By: John Jericiau
I can hardly wait for Baby #3. I love both my four-year-old sons so much and feel incredibly lucky that they are in our lives. Maybe some would say that these two are enough. But it’s not a matter of enough. It’s a matter of destiny. For some reason I feel we are destined to have three children. Maybe because both Alen and I come from families with three kids. Maybe because deep down inside I want a girl in the house to keep all the testosterone in check. Or maybe because I really really enjoy being “Mr. Mom.” All I know is that I have kept all the boys’ clothes neatly in storage, and have refused to give away a single one of the thousands of pieces of toys that they now have spread around our house, hoping that Baby #3 can use all of them one day (even if some of them are cracked, broken, or unrecognizable).
My parents had my little sister six years after my younger brother, and they couldn’t be happier about their little princess. Four years ago (January 22nd) was the birth of our youngest son, and we’ve been trying for Baby #3 pretty much ever since. We had some frozen embryos left over after the course of IVF from Baby #2. There weren’t many left and they weren’t the best quality embryos, plus since they were frozen the chance of success was way down (fresh embryos are the best). Since we were paying $50 a month to keep them on ice, and our friend was up for trying for another baby, we decided after a year that it was time. We were just crawling out of the fog after two births and two newborns within eight months of each other.
We were optimistically cautious as we waited for the IVF results; we don’t get our hopes up too much for anything now (which is sad) because of all the failures we have experienced in the past. So the proverbial drum roll came ten days after the implantation and the results came back: not pregnant. We shrugged it off, said it wasn’t meant to be and went back to our usual routine, completely enjoying our sons and their ever-growing personalities. But the yearning never left me. Why do I have to feel this so strongly, while Alen and our families and friends all seem completely satisfied and content with the two? It’s almost a curse, or an obsession.
Once we used up all our frozen embryos we were facing some steep costs if we wanted to try again. We had to choose a new egg donor and harvest her eggs for fertilization, and contracts between all parties involved need to be redrawn. The IVF procedure is now much more costly since it also includes the laboratory union of her eggs and our DNA, FDA medical testing just before the procedure to be sure no one is exposing anyone else to disease, and last but not least the ever rising cost of healthcare, factoring in inflation. All this just to get to the positive pregnancy. What still follows are the costs for maternity insurance, hospital bills, and doctor bills added to the dizzying figure. So entering into a third try is not something that we could take lightly. We had to save up the money to feel good about our decision. The savings account was not growing quickly enough (tick tock goes my biological clock), so we made it happen (barely) this time by selling a condo in a bad Fort Lauderdale real estate market. So we owe a lot to that beach condo. Does anyone like the name Florida for a little girl?
So we are currently at the point where most of the eggwork has been completed. Our angels (women) are injecting and ingesting the medications necessary for a successful pregnancy, and in about 25 days (just before Valentine’s Day) we’ll whip out our test tubes and go for it. I stare at the calendar as it crawls from day to day, I notice more and more the babies in the arms and strollers of parents in the park, and I sneak a peek now and then at the Top 100 Girl’s Names of 2011. And even though I’m not supposed to, I hope and pray that in nine months we bring home a healthy baby girl.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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