I have the flu. In fact, I have more than the flu. I have some kind of super-mutated-unrelenting-hypervirulent-knock-you-off-your-ass-for-two-weeks flu.
It made me leave our spa day this past weekend dizzy and nauseous.
It made me have to sit out a precious game of ball hockey. (I say precious because I’m so sad to have to give it up once pregnant, that I started counting down the games I might have left… This leaves me at one last game.)
It has made teaching excruciatingly painful, hot (in a bad way), and dealing with students annoying.
I can barely speak, I can barely think, I can barely conduct myself in a safe manner.
Yet…. I decide to place possibly one of the most important orders of our future baby’s life.
I bought sperm.
I filled out a form, indicated the donor number and quantity of washed vials, and paid for the sperm that will hopefully make up the other chromosomal halves of this bebe.
We picked this sperm because it was pretty and had a nice chest.
Helps that it’s somewhat smart, athletic, comes from a family with good health, and has the same colouring as Darling Wife.
I choose to describe the sperm as it because it’s not him that going to make our baby, it’s DW and myself.
Though, I’m endlessly grateful for all of the men who continue to donate sperm so that loving people such as ourselves can build families too.