Remember that crime thriller “Don’t Say a Word” with Brittany Murphy? R.I.P. Moment of silence. She played a demented girl locked away in a crazy camp with secrets trapped in her brain. The movie, from what I remember, was terrible. But there was that one great moment when she sat at the end of her hospital bed with Dahmer eyes, tracing something with her fingers in midair, and sing-songing to Michael Douglas about “I’lllll never telllllllll.” That shit never gets old. And I say that with confidence because my BFF Alisa and I still say it to each other on the regular in creepy, high-pitched tones. And our jokes Never. Get. Old.
I don’t watch scary movies anymore. Or even thrillers. Or anything even mildly suspenseful. I’m a grown woman, who owns her own house, never sleeps alone, and lives in a quiet neighborhood where most of our neighbors are over 55 and retired. Yet, I still harbor an irrational fear of home invasion and/or attack. Or creatures lurking in the shadows. Zombies in the basement. That preview for the new Amanda Seyfried movie where she is tossed in a giant dirt hole in the woods and chased by a creepy stalker hoodie dude can go f–k itself.
So, wait. Where was I? Oh, yes, Brittany Murphy.
But let me back up a bit. I guess I’ve never addressed why I started writing the lesbian baby blog because it felt more natural to just jump in and start a conversation about basal thermometers and cycle temperature charts. The truth is, I have horrible follow-through and terrible time commitment issues so I wasn’t even sure I would follow this thing through. Or how long it would last. Three posts? Eight posts? And because I didn’t think about how long I would keep at it, I also didn’t plan for the inevitable: the actual pregnancy.
For a long time, things moved along at a nice, leisurely pace. I could comment on lesbian celebrity, learning how to read ovulation charts, or even my good pals at Fenway Health. But then, things started moving very quickly. We were donor shopping and tracking ovulation, not for hobby, but for SERIOUS. And so, I feel a little lost. It gets tricky – that topic of getting knocked up. Do you talk about trying? Do you talk about testing and sweating through your pajamas waiting for your pee to make a smiley face? Do you talk about failure and the devastation that follows? Do you talk about the insemination and how your emotions battle between excitement and pain? The truth is, I’m not sure. Jury’s out on that one.
Because in overwhelming situations with a heavy emotional component, I tend to just close up and shut down, I’m going to avoid doing that by posting another competition between baby hippos and hipster babies. I’ll probably even have something to say about the roles I see forming between me and Meredith (and, yes, Duncan) as we sort out our family dynamic. As far as the rest of it – the timeline, the progress, the content that borders on oversharing – well, let’s just say that right now I feel a bit like Brittany.