We went to Pride on Saturday. Last year at Pride we ran into one of Vanessa’s exes at the festival, and she had a 2-year-old in tow. We told her that we’d been trying at various doctors for over a year, and she replied that she’d gotten knocked up at home on the first try and that she could tell us how to do it if we wanted. Minutes later I was collapsing in tears on a friend’s blanket. I looked out for her this year. I wanted to let her know that we finally figured it out. Apparently all it takes is shitloads of painful invasive procedures, a ton of needles, and roughly $30,000. Who knew it could be so easy?
Apparently Vanessa was looking out for her, too, because I didn’t see her all day.
This year I held my breath and told a 30-something lesbian couple w/baby who came up to the Barkalounge booth to check out doggy daycare services that we were expecting. They said congrats and talked about how hard of a time they’d had getting pregnant—17 IUIs between them, injectables, and they had been contemplating IVF when they finally got lucky. What a relief to meet someone in real life for whom this has not been easy, someone else willing to talk about what a bitch it is!
Vanessa and I have been talking about nicknames for this tiny fragile something I’m currently harboring in my uterus. I favored “Dark Horse,” with acknowledgement to Vee’s comment in my last post—seemed quite apropos. But I didn’t like the initials DH, which lots of folks in the blogosphere read as “Dear Hubby.” So Vanessa came up with MDB for Million Dollar Baby instead, and that has kind of stuck. No, I’ve never seen the movie, but I understand from IMDB that this nickname could have a rather ominous connotation. I still think it fits and I’m choosing not to take the movie as a sign. If I were really looking for signs, I’d be more alarmed that our new neighbor was sporting a “Dying Fetus” t-shirt at the roller derby bout Saturday night. Apparently it’s the name of his band.