“Are you going to have a third kid?”
“It’s possible…if we have another wild, drunken night where we just get stupid and sloppy…and I accidentally slip and fall – legs akimbo- on a syringe of semen!”
I don’t mean it. We’ve been contemplating a 3rd ever since Levi was born. I wasn’t actually sure that I wanted another, but I knew that it would take ages to sell it into to Gabriella. I had to start then even though it was the furthest thing from my mind. I knew I could do it. You can’t take the salesgirl outta this girl. When I met Gabriella, she was Catholic, straight and she didn’t think gay people should have children. Done, done and done! Gabriella is now totally on board to have a 3rd if I want to go there, and now the ball is in my court. Tick tick tick tick
There is no rational reason to have a 3rd. We’d be outnumbered. We’d need more space. We’d have to sell organs to send them to college. And I can’t think of one more biblical name that I like. Tick tick tick tick
Then there’s the little matter of supply. It was short-sightedness on our part and there’s a long, protracted story about how long we both actually tried before we became pregnant with Asher. The bottom line is we have one vial remaining from the same donor that brought us Asher and Levi. Ideally, we have a 3rd by the same donor. How do we increase the odds using the one shot we have left? IVF. I’m not wildly excited about the idea. I know IVF is as common as Botox these days, but I was so happy to have avoided it until now. We all know that IVF is short for “so, you want twins, do you?” I’d definitely have to sell one. Tick tick tick tick
I’m 40. Turning 40 was no big deal for me. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t wait to turn 40 because I knew we’d be celebrating for days-weeks as it turned out. I never experienced the 40-freak out; never got depressed about all the things I haven’t done yet. Gray hairs don’t bother me – no matter where I find them. But when I realized that those large freckles on my hands were actually age spots, I started researching long-term care insurance. Gross! That is when I thought to myself, “I can’t have a baby! How can a woman with age spots have a baby??” See photo above of the oldest mother in the world.
Because getting knocked up is not a matter of carelessness for us, we have to really want this. We’re going through the motions as if we’re driving in a high-speed game of chicken. We either tear down the road until my vagina collides with a vial of sperm or we suddenly come to our senses and veer off the road just in the nick of time sparing us from falling pregnant with the twins-Zilpah and Bathsheba. Does this thing have air-bags?