L.A. 2009. I’m stuck in traffic on the 101 freeway, listening to Isabella Rosselini on NPR. I’m only half listening, because whenever I hear Isabella Rosselini, her Pan-European accent sends me drifting back to the summer I spent in Sweden, and the cute boys, and wood boats on the Baltic Sea.When I tune back in to Isabella, I’m a tenth of a mile further down the 101, and she’s talking about starfish. Apparently starfish are one of those rare species that can reproduce asexually, which I probably learned in grade school, but it didn’t stick.
This time, it sticks. This time, it spins me like a wind of the gale force variety. I mean, think about it! Reproducing by yourself! If I could do that, I wouldn't have to worry about finding a boyfriend/husband. I wouldn’t have to internet date! I wouldn't have to figure out if I want to/can/should have a baby/adopt a baby/child on my own. I wouldn't have to stress about things like FSH levels, or weigh my feelings on in vitro versus adoption. I wouldn’t sit around thinking, “If I were going to do in vitro, would I pick a friend? Or go to a sperm bank? If I picked a friend, who would I pick? Who do I know who has good sperm?” And I wouldn’t have to wonder-- if adoption is the route I choose-- which country to adopt from, or whether it’s fair to adopt internationally when there are so many kids in foster care right here.
I would just have a baby. Thus began my starfish envy.