reason #485 why homophobia sucks

i dont think anyone has ever accused me of being shy or timid. like, ever. blame it on my years as a cheerleader, blame it on growing up jersey, blame it on being raised by a feminist... i have always sorta put my shit out there and if people had a problem with it, then well... that was their problem.

in high school i dated a man of color for over 4 years (no, i wasn't in high school for more than 4 years. we dated before high school and into college.) and i remember there being times when we would be at the mall holding hands or kissing in public and people (mostly white) would stare and point and glare at us in disapproval. reactions like that would irritate me...anger me... sadden me... but never make me change my behavior.

the other morning i was dropping NM off early on campus for a trip she was taking with students. we were in a loading zone and as we went to say goodbye we looked out the window and saw two dudes in a van facing us, watching. i said, "they are watching, we shouldn't kiss". she replied, "duh." so, much like our goodbyes at airports or in other very public settings, we opted for the "they might be close friends and maybe even sisters but they definitely dont do it to each other" goodbye hug.

although this isnt the first time that we have chosen this option, this most recent occurrence has stuck with me. i haven't ever been a big fan of PDA... even when i have been in a socially acceptable hetero union... so its not like i would ever be the type to have a full fledged make out session at an airport while saying goodbye. but there is something interesting to me about the fact that someone (me) who has never hidden any part of myself to the outside world is suddenly living a life where i feel unsafe expressing physical love to my own wife.

*grrr*

remember that one time when i called our caseworker a racist missionary?

part of the unexpected beauty of this adoption process is that M1 (our caseworker) has us on the fast track towards getting adoption ready. in less than 14 days we got the "you're off the waiting list for the waiting list!"-call, completed 4 interviews, got fingerprinted, filled out a mountain of paperwork, scrounged up $4000 (thanks to our fabulous family and friends!!) and completed our home visit. *wiping my brow* whew... i'm tired!

the good part about moving at warp speed is that we don't have much time to process (read: freak out). we had less than 48 hours notice before our home visit and about 40 of those 48 hours NM and i had already committed to work and other commitments. we explained to M & M* that we are in the process of a major bathroom remodel so our house is a bit of a disaster. they both said not to worry and thanks to our busy schedules, we didn't have much time to!

in many ways, the home study was kinda anti-climactic. they didn't dig through our closets or snoop under our beds. we gave them a tour of the place and had i not known better, it might have been easy to mistake them for potential renters or something.

after the tour we sat down at the dining room table to finish up our interview questions. this round of questions was a little bit more challenging than the previous interviews because in previous interviews we were answering questions about actual events/memories from the past... about our childhoods... about the members of our families, etc. the home study round of questions was more philosophical in nature... more of "what would you do if...." kinds of topics.

there were lots of questions about parenting styles and strategies... "how will you discipline?", "what methods of reward will you use?". although i felt totally confident in our answers, it was a little strange to be answering questions about parenting strategies without first having the chance to talk about it with NM.

at one point M asked, "how would you respond if your child yelled 'youre not my real mother!' during an argument?". NM and i both resisted the urge to respond, "i would yell back... 'oh yeah?! well you're not my real kid!!'" (sarcasm) and instead gave a heartwarming and thoughtful response that M & M seemed to like.

towards the end we got to the point where we had to indicate which type of child we were "open" to adopting...
M&M: are you open to adopting a child who is born with drugs in their system?
NM & NJ: yup.

M&M: a child who comes from a birth mother who drank during the pregnancy?
NM & NJ: yup.

M&M: a child who is born HIV positive?
NM & NJ: yup.

M&M: a child who is born with ambiguous genitalia?
NJ: wait, what? that's for real something that people would say no to???
M&M: sometimes, yes.
NJ: that's ridiculous.
NM: if it were up to jersey we would put "tranny" down as our first preference in a kid. she likes the trannies.
NJ: *glare that says... did-you-just-say-"trannies"-to-our-christian-caseworker??*
M&M: so that's a yes, then? it wouldn't be a problem?
NM & NJ: yes, we would welcome a baby no matter what their downstairs might look like.

M&M: are you open to any race or ethnicity?
NM & NJ: yes.
NJ: we would never refuse a baby based on race. having said that.... we would prefer to adopt a baby that shares at least one of our racial identities... so a latino/a or white baby would be ideal. i struggle with the idea of adopting a black or asian child because neither of us have any idea what its like to have that identity. and although we have a network of friends/family that would be great role models for black or asian children, none of those folks live here in our state. so... i worry about being able to support them in the ways that they might need.
M&M: that makes sense.
NJ: having said all of that...i should also mention that its not like we would be unequipped to raise a black or asian child. we both teach for ethnic studies and are very active in racially based social justice movements so we talk about race ALL THE TIME. i mean, its not like i would be one of those crazy white people who go to haiti and adopt a black baby and say "oh, i don't see color".
M&M: sounds good.

(fast forward 20 minutes when M&M have wrapped up the interview and have walked out the door after saying goodbye)

NM: *closing the door after M&M have walked out* "nice haiti comment"
NJ: what??
NM: SHE IS GOING TO HAITI NEXT WEEK!!!
NJ: oops.
NM: real nice. insult our caseworker.
NJ: well maybe she needed to hear it. *folding arms*

aaand scene.

M1 told us that barring any glaring issues on our background checks, we are all set! she said "i dont have a single red flag about either of you" and i couldn't help but smile. she suggested that we get moving on the creation of our portfolio and letter to the birth mother. since that is the exact type of project that could land NM and i in divorce court, we are welcoming the 3 weeks we have to create it. M1 will be in haiti so we dont need to have it completed until she returns -hopefully without a haitian baby.

i have done some initial internet digging for suggestions about portfolios and letters but we welcome any advice that you all might have!!




*note: our caseworker "M1" has another new-caseworker "M2" shadowing our process. M2 doesn't make any decisions about our case but will be along for the ride. i totally dig both of them.

let go and let god.

we had our home visit last week and other than totally insulting our caseworker (more on that in a later post)... it went really well.

as someone who has always had a strange fascination (read: borderline obsession) with the idea of going to rehab, i have to admit that i totally love the fact that i have a "caseworker". it makes me feel all girl-interrupted and whatnot. our caseworker (we will call her M) is super nice and seems to really like us. she graduated from the same college that NM and i teach at and although she is really young, she seems like she knows what she is doing. (not that i have anything against young folks, but for $18,000... i want someone who isnt gonna screw anything up!)

my only initial concern about M is that she is christian. not the i-have-a-private-relationship-with-god kind of christian but rather the i-will-affix-a-crucifix-to-anything-that-will-stand-still-long-enough kind of christian. she has handwritten post-it-note bible quotes framing her computer screen and at least 2 trinkets emblazoned with the words "hope" (christian speak for god-hates-fags) and "faith" (christian speak for dirty-gays-should-burn-in-hell)

dont get me wrong.... its not that i have anything against christians, per say. i mean other than the whole "we believe you are the devil and should be wiped from the face of this earth so that you wont molest our children" thing... they seem like nice enough people. but this is our adoption caseworker... the person who gets to ask us deeply personal questions and ultimately make a final decision about whether or not we can receive a baby. so forgive (christian speak for we-know-that-our-priest-molested-you-but-god-doesnt-like-people-who-hold-grudges) me if im a little apprehensive about her blatant display of faith. every time we go to the office she offers us a glass of "water". im convinced this is her attempt to get me to ingest holy-water and in turn either straighten-up or die. as you can imagine, NM thinks im overreacting but it seems suspicious enough to me.

anywhoo... there have been lots of questions throughout the 4 interviews that have touched on the idea of faith/god/will-you-raise-the-kid-in-a-way-that-will-get-them-into-heaven-or-hell? but each time i answer, i dont feel any sense of judgement or negative energy from M. maybe, just maybe, she is one of the tiny handful of non-judgemental christians who, like log cabin republicans... comes from the mythical world known as oxymoron land.

thoughts on god

as a young child i remember asking my mom "what happens when we die?". as many young children often do, i was seeking more than simply an answer to the direct question at hand... i wanted to know the meaning of life...i wanted to know the point of existing...i wanted to know that i was connected to something bigger than myself.

my mom, with all her motherly wisdom responded: "when we die, we get buried in the ground and our bodies decompose".

aaand scene.

im almost in my mid 30's and im still seeking an answer to the same question. the older i get, the more i appreciate my mother's answer to the question because as a result she has allowed me to continue to ask and pursue an answer that fits for me, regardless of the perspective that other (read: christians) try to sell me.
im writing about this today because i have come to the understanding that god does exist... and god's universe is a giant snow globe of sorts in which we are characters playing out our individual lives. further, when god is feeling overwhelmed or bored , she/he/ze enjoys grabbing the snow globe and giving it a good shake just to watch as we scramble to pick up the pieces.

i believe that god is currently sitting in a lazy-boy, sippin a beer and eatin cheetos as she/he/ze watches us manage a major bathroom remodel, ridiculous work schedules and a home visit from our caseworker!! aaah! im so nervous!

think they will give a baby to people with a bathroom that looks like THIS?!?!

aaaallll aboard... next stop, adoption town!

ok... i'll admit it, my last post was a wee-bit on the woe-is-me side. i neglected to mention that we are in the middle of remodeling our bathroom so i have been "showering" (i use that term loosely) out of the kitchen sink for far too long. its making me a tad edgy. not to mention that we have been searching for a new toilet for like 2 months and cant seem to find one that wont require us to buy a step stool to climb on the damn thing!!

*stepping onto my soapbox*

if you have had the fortune of shopping for a toilet lately you might have noticed that almost every single one brags about being "comfort height". "comfort height" typically means that it is "chair height" or between 16 and 19 inches off the ground. naturally, since the average US woman is around 5 feet 4 inches tall, this whole "comfort height" business is little more than a tool of patriarchy. when MOST american women sit on a 17 inch toilet, their feet will barely touch the floor. now i aint no scientist but last time i checked, this position isnt exactly optimal deuce-dropping position. in fact, i think that "feet off the ground" comes in second only to "pooping while standing on your head". so, you can imagine my face when the agents-of-plumbing-patriarchy (aka homes depots workers) try to convince us to buy a "comfort height" toilet. if it wasnt for the hot dog stand outside in the parking lot, i might not have the strength to refrain from clawing their face off. i mean GOD FORBID men have to squat a little in order to sit on a lower toilet. *deep breath*

*stepping off the soapbox*

anywhoo... the point is that this whole bathroom remodel has diminished my level of patience. a few nights of sleep and a few really good conversations later, im feeling much better. and much more hopeful and much more excited.

cliff notes version: NM and i have decide to move forward with adoption. after 2 generous donations/loans from my mom and from 2 dear friends in town... we have the necessary funds to start our process. i would love to spend some time processing my feelings about the donations but i still cant really wrap my mind around it all without crying so ill wait for another post to address how amazing our friends and family are. seriously. i know you might think that your friends and family rock... but let me set the record straight and say that our community could TOTALLY kick your community's ass!

(it is now dawning on me that hyper-competition and threats of ass-kicking aren't really in line with the whole "community" spirit. im from jersey so aggression is our default love language. im learning and im sure your community is cool too.)

i digress...

the point is that we are back on the adoption train and the next stop is my first individual interview tomorrow morning. *fingers crossed* that i dont manage to find a way to get us kicked out of the agency. as long as she doesn't bring up "comfort height" toilets... i should be fine.

jump on board the roller coaster

i was sitting in a meeting today when the caller id on my phone lit up... "Call from: Adoption Dreams". needless to say, my mind began to race.... omg... the adoption agency is calling me... i wonder what they want... maybe they have a baby for us!!!... wait, that makes no sense. we arent even on the active list yet... oh! maybe they are ready to make us active!!.... what if they dont leave a message?.... maybe i should answer, like right now in the middle of this meeting.... no, that would be weird. ill wait. *tapping my fingernails on the desk* hurry up and stop talking.... i have a phone call to make!

aaand scene.

i went to NM's office and listened to the voicemail. it was a woman who we shall call M. she introduced herself as our "new caseworker" and i felt myself get excited. a caseworker?? ive never had one of those!

we called M back and she explained that we had reached the top of the waiting list and could now begin the process of becoming an active couple. yay!! the call that we have been waiting for!! she said we could swing by and pick up some papers and chat in person. we hopped in the car and drove right over!

M was very nice and walked us through a refresher of the process. she handed us a gigantic stack of papers to fill out and told us that the next steps include:
getting fingerprinted
submitting our tax returns
filling out personal paperwork
finding references
booking individual and a couple's interview

i was so excited in the meeting i could hardly keep it together. in a way it felt so surreal to actually be at this point. although i still really struggle with the idea that i might never get to experience pregnancy, above all else, i want to be a parent with NM. if adoption is the best option then im on board! she said that she would love to get us through the screening process in the next 4 weeks so that she could then start showing our portfolio to birth-moms. she pulled up her calendar and said that she is free this week to start the individual interviews. omg... can this be real!?

and then....

i asked about payment and fees.

*heavy sigh* i shoulda kept my mouth shut and simply enjoyed the moment.

she pulled out a list of fees and highlighted the ones that would need to be paid up front... as in, before we have our individual meeting ... as in, this week.

$500
$3500

holy shit.. thats like $4000! thank goodness for credit cards!

the rest of the fees add up to a little over $16,000 but can be paid once we are selected by a birth-mom. i took a sigh of relief and figured that we would just figure out a way to put the $3000 on a credit card and figure the rest out later.

me: "so this might be a silly question but... you take credit cards, right?"
M: "um, no. we only take checks."
me: "*forced smile* oh, ok... no problem. we just wanted to double check"
WHAT?! let me get this straight... we are gonna have to come up with $4,000 CASH in a week and $16,000 in a year?! thats impossible! im a sexual assault education coordinator for gods sake!

NM and i walked out to the parking lot and tried to process what just happened. i fought back tears and felt angry at myself for feeling hopeful. dont get me wrong, im not saying that we are poor or unable to afford a child. we just cant afford $16,000 cash in any given year! i thought we would be able to use credit and then take our time paying it back.

NM and i are pretty fiscally responsible people. we have one car payment and commute to work together. we purchased a house that was like $15,000 below our budgeted price, we dont shop very much, we dont pay for cable or other luxuries, we work really hard to pay off credit card purchases as soon as they are made and we both work well over 40 hours a week! we arent perfect but we work so hard to do the right things and still this goal feels out of reach. i mean even if we saved money away every month, it would be YEARS before we had enough collected to afford $16,000 for adoption.

*sigh*

im so frustrated i could just scream. and i feel like such a fool for allowing myself to get excited enough to start dreaming again. *grumble*

sometimes, being gay is annoying.

this is a TTC blog which means that there aint much to blog about when we arent T'ing TC. allow me to offer a brief update... still barren. out of sperm. currently #7 on the waiting-list-for-the-waiting-list for adoption. failed adoption attempt from within our community. still barren and out of sperm. cost of a vial went up to $600. conclusion: i have been self- diagnosed as financially infertile.

last week i sat down and began to type what would have been the first hopeful post since i started this damn thing 2 years ago. we received an email from a friend that seemed like it was going to be the answer to our prayers. ok, that's a lie since i dont pray.. but you get the point. the email was an official offer to donate sperm. translation: our friend is 100% willing to donate his sperm to us... for "no financial gain". how rare those three words are.

needless to say, NM and i were friggin elated. it was like christmas morning but without the christian references or midnight fireplace home invasion. i was beside myself with excitement over the potential that i might actually be able to try again. i found myself looking at my belly in the mirror, trying to picture what it will look like if it finally works this time. i felt my mind racing as i thought of all the cool moments that NM and i would get to share as my belly grew larger with our little person inside. i guess what im trying to say is, i felt hopeful. which, let me tell you, is not a common feeling for this east coast cynic.

as i mentioned in previous posts, NM and i have been pretty hard core anti-known donor. while we made the decision that we would only use an open donor, we didnt want the complexity and instability that can come...hee-hee, pun intended... with a known donor. we have had half-hearted conversations with friends about the idea of them donating to us... but in the end, we would never take them up on the offer because we really arent interested in all of the complexities that a known (local) donor can bring. not to mention the legal drama.

so, imagine our surprise when, after reading this email from our friend, we both looked at each other and said... "its perfect!". we replied to the email saying that we are super interested in chatting about the potential and then spent the entire weekend envisioning this picture perfect ending.

and then monday came.

and as mondays tend to do.. it shit all over our dream.

i decided to do a little research into what the process of a local/known donor would look like. NM and i both decided that if we used our friend's stuff, we were NOT interested in doing an ICI at home. we would kick it old school style...err, or maybe this would be new school style... *shrug* and do an IUI in the doctors office. this would require our donor to go make a deposit at a local cryobank where they would then wash out all the gross man stuff and leave us with vials of frozen swimmers.

i checked out the only local cryobank in the area and found the first hurdle. all known donors have to make a deposit and submit to a full physical and blood work. this seemed reasonable enough. especially since im not looking to catch any scratchy diseases after my narrow escape from the grips of the crack head nurse-with-hep. *whew!*

but then, i read further...

after the initial physical, donors then need to go back 180 days later for follow up tests... 180 days? thats like 2 months!! wait, *internal calculator*.... there are 30 days in a month times 2 would be 60 days and 60 times 2 is 180 so that would be like 4 months. FOUR MONTHS!? wait, that seems weird. 60 times 2 isnt 180, its 120 so that means that its like 5 months. wait, 80 minus 20 isnt 30... its 60... damn those NJ public schools... which means 2 months. so in total it would be 6 months. SIX MONTHS?!?! WE HAVE TO WAIT SIX MONTHS BEFORE WE CAN INSEMINATE??!!

i know, i know... this rule is in place to protect me and my future offspring from HIV which can take up to 6 months (which, if you didnt already know, is equal to 180 days) to show up. i get it. i appreciate it. thank you FDA.

i convinced myself that being pregnant is NOT more important to me than remaining HIV negative and decided to continue reading which brought me to buzz kill #2. Cost. the first round of blood tests and "physical" would cost us $615. then, 180 days later (which is 6 months, btw) we have to fork up $500 for a second physical and the second set of blood tests. $1100?!??! that's like 2 vials of CCB sperm!

which reminds me of a TTC joke. you are probably an infertile if.... you have stopped using dollars to track financial transactions and have instead begun to use the "how many vials could we get" system. "honey, can we get a new tv? it only costs 3 vials" ba-dump-bump.

i digress...

so at this point i realize that this is indeed another stupid racket aimed at making money off of desperate i-will-mortgage-my-house-in-pursuit-of-getting-pregnant people. which as you can imagine, doesnt calm me down one bit.

so then, i come across buzz kill #3 in the fine print: "the 2 physicals and blood tests can be waived if the recipient of the sperm is married to the donor".

wait.

back the truck up.

WHAT!??!

so basically, if i had entered into a patriarchal and heterosexist institution with our known donor, then the FDA wouldnt give a shit about protecting me or my offspring from HIV? if this dude wasnt already married, i would TOTALLY make him marry me just so we could give a big middle finger to the system. ggrrrr.

i checked to see if he could go to his own doctor for a physical and blood tests (which would be covered by his insurance) and of course the cryobank said no. which makes no damn sense. well i should clarify... in a society with predatory capitalism, it makes total sense but defies all logic.

so, here we sit.... at yet another road block. i cant even begin to express how stressful it is to have yet another omg!-this-might-be-the-answer moment come crumbling down. for so long we both said, "if only we could find a local donor". here we are, local sperm in hand...err, that's gross...you get the point, but we cant afford to take this route.

*kicking rocks*

i have never....

....been more sad about being barren as i am right now. TAKE A LOOK AT THIS THING!!

its called the baby keeper. you hang it over the bathroom stall door and it suspends your kid 3 feet in the air while you drop a deuce!

i swear... the second i have a kid in my life im gonna walk.... nay, im gonna RUN...to the store to buy this so i can continue my new commitment to no-shame-pooping!

(i wonder if they sell a package-deal that comes fully equipped with a baby inside. *fingers crossed!*)

i am woman, hear me _ O _ _!

man, it feels good to be back. like most folks, i have been traveling like cuh-ray-zee for the holidays and sadly i didnt have access to the internet while i was away. i have enjoyed spending the last few days getting caught up on everyone’s good (and sad *sigh*) news. *cyber hugs for all*

i thought about dedicating my first post of the new year to a list of things im looking forward to in the 360 days to come.... but that would be positive and optimistic and cheerful and then you all might think that barren lesbo was abducted over the holidays and this hack blogger is simply an impostor trying to infiltrate the TTC community (yes, im a conspiracy theorist. humpty dumpty was pushed.) so.... i decided to keep it real and start the year off right.

ok... first gripe of 2010... the use of the title “feminine hygiene products” for the section of the store that contains tampons and pads. “feminine hygiene”? seriously? as though our period is some dirty little habit that needs to be sanitized before it can come out and play safely with others. it should be called “female necessity products” or something less related to salad bars and subway benches.

next gripe... what is with the friggin cost of a box of tampons?? i mean come on! why is it that i can spend $1.99 on an ENTIRE MEAL (read: bun, beef, cheese, ketchup, pickles, onions, freedom...err, wait, bush is gone so i can say FRENCH fries, and 16 ounces of high fructose corn syrup) but i have to practically spend $12.00 on a wad of bleached (read: unhealthy for the vajay-jay) cotton and a dry ass cardboard applicator? and why is it even called an “applicator”? it doesn’t “apply” anything. it should be called an “inserter”, damnit.

*deep breath*

in 1978 gloria steinem wrote a piece for ms. magazine titled, “if men could menstruate”, where she playfully imagines how the culture around menstruation would change if men (the holders of social and political power) were the ones who bled every month. she argues that men would brag and boast about how long and how much they bled… even creating slang like “im a three pad man”. she argued that men’s menstruation would result in federal policy making all tampons and pads free.

i totally agree with her and in fact, i believe that menstruating men would never ever believe that bullshit we were told about only producing “2-3 tablespoons of blood during a menstrual cycle”. who are they fooling with that crap?? i swear, teenage menstruation manuals must have been written by buffoons because any woman knows that 2-3 tablespoons is total BS.


i want to yell, “listen, buddy. while your penis-wielding-ancestors were out there getting jobs and voting, my female ancestors were handcuffed to the kitchen. which means we became pretty damn good at approximating the size of a tablespoon. and after years and countless months of bleeding i think i might have a slightly better idea than you do about how much bleeding i do.” grrr. and to think they have the nerve to tell us, “it might seeeem like more than 2-3 tablespoons but trust us, its not”.

um, no. trust US… it is. jerks.


next gripe…female shame. wtf...women act like natural bodily functions are something for us to be ashamed of! and relax… im not about to go all second wave, flower-power, monthly-bleeding-is-a-beautiful-symbol-from-the-mother-goddess-of-your-fertility, on you. i am, after all, the barren lesbo. key word being barren.

all im saying is that i am sick and tired of the ways that we as women lower our voices when asking to borrow a tampon from a friend or do the secret drug transaction handshake when passing a pad across the table at a restaurant.

if men could menstruate they would let tampon strings hang proudly out of their back pockets… would puff out their chests and say, “shit bro… can i bum a rag off yah” *grabbing crotch and spitting* then they would saunter off to the men’s room and take care of business with their foot up on the urinal…. proud and public and for all the other men to see.

in fact, im surprised to hear that men’s bathrooms even contain stalls at all. men seem to brag about bathroom related topics all the time. “you should see how good my aim was!” or “man, i just dropped the kids off at the pool”. we women on the other hand are supposed to walk through this world acting like we don’t bleed and we certainly don’t poop. good lord, anything but that!

im amazed at the lengths we go to in an attempt to disguise what we do behind a closed bathroom stall door. seeecretly opening the tampon rubbish bin…careful not to rustle the paper bag which might notify all other patrons in the bathroom that we are in fact, bleeding. *gasp*someone get her some “hygiene products!”

we act like bandits trying to secretly open the bank safe without setting off the alarm alerting the female shame police. we painstakingly (and using only the veeery tip of our pinky finger) struggle to push open the lid… praying that the hinges on the receptacle are greased enough to allow for a totally silent deposit of our “waste”.

but then, on the other hand, in those panicked moments when we need to poop and cant hold it till we get home, we sit in the stall and alternate slamming open the tampon rubbish bin… rustling the paper bag… cough, cough, cough…. blowing of the nose…. looouuuddd yaaaawnnn…. cough, cough, cough….slamming the tampon rubbish bin lid again....all in an attempt to mask the sound of a “plop”.

the best public bathroom experiences are when we find ourselves 100% alone in a bathroom… nothing but vacant stalls as far as the eye can see. finally, after hours of holding in farts, we have the chance to free ourselves…. to drop our own kids off at the pool for a change. when suddenly… *gasp*… the stuff that nightmares are made of… the scrape of the main door, followed by the click-clack of women’s heels. we are no longer alone. we begin to sweat as we frantically try to figure out an exit strategy…

im sure she just has to pee… ill wait her out.
but what if she has to poop and decides to wait me out?
we could be in here for hours, waiting each other out.
if i take too long, the people at the table will for sure know that i came to the bathroom to poop.
then ill be forced to make up a lie, “aww, heck. those gosh darn lines in women’s bathroom” *forced roll of the eyes, cough*
no, ill just skip pooping and try to go again later
but what if i get back to the table and cant hold it? i certainly cant go to the bathroom TWICE in one dinner service! people will think i have to poop!
shit, what am i gonna do?!?

last week i was in a public stall peeing… hey, i swear, i was only peeing!... when a woman came in and sat in the stall next to me. apparently my stream of pee must have found the magical harry potter black hole because suddenly it stopped making the traditional pee-touching-water noise. there we were, in. total. silence. me suspended above the shitter silently peeing and panicking that she might think im trying to poop. i took a slight step forward and the sound returned to the water bowl. *wiping my brow* whew! disaster averted.

but then suddenly, i heard a strange noise next to me. a sound that i have never heard in a public restroom before. a straining of sorts that bordered on a full-fledged grunt. and then it happened… like the kick of a loud base drum… PLOP. followed by a beautiful concerto of ratta-tat-tat-tat and another plop.

that’s when i realized… holy crap (literally) this woman is totally pooping next to me... with no shame.

man, forget oprah.

this. is. my. new. hero.

so from now on i vow to use my grown up voice when asking to borrow a tampon… to open and slam the tampon receptacle with pride but only after actually depositing waste in there… to toot and grunt and refrain from masking plop sounds with synchronized coughs.

no more shame.

i am woman.
hear me poop.

like a paper cut between my fingers

i spent saturday afternoon at my first baby shower since the end of my TTC journey and all i can say is....woah. i have read other people's posts about how painful these events can be for folks who are struggling to get prego but good LORD... it felt i had given myself 10,000 paper cuts and then jumped into a giant vat of my own salty tears.

i should start by saying that the baby shower was awesome... it was co-ed, the food was great, the games were fun, the mom-to-be looked amazing, the dad-to-be was attentive and sweet, the rest of the guests were charming and fun to be around. if i weren’t such a barren, barren lesbo, i would have thought that the whole event was amazing. i should also say that i am TOTALLY happy for the expectant couple and i totally dig them as friends. so, this grumpy-bitter-woe-is-me diatribe has nothing to do with them or how happy i am for them.

ok, having gotten the formalities out of the way, let me get back to....

holy SHIT, that was painful!

not only were there images of babies everywhere (baby toys, baby shaped confetti, baby paper plates, baby napkins, baby wall decorations and even a handful of actual live babies) but even harder was that every friggin conversation was also about... you guessed it, babies!!

i stood in line for food between the mom-to-be and another pregnant lady and like a game of barren-monkey-in-the-middle, i bobbed and weaved between updates about the latest in maternity pants and anecdotes about supportive/unsupportive dads-to-be.

when the mom-to-be was opening gifts i found myself entranced again by "the belly". (see THIS post about belly dodging in the supermarket). NM was all, "babe, what are you looking at?" and i didn’t answer because i was transfixed by "the belly"...locked into an almost comatose stare, mouth agape and all. so she tried again, "babe...helloooo?...can you hear me?" and i was all, "oh, sorry... im just reeeeally interested in the gifts. *cough, nervous laugh*" and she was all, "i can see that. you look like you’re watching a football game or something. at least close your mouth"

i managed to dodge most of the fun baby themed games, much to the dismay of the first person who greeted me when i walked through the door.

baby shower attendee: here... *pushing a giant roll of crepe paper towards me* make a guess!
me: *reaching for my mace* err, make a guess about what?
baby shower attendee: you know silly, how big her belly is! rip off a piece of crepe paper that you think will fit perfectly around her belly.
me: that’s ok, ill pass.
baby shower attendee: you cant pass, everyone has to do it.
me: no, everyone doesn’t have to do it. so ill pass.
baby shower attendee: don’t be a party-pooper... take a piece of crepe paper!

(at this point a "glimpse-into-the-future" bubble appears over my head. i begin to envision the end of the game when all the women line up to wrap their "crepe paper guess" around the belly of the mom-to-be while the rest of the room cackles and laughs at how long -and thus way off- the guesses are. i can picture myself at the front of the line as i approach "the belly", i bend down and put my cheek against it, wrap my arms around the belly's mom and pull the crepe paper taut. i pull and pull at the crepe paper but i soon realize that i don’t even have enough to go half way around her. suddenly there is a *gasp* in the crowd and someone yells, "is to too short??" *sounds of shock in the audience* "but... nobody EVER takes too short of a piece. what’s WRONG with you?!", at which point i stand up and scream at the top of my lungs..."im a barren lesbo! how the HELL am i supposed to know how to accurately guess the size of a pregnant belly?!" *sobbing and exiting stage left*

baby shower attendee: helloo.... are you gonna take some, or what?

*glimpse-into-the-future bubble pops*

me: *gritting my teeth* i swear. you better. get that paper. outta my FACE!!! i already told you that I AINT PLAYING!

aaand...scene.

the only other game i had to participate in occurred while i was innocently eating my lunch at one of the round party tables. the center of the table had lots of yummy cookies, baby confetti sprinkled on the tablecloth and little plastic baby bottles with nuts and candies inside. one of the hosts asked everyone to grab a plastic bottle. we did. then she said, "now look inside and see if there is a baby!". i opened up my bottle and poured the contents out onto the table...frantically searching for a plastic baby. im sure the woman across from me was thinking, "man, she must really want that prize" but in that moment all i could think was, "find the baby. find the baby."

suddenly i heard yelling and cheering as the "winners" proudly held their plastic babies in the air. i looked down at my pile of nuts and candy and realized that my baby bottle party favor was a sad sad representation of my barren barren womb... empty.

*begin violin music*