I just ordered our sperm. For real. In less than five minutes, I scheduled 2 vials of ICI semen to be delivered to our doctor's office Saturday. We've spent eight months planning it, and it's just a few days before we go forward with the insemination-- and maybe just a few weeks before we find out we're having a baby.
My boss, one of two guys at work who recently had his own baby by heterosexual, legally-married means, responded to my warning that I might need a couple hours Monday to inseminate Heather by asking whether I thought we could be done by 3:00 P.M. It's a busy time of year, he said. And I guess if you can get semen for free, as many times as you want, during your ovulation, it sounds like something that can be done on your own time. My affection and esteem for my boss notwithstanding, what I wanted to say was Are you motherfucking kidding with me! We're having a cold-storage tank mailed to us from California for $200, with two tiny $500 vials of sperm in it, and you want us to make sure our efforts to have a baby don't get in the way of phones getting answered?
I'm a dutiful employee, but Heather and I are going to move on that cervix when it's most open, and the phone can ring. We're going to have a special ritual, per Nina's instructions, with a play list of Heather's creation, and candles. Ring. Ring. Then it's important for Heather to have an orgasm so her uterus contracts, drawing the semen up through the cervix. Ring. Ring. And-- at my insistence-- we'll follow the procedure with a video of sperm fertilizing an egg so we can visualize our child's creation. Ring. Ring.
As an addendum, I want to say that Shawnbay, mysteriously named as he might be, is a lovely person. He answered the phone at the Cryobank and even joked with me about how the Grizzlies suck. I'm reminded of a wonderful, funny speech David Foster Wallace gave at a college graduation ceremony where I was not, in which he says that, even if we're furious with the jackasses who drive SUVs, we should try to imagine that they're people who might have been in horrible car wrecks in the past and now drive huge cars because they're so afraid to get on the road. Likewise, I want to remember that not everybody loves commas the way I do. They should, but maybe they're just into basketball or Jesus instead.