the injector tending the easy earth...
Once again, the egg and the sperm failed to meet. So, we are not knocked up. The lessons I'm learning in all of this are that I am a pretty damn impatient person and I really want this.
We debated and contemplated and went back and forth with the idea of trying to get pregnant for quite some time, and now that we are in it, I am convinced that it is the next journey we are meant to carve out.
Problem is I need to devote as much patience and steady pace of mind to the process of trying to make the darn sugar patch as I did to the process of finally deciding to set off on the mission.
I guess this mystery of egg falling from tubes and sperm swimming steadfast against all odds seeking to bump into egg is a bigger one than I ever even began to think about. I try to venture into that unknown void of kk's female organs and it becomes one vast red space with lots of fluid swishing about. So then I try to think about it in more familiar terms--a strip of soil about to get all planted up, but it is not that easy.
See when I put seeds in the ground or in some soil up in our planting room, they are mostly going to rise up with some tending. If we water and make sure the sun falls over them, germination is practically a given.
A Zinnia in our garden grown from seed...
Not true with the dark, warm sloshy place of kk's vagina, uterus, ovaries, and fallopian tubes. The mystery of planting the goods that have the potential to bring a wee human into our breathing space is a lot more complicated than the steps involved in bringing to fruition my lush, full garden. While teenagers everywhere--the ones who seem to achieve pregnancy just from sitting on a toilet seat after their boyfriends--might have a different story about the ease of the mystery of human creation becoming reality, the two queer girls involved in this particular tale are now starting to see the mystery of furrowing the female body for the reception of bleachy seed as harder work than tilling a thousand acres for the reception of veggie seeds. While pursuing conception might not be all that much physical work (that mostly involves driving to retrieve the seed and then relying on the work of the don don's hands--or don don's boyfriend's hands--to ejaculate the seed), it is a hell of a lot of emotional work.
Contemplating the mystery of our internal anatomy is exhausting. Not to mention the defeat associated with wading in the aftermath of a letdown--the failure of the seed to take root after I so carefully injected into that soft lush ground. Cause really that's all I can do; plunge the syringe deep inside and let loose. I have no power here. I will just have to let the mystery be and pretend I am a good gardener without any seeds of my own.
Protected: waning days
5 months ago