I’m getting ahead of myself, of course (that’s nothing new – it’s my MO).  The baby’s not overdue yet.  But I’m preparing myself for that eventuality – reminding myself that I want him to come out when he’s ready and done cooking.  I’m fine waiting – so far.  For some reason, I always assumed he’d take his time.  So, we’ll see.  The surreal thing is that I STILL find it hard to believe that I’ll have a baby within a week or two.  Does that ever seem normal to anyone?

I haven’t written in awhile, because I haven’t felt like I had anything really relevant to say.  Mostly, I’ve been letting myself go into baby-prep-nesting overdrive.  I’ve had a few annoying pregnancy symptoms, but mostly I can’t complain.  I feel incredibly lucky, especially knowing how brave and strong other women have to be to bring their babies into the world.  Those women – and all they have to overcome  – are always very much in my thoughts.

So, today I started writing a tweet that kept going on and on…so I thought maybe it was meant to be a blog post instead.

I was thinking today of asking J to tell his father and siblings before the baby arrives about our using a donor egg.  We haven’t done it yet.  We meant to tell them much earlier, once we knew all was going well with the pregnancy, but J’s mother passing, of course – and rightly – took focus for awhile.  And then we just never got around to it.  I know that as soon as he arrives, there will be the inevitable speculations about who’s chin or nose or forehead the baby has.  While comments like that from random acquaintances won’t bother me, I think I’ll feel awkward if close family members are unknowingly putting their foot in it all the time.  I know they would regret unwittingly saying anything that could hurt my feelings, so we need to prevent that.

Not surprisingly, thinking about this makes me feel emotional, but hell, everything is doing that these days.  I’m afraid of their pity.  I’m sad to be reminded that my eggs are crap, that I had to take steps that no one would CHOOSE.  The reassuring thing is that Baby Faustin is very much HIMSELF in my mind and heart now.  It doesn’t matter who he’s genetically linked to.  This one specific person – with all his likes, dislikes, tendencies, and quirks –  is who’s going to join our family.

There are still some questions that swirl around in my mind occasionally.  J and his family are very connected to their cultural heritage.  They want Faustin to learn about it, which I think is great.  It makes me wonder, though, about his other half.  Is my heritage Faustin’s, too?  Does that count?  I guess it’s helpful that I’m pretty much a mutt, with no strong heritage at all – SO much a mishmash that there’s no one strong heritage left.  A little Russian Jew, French, Irish, Scottish, German, Native American, Polish…the list goes on and on.  It’s just one big stew now.  So, no great loss there.  Any traditions I pass on will be part of how I organize my family and celebrate holidays at home.  And my family is his family because their love will claim ownership of him, even if he doesn’t (thankfully) inherit my father’s baldness.   But I guess part of me occasionally feels like he’s got strong ties on one side and a blank on the other.  That may not entirely be because of the DE – maybe it’s partly because my family isn’t close-knit and hasn’t made an effort to hold onto family traditions.

And then all the speculation about Faustin’s size has made the donor more present in my mind lately.  How big was she when she was born?  How big was her own baby boy?  Were her brothers large babies?  I can’t remember how tall her brothers ended up becoming.  Mostly, though, these thoughts and questions flit in and out and haven’t bothered me too much.  They are occasional pokes, though.  My doula will say things like, “We are built to birth the babies that we grow.”  Part of my mind asks, “What about when science intervenes?  Is my body built to birth genetic material that isn’t mine? Did my baby grow to a certain size because my body grew him that way or because he was genetically wired to grow that way?”  I know there are no answers to these questions.  I don’t mind TOO much that I have to have these questions, because I’m in this odd, sci-fi situation of relatively uncharted territory where some things we take for granted just don’t apply.

Mostly, I’m excited to meet little Faustin and to finally look into his little face.  After over four long, hard years, and mere months away from my fortieth birthday, we’re finally going to have a baby join us.  I can’t wait to meet him.

– Patience