Firstborn son

I’m entirely freaked out by the sperm decision. The donor decision: to know or not to know. I’m also partially freaked out by sperm in general. I was caught once by a friend describing certain qualities of sperm, to which she replied: “Aw, Buddy, you haven’t come in contact with sperm in a long time.” I’m not exactly a predictable candidate for pregnancy. Meredith asked me once,“What are you going to wear for maternity clothes when your jeans and tee shirts don’t fit you anymore?”
I then described the scene in “Juno” where Allison Janney stitches an elastic insert along the front of Juno’s jeans. Problem solved.

The wife and I aren’t in 100% agreement on the origin of our sperm donor, which is to say that I prefer to know the guy and she prefers the catalogued cryobank method, and neither of us care to budge. This threatens to post some challenges for us as the time moves closer to actual insemination.

This was so much easier with our firstborn.

A few months before I moved in with Meredith, we started talking about adoption. As is common among almost all couples who live together – married or not – we started pouring over webpages of tiny, fuzzy, saucer-eyed puppies. Meredith had her sights on pug puppies because of Charles and Chester. If you haven’t already, do yourself a favor:

We picked Duncan from a litter of puppies born in the Midwest to a veterinarian who bred pugs. Meredith Googled the woman after several email exchanges about the pups to verify her credentials as a doctor. We were scared of supporting puppy mills in rural Iowa, but not scared enough to opt for a rescued dog. To this day, we just sort of hold to the hope that Dr. Sharon hadn’t lost her medicinal moral code to make it rich in the puppy mill business. Live and learn.

I think raising a puppy with another person is a dry run for child rearing. House training, eating schedules, bedtime routines – it’s all up for debate within a couple. And you find yourself arguing about things that you could have given a shit about before the dog.

“Duncan does NOT poop there!”

“This collar is rubbing the fur off his goddamn neck! He needs to wear a harness!!”

“You give him too much food in the morning, and I’m the one cleaning up his shit from the bathroom floor when I get home!”

We spent a lot of time arguing about his upbringing, but we’re more than 4 years into it and Duncan is a badly behaved, terribly spoiled, anxious little prick. He challenges other dogs three times his size. He barks at delivery men. He charges small children. He is afraid of TV remotes. He’s damaged.

If raising this pug is any indication of our parenting skills to come, we’re totally screwed.

One comment

  1. So I’ve read your entire blog and how I came across it, is this…I googled “blog sites for lesbians who have ordered sperm.” I can’t help but shake me head and smile. I’ve shared all of this with my partner and we’re both laughing so hard we were crying. Our stories are very similar. With 10 years between us, she’s all about old rock music and I’m envisioning my family skate nights bobbing my head to salt n peppa “push it”, I’m not a morning person…even ppl I work with know not to talk to me until I’ve had at least 2 cups of coffee and its 11am. We have 4 dogs…yes…I said 4, and most nights when each one of them were puppies I was kicking her begging her to let them out and when that didn’t work I was stomping down the stairs, flailing the door open only to make sure I woke her up in the process :). Anyways…When we had started to talk about starting a family we to faced the same questions as you and Meredith, to know the donor or not to know…to pick sperm in the same fashion as you pick a car…color, size, long term reliability etc….We both find your story very inspiring and can’t wait till you update with more.

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