I'm 26. I've been with a 35-year-old for a year and a half and I'm wild about her. She's sporty, bold, brave, loyal, and a technician; I'm nerdy, perpetually anxious, sappy, and I answer phones 8 hours a day. What does that spell? Parents!
And in truth we make a great team as partners, and we want to be a great team as parents. She can teach the baby to swim while I cry and I can teach the baby holiday crafts while she takes pictures.
Sounds like a great plan, except we happen to both be women and we happen to need a man's sperm to get that baby. And that sperm costs about $700 a pop.
So here we are talking about fertile mucus and having passionate arguments about the use of a speculum, while two men at work have babies on the way with their wives and nary a word of mucus, speculums, or 24-hour windows. In another world, you can have a lot of sex for three months and pee on a stick-- not wonder whether a potential sperm donor is genetically inclined to write pretentious essays.
It hurts and it's fun and it's a struggle with every mucus-texture call, so this is my document, and let's hope I get to change the title of it to "The Lesbian Mom" in a year.