I mean I have doubt about the whole breeding thing.
It's been creeping in slowly. Maybe all this nonsense with my dogs is making me tired. I don't know. But I'm worried. About everything from ovulating to eating to exercise to my house to my dogs to taking my anti-blood stagnation herbs.
I think it's just a build-up of stress and a lull in momentum. I made the decision to try to get pregnant, which was very exciting, and then... PAUSE! Three months of nothing but preparing. Getting my house ready to put on the market. Eating right. Getting acupuncture. Losing ten pounds. Buying sperm, which for some reason I just can't make myself do. All while not eating sugar, which I have to tell you, is HARD. I love sugar. I miss sugar. I want SOME DAMN SUGAR.
Funny aside: Aaron Barnhart, the television critic for the Kansas City Star, interviewed WP and me a couple weeks ago, and then mentioned in the Star, and online, that I have this blog and that I'm doing this whole baby-on-my-own thing. After which my mom received a very hesitant phone call from one of her friends. "Did you know," the friend said carefully, "that Sarah is... going to do... artificial insemination?" "Yes," my mom answered nicely, "I think she mentioned it."
I don't know why I find that so funny. But I do. And kinda sweet.
Back to my doubts. They're not just about the prep work. Every now and then I get hit with a wave of terror about what kind of mother I'm going to be. It's all well and good to think I'm going to be a great mom, and that I'm going to commit all this time to my child, and cook healthy food, and play with him or her, and teach him/her all kinds of great things. But... easier said than done, folks. And I know that my expectations are probably unrealistic, but I really feel like I have to do more, be better, if I'm doing it alone. Because there's no fall back. There's me. And that's it.
I've also been trying to imagine what it would be like to be a kid with a mom and a... donor. It's actually quite hard to do. What would it have been like to grow up with just my mom? No dad. No step-dad. No relatives on that side of the family at all. There are a couple people I wouldn't mind being rid of, but for the most part, it feels... lonely. Is a few essays and some medical records, and maybe a baby picture enough to fill that hole? If that's what you're used to, does it even feel like a hole? I'm just not sure.
(And yes, I know that it's possible that I could meet someone and get married and blah blah blah, but I'm not holding my breath. If you want to, feel free.)
And it's not like I haven't read all the books. I know that I have to work through my feelings so I don't inadvertently pass on my fears and issues to my future child. If I can even get pregnant. That's a whole other area of worry. It's entirely possible I won't be able to. I am thirty-eight, after all. Downright ancient. How many times am I going to try? If unmedicated IUI doesn't work, would I do medicated? Would I do IVF? I dunno. Not a clue in the world.
It doesn't help that I went to my acupuncturist this morning, who is wonderful, but who thinks I should set aside two hours three times a week to cook bison stew. And other healthy, blood enriching, foods. Which is an absolute impossibility at the moment. I mean, literally an impossibility. Unless they add hours to the day. (Hmmm. I do know people who know Jon Favreau-- the speechwriter, not the actor-- and he knows the President. Can someone talk to Jon Favreau about talking to the President about adding some hours to the day so I can cook? Seriously. This is very important. Possibly more important than health care reform.)
If I can't cook now, how am I going to do it once I have a child? At which point I am reminded of a piece of brilliant advice from my friend Mel: GET ROTISSERIE CHICKEN. But then I remember that my acupuncturist said it's hard to find rotisserie chickens that are free-range and I should really cook them myself and THEN MY HEAD EXPLODES.
At which point my exploded head and I give up and go to bed.