Thankful

Thankful for it all

I think skipping a month was good for us. We are entering this new time of K’s fertile time with renewed hearts and a fresh spirit. I am also becoming more patient and thankful.

Thankful for life—for living, breathing, being alive—Thankful for even having the life breath in us to toy with all of this trying to create new life.

This living that we do is so precarious. It all could end tomorrow; it all could slow tomorrow; it all will be so different in the evening no matter what we do to try and stop change. I am thankful for the uncertainty. I am thankful to be able to encounter the day and hold the slippery edges of the minutes that tick away—each moment sailing silently through my fingers like fine slippery figs sliding down my throat vanishing into the pit of my belly and intestines.

Not that I was not thankful before, but the many lives we are touched by bring such news of newness and challenges; heartache and joy, trials and growth. So all of these events of living are becoming so much brighter in my head and palpable in my mouth. As loved ones struggle through harder days and as laughter in the neighborhood drifts carelessly over our heads into our hearts, I suck it all in like the feeling might be my last. And I give thanks to every thing and being that surrounds me for sharing this living.

Now the patience thing, that’s a harder one to embrace, but I am trying. Since uncertainty is what each day whips or tosses at us, then cultivating the patience to deal with these spheres of not knowing should be easy. Not quite. But then again, I wait with the patience of a good monk for my garden to grow. I tend to the soil with calm persistence and dream of rain when it is too dry. So, if only I could come into that same kind of patience over the creation of this kid, I think all would be a bit better.


Thankful for my love

Surrounded by bodily fluids

We skipped trying this month. We just could not make it to Chicago—not k by herself, not me with k. It just didn’t work. I could not have gone even if we had ended up stumbling into cash and time, cause I got food poisoned on Thursday night, and I was recuperating all weekend.

This food poisoning caused me to puke for the first time since I was 6, save for a drunken spew when I was in the 10th grade. That is how sick I was—my fear of vomiting was enormous until one week ago. I shat almost uncontrollably for 6 hours. And part way through that the puke came. And then the next day my body was like a defeated vessel of lifelessness. I had a fever—all day long—from dehydration (or maybe whatever toxin had waged battled on my intestines and gut). For the rest of the weekend I mostly sat around on our very uncomfortable couch and watched mindless television.

I think some spoiled Russian/thousand island dressing on a veggie Reuben caused the explosion in my body to occur. Ughh…

Anyhow, I’m better now. I sucked on gatorade and vernors, popsicles and jello for a few days and now my belly seems happy.

I hope that overcoming my fear of puking will help when it comes to raising up a kid when ever the sugar patch decides to take. Cause wee ones are like test tubes of germs and stank and viruses. And I need to really be able to clean up a pile of puke or diarrhea, so that k does not get stuck with it all.

When I was 19, I was still living at home with my ma and dad. I got some really nasty virus and passed out in the hall way and shit my pants. My loving mother attended to my mess like it was second nature. I need a gut and heart like the one my mom demonstrated that day. So, I am slowly building it.

As I stroll through this journey with all of these bodily fluids surfacing around me, I am building the kind of stamina that it will take to be there, strong and constant, for another life in all of his/her alien and familiar facets.

A 2 Liter of Semen--and some musings on the injector's inability to properly contribute to the creation of this sugar patch

This month has been a brutal roller coaster of emotion. I guess that is what life is in general, but I've discovered that this whole trying to get with child thing really sends me surfing on a giant wave--a wave that I am trying to ride gracefully, but alas my feet are too shifty and my balance leaves much to be desired.

KK is up in the air about whether or not to go to Chicago this month. We cannot afford for both of us to go--time wise or money wise--, so I will stay home if she does decide to go. All of this means that I will not be the injector if she tries this month. This leaves K terribly sad and it leaves me feeling as powerless as I've been feeling throughout this process.

Plus, our dear friends are moving away and their good-bye party is right when the egg might decide to drop, so K is thinking that maybe the egg should just drop into a sperm-free cavity this time around.

All of this has become too complicated with the don don living so far away. K is exploring freezing techniques--without clinical intervention--and I am wishing hard for a penis and testes so that I can just knock her up all by myself.

When I wake in the morning to the teary eyed gaze of the love of my life leaning over and whispering, "I wish you could just roll on top of me and make me pregnant," I have to wonder about this desire for offspring in conjunction with the inability for our bodies together to create new life. Of course, we have the wonderful muscle push of my hand surrendering someone else's sperm into her special parts, but it is nothing like the jiz really belonging to me.

Not that I am a semen envier; I really could do entirely without the stuff. Which brings me to the most disgusting thing I've pictured in my head in a long time. In the hot August heat of last night, we were shooting the shit about semen, yet again, with some friends. When we stumbled into the scary vision of one of the fellows storing his daily ejaculation in a 2 liter for a week (or maybe more) and giving it to me to inspect. How vile and laughable all at once! I wonder if it rots?

how to make the red soil seed ready?

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.

Growing beans

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.

Chicago #1

From July 4th through July 6th, we tried with all of our might to make a wee little baby. We includes K, the don don, his boyfriend and me. I must say that with my hesitancy to spend a whole week in chicago--going to chi-town for days on end was not boding well with my earth sign leanings--(which did not happen; I came home for 1 and a half days and leave again tomorrow until Wednesday evening), everything was much more pleasing than my negative thinking would have painted. so, fuck you the Secret--with a lame ass copyright inserted, I thought bad thoughts and good things happened!!!

We had a splendid time trying to get little kk all knocked up.



JULY 4
Pookah, K,and the injector waiting for the don don to call so we could go back to the apartment and inject the fresh little worms.

Day 1--July 4,2007. We arrived in Chicago around 4:30 Central time. The don don and his boyfriend (i will call him don don's boy) graciously welcomed us to their new apartment; they had just put down roots, not even a full week ago, in Chicago. K was feeling like she was super fertile,so the don don and the don don's boy went to business as we exited the premises.

we took the pookster on a sweet walk through the edgewater neighborhood. we found the stomping ground to be quite darling. Folks were having block parties and bbq's all over the place. the sun shone through the hazy mix of grill smoke and smoke bombs like a fading memory you want to capture before it vaporizes.

After quite a few minutes, not leading into an hour but more like one half of an hour, pour some sugar on me came blasting out of k's phone. Yes, pour some sugar on me is the don don's ring tone.

And that is what he had all caught up in an artichoke jar for us--some sugar. We made our way back to the apartment anxious for the jiz. The don don and the don don's boy exited the premises as we arrived. We went into their bedroom and k took off her panties. I sucked up the 3 CCs of sperm and shot it into her. And guess what? It all stayed. Not a bit slithered out. Her uterus and canal and all those other womanly parts sucked his sperm up into her like she needed internal lotion to lubricate her dry, dry self.

We were thrilled. The boys were thrilled. K lounged around for a long time and then we went and had a delicious dinner at the Chicago Diner.

Day 2--July 5, 2007



JULY 5
K's LH Surge finally appears on the sweet little stick.

We woke up and K peed on her stick for the i have no clue how manyth time.
And then a gleeful scream of jubilation expelled itself from her mouth. The smiley face had appeared.

we went to breakfast and enjoyed tasty, tasty food.

And then we landed back at the apartment and shortly thereafter left for a walk as the don don and the don don's boy filled up the jar again. Pour some sugar on me came blaring on the phone and we headed back for the fresh, life giving fluid sloshing its bleachy stained self around in a jar that once contained very oily and delicious artichoke hearts.

This time the boys stuck around as we went into the second bedroom and injected the 2 CCs of fluid up into kk. A little came spewing out this second time around, but most of it stuck. We had grown much more comfortable by this time and by the third time, which i will not go into detail about on the blog, we were in the apartment as don don jacked and don don and don don's boy stayed close by as we injected (Don don even went into the bathroom to collect some toilet paper--due to his boy being in the shower--so i could wipe the jiz up off kk cause it almost all came spewing back out the third day).

All in all, it the chicago injecting experience was fantastic--good friends, good times, good food.



don don, the injector, and k hangin' our feet from the pier at the beach after day 2 injection!

Happy Fucking Fourth of July

the injector with the syringe after the fact...
the sperm was jacked off in ann arbor and driven, by car, to ypsilanti.
this potential baby is a gas hog.


yes, the jar above held the jiz.


holding the syringe after it just expelled a 1.5 CCs of fluid into k's special place.

we've injected a total of six times now.
today we are heading to chicago to get more sperm.
i'm not happy about spending a week in chicago.
see i have to be there for work on Monday the 9th through Wednesday the 11th.
so, i will have spent a full seven days there if k's temperature does not go up before saturday.
the smiley face on the ovulation pee stick is still incognito, but k thinks she is fertile now, so we are off to burn more fuel to collect sperm from the don don who moved from 10 minutes down the road to 4.5 hours away.
who knows what the freeway will be like. I-94 during holiday traffic will be just fucking fabulous.
oh, see how positive i am. if i was following the teachings of the secret, i would say let's just stay home cause my negative energy has already corrupted the mission. but that shit is just that shit.
if we don't end up pregnant this time it will be all because of this rant on this blog--for sure.

Traffic jams, sperm, and spoiled fish

The third time

Oh, now I might be able to say—what a HOOT that was.

K decided she was mighty fertile on Monday (though none of her signs were present). So, she scheduled a sperm pick up. I ended up in the car with her—my bike on the trunk rack—due to a knee injury that is keeping me from biking round trip, ughh…

We decided to grab some fish from a market to make tacos before we picked up the sperm to make a baby. The don don said not to get there before 5:30, so we had five minutes to blow in the store. We swung by the don don’s and he handed off a too cold jar of jiz, which I promptly stuffed up my shirt next to my sweaty belly. Did I mention it got up into the low 90s on Monday—humidity 60% or higher.

Then the hell began. I had had a bad feeling about getting on the freeway to make our way home, but we did it regardless only to be instantly stopped by a long, long line of traffic. The radio said an accident was causing back ups. I had to pee when we got on the freeway and an hour later I still had to pee; we were still in traffic (though we had ventured off the freeway to find ourselves in another jam, cause everyone else had gotten off the freeway too); and we still had a baby food jar that once contained pureed sweet potatoes now full of potentially perishing sperm.

By the time we made it home I thought the fish that we were going to consume for dinner had spoiled and that the sperm had died along with my bladder.

We pulled into the driveway and I jumped out of the car while it was still moving to get a head start on running to the toilet. K threw the fish in the fridge (I was still very wary of swallowing it for dinner) and jetted up stairs. She took a leak and grabbed the orange syringe. I sat on the bed, undid the jar, and sucked up the bleachy liquid into the plastic injection contraption. 5 CCs this time—that’s a hell of a lot of jiz.

Once I shot it up into K, a little came spewing out. But there was so much I did not think it mattered.

All in all, this is getting to be humorous and tedious, scientific and common, difficult and easy.