Andrea Askowitz is the author of My Miserable Lonely Lesbian Pregnancy
She has also embarked on her “Misery Loves Company World Tour 2008” and will be having readings around the country over the next few months. If she’s coming to a city near you, stop in and say hi.
From My Miserable, Lonely, Lesbian Pregnancy
—Andrea Askowitz
Nine Months Pre-Pregnant
I made an appointment at the Kaiser Infertility Clinic because the nurse on the phone said they needed to assess what was wrong with me.
The nurse had me watch a mandatory video, “Infertility the New Solutions” featuring three heterosexual couples with a variety of fertility problems. One of the couples just wasn’t having sex enough.
I learned that if you have sex less than once a week you have a 17% chance of getting pregnant in six months. Sex once a week almost doubles your chances to 32%. Twice a week and you have a 46%, and three times a week gives you a 51% chance of getting pregnant within six months.
When the video was over I told the nurse I’d discovered my problem.
“What is it?”
“I’m a lesbian.”
Conception
I drive to the California Cryobank. I walk down a long, dark hallway. There is no waiting room, just a glass window that slides open when I ring the bell.
A woman in a lab coat charges my credit card $320 and hands over my baby’s daddy—donor number 3342—a vial half the size of my pinkie, incased in a freezing tank and a 3-foot high box with the words, “This Way Up.” I tuck the sperm behind the passenger seat and head to the clinic.
I carry the box inside—it’s unwieldy, but not heavy—and hand it over for defrosting. This was my second attempt, so I knew the routine.
The first time I brought my best friend Stephanie, who took pictures like she was the proud dad: me in the waiting room eating a peach Danish, my belly—pre-pregnant, me on the table with my feet in the stirrups, and even some crotch shots of the sperm going in. I’m lucky, most people don’t get good shots of conception.
I feel confident this time, like I’m doing my part in the world. The war in Iraq started a few weeks before and I have been feeling powerless. But today, I think: Maybe this is my contribution. No pressure on the kid, but maybe this kid will be a peacemaker—a sort of modern day Jesus Christ, as this Jew understands Jesus. And if this doesn’t resemble the Immaculate Conception, I don’t know what does.
Week 9
I take a bath to try to relax. The books say baths in the first trimester are okay as long as the temperature doesn’t go above 98 degrees. The bath feels perfect, warm but not too hot. But to be safe I take out my basal body thermometer, the one I used to track my cycle, and take the bath’s temperature. 103 degrees. I’m sure now, at 3:45 a.m. that I’ve boiled my baby.
I wake up at 8:00 in the morning nauseated. What a relief, I’m still pregnant.
Week 20
My family is involved in an all-out campaign against the names I’m considering. My sister-in-law, Lisa is the worst. She hates my choices: Sebastian and Raphael. She mocks the mothers at Dadeland Mall in Miami, calling after their Cuban sons. “‘Sebastian, Sebastian,’” she says with a bad Spanish accent. I didn’t know my sister-in-law was racist. Makes me like the name even more.
Lisa says the only job for a kid named Raphael is a hairdresser. I say, “Good, ‘cause I hoping for a fag.”
Week 30
I have an appointment at the Hollywood Birth Center, where I will have my baby using natural childbirth.
Alex is my primary caretaker today. She has me lie down and we listen to my baby’s heart. Sounds like a galloping horse. “Hi there, baby,” I say.
I ask her if she’s had children.
“Not yet,” she says. I tell her it sucks and she looks at me with no expression.
Then I try to be funny. I say, “Do you think epidurals have contributed to overpopulation?”
She says, “Epidurals are used in the global North where population rates are falling.”
She opens my chart. I don’t think she’s in the mood to chat.
“It says here you’re having trouble holding urine.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I pee every time I sneeze. I’m gonna start wearing Depends,” Alex doesn’t even smile, which makes me think maybe I should start wearing Depends.
“Are you doing your Kegels?”
“I hate Kegels,” I say.
“Well, let me teach you a way to make them fun.” I’m excited. I think she’s about to make a joke.
“As you squeeze say, I LOVE MY BODY, four counts, hold, then release. She’s not joking. “Let’s do a round together. Ready? Squeeze, notice your vaginal area tighten now tighten your anus and even your abdomen, I LOVE MY BODY, squeeze a little harder, as we release let’s say it together: I LOVE MY BODY. Good.”
“That does make it fun,” I say.
Alex presses on my belly and says, “Six pounds.”
I get hot in the cheeks. At this rate, my baby’s gunning for ten pounds by the due date. How am I gonna to get it out?
I’m hoping for a super-wide vagina. I certainly will have one after the birth. I know this isn’t sexually ideal for most women, but I think lesbians like a wide, stretched out vagina on their partner. The more she can shove in the more sexual prowess she thinks she has. Maybe someday this will be one of my selling points.
Week 31
I’m invited to a dinner party. I sit down next to a hip-looking, 50-something woman who’s in from New York. She asks me about my husband.
“I’m a lesbian,” I say.
“Oh, I’m sorry for assuming. Is your partner here?”
“I don’t have a partner.”
“Wow,” she says. Her eyes widen. “Good for you.”
“Why?” I say. “Wouldn’t it be better for me, if I had a partner?”
She’s not the first person to respond this way. Most people are overly impressed that I’m single.
Week 32
I’m finding it difficult to get laid. I go to a lesbian singles mixer. The woman at the welcome table looks up and says, “Excuse me, this is a lesbian party.”
“I know,” I say.
“Well, who’s the father?”
“Sperm donor 3342,” I say.
I go inside. This is bad, how will I get any if the lesbians don’t think I’m a lesbian?
I dreamt I met my anonymous sperm donor. He was blonder and not as cute as I’d imagined, but not bad. He had a big nose. I asked him if he wanted to be part of the child’s life. He said it was up to me.
He said I was a lot sexier than he thought I’d be.
Week 34
I don’t have the double-wide vagina I was hoping for. With just six weeks to go, my midwife advises to begin perineal massage to avoid the ripping of the vagina during childbirth.
Instructions for perineal massage: Wash hands. Place the thumb into the vagina and press back toward the anus until a stinging sensation is felt. Hold the thumb in place for two minutes or until the area becomes numb. For three to four minutes, gently massage the lower half of the vagina, working the lubricant into the tissue. Recommended lubricants include vitamin E, cocoa butter, and extra-virgin olive oil.
Perineal massage is best done with a partner. I find it difficult to lean over my belly and insert the thumb at the proper angle. Instead I take a back door approach and use my middle finger. I press slightly toward my anus and ow. I have a lot of stretching to do.
I am a lesbian and 2 really want to have 2 baby. Did this really work for you the first time you tried?
It took me two tries, but also five cycles because I couldn’t detect ovulation. I know that’s pretty lucky. Go for it.
Andrea