a psychologist with children with various disabilities and behavior challenges. This is an always fascinating, sometimes terrifying, hilarious, exhilarating, exhausting job. There are many moments each week when I think, “well, you just can’t make this shit up.” Obviously I can’t really write about it that much, because of confidentiality and respect for patients (Like I think, “if it were my kid doing something hilarious, would I want someone talking/writing about? Answer: ABSOLUTELY. But I’m clearly not the best judge of character.) But it’s not every day you discover a bat living in the sleep center of your office building (which I find highly ironic), or you are helpfully reminded of the wide array of things it is possible for children to swallow with no adverse effects whatsoever.

Anyway, choose your own adventure. Sally forth, 2018. You shall not defeat me.