My “What I Did Over Summer Vacation” essay would’ve been all about reading sperm donor profiles. I really had a go at it for a while there back in June.
There was a lot to look at. Despite the myriad ways you could narrow your search, I sorted for only one criterion: light eyes. I don’t know why. I guess because, if it was just gonna be me doing this, I wanted the kid to look sort of like me? It’s one thing to be able to say, “You got your daddy’s eyes,” but another to say, “Those baby browns must come from Donor #139704.”
I probably read through 75 profiles. Starred some, Xed some, and left the maybes alone.
Then I started teaching again, and it seemed like too much to ask, to work all day then come home and decide the other half of my child’s DNA.
So I thought, fall break. I’ll do my research over fall break.
Last week would’ve been a perfect time. My only responsibilities were cooking, finding wayward shoes, playing cribbage, and avoiding getting goosed.
But I didn’t do it.
And I’ve been home since Tuesday night. I bet I’ve refreshed my Facebook feed 87 times over the last few days. Why haven’t I devoted ten minutes to this project? Grrrr. Rarrrrr. >:(
I was unloading all this on a friend last night, and at one point, I said, “I just need somebody to help me choose. I need a partner.”
Ah. The Catch-22. I need a partner to help me choose sperm, but if I had a partner, I woulda done chose the sperm—his.
And it really is hard to do by myself. Do I go with “No Mascara Necessary” (seriously, that’s how they tagged him), who has stunning eyelashes and an insatiable appetite for learning? Or the shy Cillian Murphy look-alike who loves acting and painting?
Who am I kidding? I’m not going with the Cillian Murphy look-alike.
There are a million other profiles to go through. It’s about as much fun as online dating. Which is so much fun. I really think it’s overwhelming me. That’s a real issue.
But there’s a bigger thing, and it’s this: when I sit with myself for five fucking minutes, when I listen to the tiny voice I’m always shutting up by going to Geer Street, trawling Jezebel/Gawker/Wonkette/repeat, front squatting, and eating when I’m not hungry, what always bubbles up is incredulousness. I can’t believe I can’t find someone.
I’m a cool cat! And I’ve grown out of my homely phase, I think!
W.
T.
MFing.
F, y’all.
I think ultimately what’s stopping me from buying vials of jizz is that tiny voice nagging, “This can’t possibly be how it’s supposed to go. This is a glitch in the matrix. Tech support will work out the kinks, and you’ll have a man in your bed who’ll provide you with all the sperm you want free of charge aaaaaaaany minute now.”
In recent years I’ve been the sounding board for someone who’s rowing that same boat. And we kind of landed on the idea that tying the motherhood journey to the partnerhood journey has recognizable benefits for sure but is also antiquated bunk. More than one in three kids today is born to a single mom. Probably half of your imaginary light-eyed child’s friends will have moms that spend soccer practice scoping the single dads. God know there’s not much else to do at soccer practice. Anyhoo, point being, growing up in Boone NC in the 80s one would certainly get the impression that first comes love, then comes marriage and so on, but that just ain’t how we roll these days.
If having a child is what you really, really want–and maybe it isn’t, you know–get on it. At this point the partner would just complicate matters: you’d have to get to know each other, wait several months at least to make sure you really know each other, etc…and who knows after all that if you will both be fertile? what if you find the right guy, and he gives you all the sperms you’ve ever wanted, but those dudes have x’s for eyes? And for many, many women, getting pregnant in your late 30s takes a while. By the time all this goes down, you might be 40 and too tired to add an infant or toddler to the mix. Life is uncertain, grab on to what you can when you can.
You grew out of your “homely” phase at about 2 hours of age, or 2 days, or 2 weeks at most . I can’t remember exactly, but it was soon. (You were just born so fast that your nose didn’t get squished like most babies’ noses, so it appeared comparatively large, and your head wasn’t moulded as much as most babies’.) Within an incredibly short time, you became first, the adorable peach-fuzz blonde dynamo and then, the most classically beautiful of three rather amazingly beautiful children.
I love what your mom wrote. And I love you. Let me know if/how I can help.
Gotta let go of the “shoulds.” (i’m attempting to do this to, but that’s a whole other story…) Instead of thinking “what’s wrong with me that I can’t get a man?” think about all things right with you that make you able to do this without a man. (and YOU can totally do without a man) You are strong, smart, funny (important part of parenthood!), and very capable.
You want a partner and you want a child. You can’t really control finding a partner, but you do have some control over having a child. If you wait around for the partner, you just might miss out on the child. Why miss out on both just because you don’t have one??? (Not saying the partner thing can’t or won’t happen… men are idiots for not snapping you up, but lots of men are idiots in general) There is no time limit on finding a partner, but, sadly, there is a time limit on having babies.
of course you are beautiful… and smart and hard-working and hilarious and talented and …
you are the prize. and i love you.