I’ve hired a scientist to watch over the babies

A few weeks ago, I found out that Lego was coming out with “female scientist” mini-figures. I’m not a huge fan of Lego, but I am a huge fan of female scientists. So, I ordered one. Because there is only one.

Don’t get me wrong, there are other females. There is Mermaid, Hollywood Starlet, Fortune Teller and Pretzel Girl. Wait! All is not lost, there is also Librarian, Zookeeper and Swimming Champion — all of whom are female.

When Scientist arrived, I needed a place to put her and next to these seemed like as good a place as any.

babies

I bought all these babies when I was trying to create the original banner for this blog, because when you’re going through fertility treatments you’re either going to have no babies or a whole pile of babies. Your choices basically look like this:

toomanybabies

And I know some people will be all “Jesus doesn’t make too many babies.” But Jesus doesn’t make these babies, scientists do. And scientists will be all “this is statistics, so we need to increase your odds of success by filling your body up with pre-babies, called zygotes.” It’s complicated, but that is the basic idea.

So I put my Scientist here with the babies.

chemist

According to Lego, “Thanks to the Scientist’s tireless research, Minifigures that have misplaced their legs can now attach new pieces to let them swim like fish, slither like snakes or stomp around like robots.” So, even though she looks like a chemist, she’s actually Dr. Frankenstein.

Then, I tried to order more female scientist mini-figures because one is never enough. And there weren’t any, so I ordered an androgynous-looking surgeon.  I put her next to the chemist.

surgeon

Then, I realized that I’ve turned into Richard Dreyfus from Close Encounters of the Third Kind. But instead of building shrines to aliens with mashed potatoes, I’m re-creating scenes from my IVF treatment using Legos.

Now we just need to name all these babies.

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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.

If you want to feel more gay, get pregnant

When I started this blog more than a year ago, I planned to write about getting pregnant and becoming a gay parent. But that story ended up being a book – a long one. Instead, this blog became a bunch of stuff about being a gay parent.

But, now I have a problem. The more I gay parent, the less gay it seems. These days, it mostly just seems like parenting, unless I kiss Pam in a public place in front of our kids. That still feels pretty gay.

And speaking of kissing people in front of strangers, we should keep doing that because sometimes it can result in national television coverage, which is great promotion for your blog if you happen to be a black, gay NFL football player. And also because people are still surprised if you’re gay and black and a football player all at the same time.

But other people don’t seem to care anymore if you are gay. Or, at least, my dad doesn’t.

“Stop telling people you are gay. No one cares if you are gay. Talk about something that matters, like the sage grouse in Wyoming,” he said.

My dad is a biologist, so his marginalized group is the sage grouse. I understand. They have rights to fight for, namely their own legitimized breeding ground. I can relate. But we are getting off track here.

My original point was about whether or not I’m feeling particularly gay. I’m not.

And as you may have already anticipated, this conversation, which was happening mostly with myself at this point because my dad is sick of talking about being gay, continued in my head. If I wasn’t feeling particularly gay right now, then when did I feel really gay? In 1997.

I was wearing men’s shoes a lot back then, and I had short hair. But then, more than 10 years later, I got pregnant and I felt super gay. I looked really straight, but I felt really gay.

This is me (right) feeling really gay. And my friend Carol (left) also feeling gay, but in the happy meaning of the word.

This is me (right) feeling really gay. And my friend Carol (left) also feeling gay, but only in the happy sense of the word.

There has been no other time in my life when people inquired more about “my husband” or searched my left hand more often for a wedding ring. But I was neither married nor heterosexual. But all of the assumptions started making me feel more self-conscious about being gay. So, I felt more like I needed to announce it to people which, I’m guessing, is around the time when my dad started feeling irritated by my constantly announcing that I was gay.

I suppose the moral of the story is that things have changed. (Is that a moral?) To feel gay, I used to need to look gay. And now it’s the opposite. If I want to feel really gay, I just need to act or look really straight. So next weekend, I’m going to have a spa day with my girlfriends, shave my legs, get my nails done and really gay it up. Just don’t tell my dad.

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What people say is not necessarily what they mean, baby

Another cheat-sheet to print, laminate and carry in the diaper bag if you have recently given birth to a tiny human. Consult it any time someone begins to talks to you and you’re too tired to figure out what they are really saying.

You’re welcome.

WhatPeopleSay

Or you can order it as a helpful greeting card for new parents here. And special thanks to Scary Mommy who ran this graphic yesterday on her popular and hilarious community for real parents.

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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.

I expect the sex talk to be easier since it was an immaculate conception, literally

Now that my children are getting older, I expect them to have a few more questions about how they got here. This is one of the down sides of teaching them how to talk, but there were so many other advantages to talking and it seemed to come naturally, so we just went with it.

There is no guide book for talking to your kids about how your gay parents had you, although I’m sure someone is writing one. And if I may, here is a suggestion for a title: How to Not Talk to Your Kids about Sex.

It recently occurred to me that I got pregnant without having sex with anyone. Or at least the sex didn’t cause me to become pregnant. OK, wait, I knew that at the time but what I’m saying is that it dawned on me that I could relay all of the details of my daughter’s conception and birth to her without mentioning anything but online shopping and trips to the doctor’s office, both of which she already knows about.

Really, it would be talking about an immaculate conception – in that it was immaculate and there was conception. In fact, it was so immaculate that my dirty vagina wasn’t allowed anywhere near the place where the sperm and the egg got together. It probably happened in a sterilized room where smart people dressed in cleanroom apparel and using pipettes put some sperm in a petri dish with my eggs. But, I wouldn’t know because I wasn’t directly involved. Seriously, I have an alibi.

immacgreenhair3

And it’s probably rude or blasphemous to call it an immaculate conception. But I didn’t call it The Immaculate Conception, because I read up on that, and I don’t get it. There are so many self-referential euphemisms in the description of the Original Sin and the Immaculate Conception that I could not figure what the Catholics were talking about. It was like talking to someone who insists on using air quotes around every other word. I mean, seriously, how can you write three paragraphs about something and still not really say what it is. So, I gave up. Maybe I’ll ask my mother-in-not-law next time I get a chance.

I think all that this really means is that in our house there will be two talks: The sex talk and the how-babies-are-born talk. Except that there won’t be, because I don’t want to have a “big talk.” I would like all of this to become part of our normal, family dialogue.

Stop! Wait! Don’t call social services! We are not going to sit around all day talking to our kids about sex. We are just going to answer questions with facts and compassion when they come up, just like everything else that we talk about.

In fact, Wynn and I have “big talks” all the time. Last night’s was about “why it’s OK to feel afraid.” And the night before, it was “being nice to your sister.” And we even had a talk about how some children don’t come out of their mom’s belly (because they are adopted). So far, that one was the most surprising to her judging only by the size of her eyes. And “feeling afraid” had the most tears. And, of course, “being nice to your sister” involved the most eye-rolling.

So, I’m looking forward to seeing what we can not talk about next.

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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.

I survived a bachelorette weekend. An epic tale in 6 paragraphs.

Last weekend I went to a foreign land. Seattle. But not actually Seattle. We were close to Seattle, in the same way that the North America is close to Mars. I was in Leavenworth, WA. And I participated in some cultural activities. And no, I am not talking about dressing up in lederhosen and enjoying a beer garden. Except that we did enjoy a beer garden while sipping drinks from a bottle of wine. But we’re rebels like that.

So what is my point? I was getting to that. Be patient. And welcome back from your visit to the Leavenworth web site. That town has its own font. I was on a girl’s weekend/bachelorette party. And maybe it’s just me, but this is a little awkward as a lesbian. Mostly because people don’t know whether they should invite my spouse. They should not. And the bachelorette is one of my coolest friends, so she already knows not to invite my spouse. So it was not awkward.

But just in case you are thinking about inviting a lesbian couple to your bachelorette weekend, don’t. Unless they are the entertainment, in which case tip them well, because women make 73 cents for every dollar that a man makes. And as you already know, these types of performances require lots of dollar bills and 73 cents is just way to hard to tuck into a g string. But I digress.

Girls weekends, in spite of the name, are not really a gender thing although they do involve lingerie. But mostly they are about one half of a bunch of couples and one single lady, getting together without their spouses and without their kids and then talking about those people the whole time. And they are about underwear. And sometimes fake penises.

But the girls I was with were classy, so there were no fake penises to drink cocktails out of or wear on your head. Which means that I didn’t fit in at all. Because I have a whole collection of fake penises. Except I call them dildos, but whatever. And none of them have straws in them, so you cannot drink out of them. But some of them do have straps, so I suppose you could wear them on your head if you wanted to, but I don’t, because they don’t work very well that way. Or maybe they do, and I am just not very open-minded.

But let’s move on, because this is getting really personal and mildly embarrassing. And because this weekend was not about me, it was about the bachelorette. And it was about drinking. And that is why I’m only posting once this week. Because I was tired and hung over on Monday. And I was spending time trying penises on my head to see if it could work that way. The end.

underwear

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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.

It’s been three weeks and no medical records. This could make me insane.

I do not have the medical records from the fertility clinic that I requested and agreed to pay for three weeks and three days ago. The form says it “may take up to 3 weeks from the date of receipt…..” I sent the request on February 19 at 15:43. We are using military time, because this is extremely serious stuff. And because that is what the fax machine uses.

So just to make sure that I’m doing this right, I just Googled it. Because that’s what I do all day. I Google things. It makes me feel like I have a cool job. At Google. And I got 125 million results in .21 seconds. That’s a record. But not a medical record, which is what I’m looking for. And I am doing this right. Because the internet knows everything.

According to all 125 million web sites, it is my right to have copies of my medical records. Ok, you’re right. I’m exaggerating. According to the first three sites that I skimmed, I have a right to my medical records, except possibly records related to mental health. Great. That was the part I’m looking for. I want to find out what happened, and if I was crazy to have kids. I know it’s too late now, but I just want to find out.

And here is what About.com says about possibly not receiving your mental health records:

If you request records that the provider or facility deems may be harmful to you, they may deny you access. These records are often mental health records. They cannot be withheld just because the provider believes they will upset you. But you can be denied if the provider thinks you will do harm to yourself because of their outcome.

Hello! Yes. The records could be harmful to me, because I could have AIDS and be on drugs according to form and I don’t even know! See, you asked me right here.

medical records

Please. Help me. I must get this information. I could die. Or be insane. Or on drugs, and I don’t even know it because it has not or will not be fully disclosed to me.

 

 

OK. That space was me calming down. I’m just going to call them today to follow up. That is a what a person who is alive, reasonable and drug-free would do. So for now, we’ll just pretend that that’s me.

Read the other posts like this:
You’ll need a form for that. And a credit card.

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