Wednesday, June 20 – 8dt5dt. I peed on another stick this morning, and the line was darker than yesterday’s, so I went back to bed and cried. The line was darker, which means I’m probably really pregnant.
Bummer. I was sort of hoping the line would disappear.
What if one of my other embryos is better than the one they put in me? I have 6 totsicles on ice, and if this pregnancy fades away, I could have another shot at a better-looking, smarter child. But none of that matters at this point anyhow. I’m already pregnant with whatever this is that’s growing inside me.
If it does keep growing, that is. I can never eat when I’m depressed, and if I don’t eat something soon, this baby might just whither away from malnourishment. Or I could accidentally miss a couple estrogen pills. Or stop taking my shots. Or maybe the yolk sac will be empty. Or the thing could just fall away on its own. This embryo is about the size of a poppy seed right now, so I’d never notice it go. And how much would it really matter if it isn’t actually mine?
OK, it’s mine-ish, I guess. And everyone keeps telling me that at some point I will absolutely love this baby and I won’t give the genetic thing a second thought. That we’ll bond. I believed it before or else I wouldn’t have moved forward with the transfer, but now here I am again: wondering if I will love this child as much as I should. I suppose I could eventually, but all I know right now is that no one would have to assure me of these things if it were my egg.
But it’s not my egg, and these aren’t my genes, and maybe that’s a good thing. I’m not that great. People think I’m a good person because I work at non-profits and volunteer and do yoga, but the truth is I’m vain. And I judge people. I judged a woman yesterday for wearing an oversized Elmo t-shirt, and I’m judging this baby for not being genetically related to me. I’m judging myself for being a shitty person, and I’m judging you for thinking I’m a shitty person. And if you don’t think I’m a shitty person, then I’m judging you even more.
Maybe it’s always like this for donor egg recipients. Or maybe I’m more fucked-up than the rest. God knows I’ve talked about all this shit before, but I sort of thought that the bulk of my grief was behind me. Granted these spiraling thoughts of gloom are fewer and further between, but what the fuck, dude? I’m pregnant now – so far, at least – and this isn’t exactly the time to consider whether or not configuring a genetically-engineered child was a good idea.
A pregnancy 5 years in the making, and I’m upset about it. Ain’t I a piece of work?