Sometimes researching this book scares the sh*t out of me

I’m writing a book about how our babies were made. Yes, the world still needs more information on this topic. And every once in while I feel the need to do some research. Not THAT kind of research. Because gays don’t make babies the way most people do. At least, we didn’t.

Quickly, as a reminder. We went to a fertility clinic, bought some sperm, and then did tons of scientific experiments on my reproductive organs. Eventually, this resulted in seven zygotes (my little Mexicans) and two girls that we love and who seem pretty normal. Except for their size. They are a bit bigger than the ones we ordered, but that’s fine. Because nothing is perfect, as we were so gently reminded the other day:

Me: Do we have all the information on our sperm donor saved on your computer?

Pam: I don’t think so, but I can probably get it from the web site.

*logs onto web site*

Pam: He’s not here.

Me: What? What happened to him?

Pam: I don’t know.

Me: Why would they do that?

More confusion ensues, including me speculating that he might be dead, have committed a horrible crime or gotten in a bad fight with his wife about being a sperm donor. I will spare you additional details.

On Monday, Pam called the clinic to find out what was going on. And then she called me at work.

Pam: The first question they asked me is whether our girls are healthy.

Me: That’s weird. Were they pretending to be in an 80s horror movie? ‘Are the children safe? You better go check…’

Pam: No. Someone reported that a baby born using his sperm has autism, so they took him off the site.

Me: Really? Wow.

*silence*

Pam: Do you think our kids have autism?

Me: Um. No. I doubt it. At least, I hope we would have noticed by now. Please tell me we would have noticed by now. I haven’t spent THAT much time playing around on my phone, have I?

Pam: Well, you do spend way too much time playing around on your phone, but that doesn’t cause autism in your children.

Me: Whew.

Pam: Anyway, they are sending our records to us via e-mail.

Me: Great. And let’s never call them again.

Pam: Right.

surprise

This is me re-enacting an 80s horror movie. Except that I’m not dressed sexy enough. And we’re talking about sperm banks.

This post is dedicated to the love of my life who wanted to know “when are you going to blog about the crazy sh*t that you have to deal when you use a sperm banks?” I hope you’re happy now.

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© Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. 

 

 

What does it mean? The name. Does it really involve Mexicans?

Yes, it does. And now I will explain what the name of this blog means for the millions out there who are reading this, because who wouldn’t want to read about a gay, inter-racial couple having babies. And since a picture is worth a thousand words, here is the picture.

7LM text

And there is a bit more to the story, as I’m sure you can imagine, but this is the internet and I know you are busy. So, if you want the long story, you’ll need to wait for the book. But it you want the short story, it’s in the next paragraph.

We wanted to have a baby. We didn’t have any sperm. (Boohoo!) So we bought some. Doctors put it in me. It didn’t work. So, doctors took the my eggs out of me and put them in a dish. Then, they added the sperm we bought. The sperm was part Mexican. It fertilized seven of the eggs. The end.

Oh, but then I decided to write this blog about it. Making the Mexicans, I mean, and living with two of them, so I needed a URL. There were not that many available because there are a gazillion moms blogging about their children, but not their Mexicans, but whatever. Mommy blogging is a great, unpaid profession so lots of people are doing it.  But I digress. I picked sevenlittlemexicans.com because the following URLs were unavailable: awkwardconversations.com, endlessdiapers.com, upseventimesanight.com. Or maybe that last one was too long, along with makingbabiesthehardway.com.

Anyhow, that’s how we got here. Any questions?

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© Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

One idea about what to do if you have no Dad in your family

I like to invent new family traditions, especially when there isn’t something obvious to do in the first place. And by obvious I mean, eating tacos at Thanksgiving dinner or running around the outside of the house naked on New Year’s Eve.

Enter Father’s Day. In a family made up entirely of women and girls, and one female dog, this could be a puzzle. But we wouldn’t be here without one very important man in our life: our sperm donor.

Now, I don’t believe for one second that this man is our children’s father. Being a father is a role that lasts a lifetime. And it’s also a choice, just like motherhood, that you make every day. But no need to get all lecture-y. We’re talking about inventing fun stuff, so let’s get back to that part.

Our family was created with the help of one generous man, who thought it was a good idea to visit a sperm bank and leave a microscopic piece of himself behind. And for that, I really don’t have the words to describe how thankful I am. And to all the people who thought of this crazy idea in the first place, and put it into motion so people like me could have children of my own.

And in our small way, I thought it would be nice to thank him. And since we don’t know who he is, where he lives and I’m not friends with him on Facebook, that left us mostly with symbolic alternatives. So here is what we did.

We got four balloons to release into the sky – one for each member of our family. And we wrote a message on them, thanking him for our life. Or at least his contribution. Because he gave us a gift. Two of them, actually. And they are extremely important to me. And I would never want it any other way.

And here is what happened. I cried the whole time, because I am very emotional about all the awesomeness of our little family. Pam, the steadfast one, took pictures. Wynn stared at me very concerned about the tears pouring down my cheeks. And Marlo kept asking for her balloon back. Here is a picture of the scene minus the crying and the complaining about the lost balloons.

fathersdayballoons

And bonus, they look just like sperm when they are floating away. Happy Father’s Day.

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