Well, I never even got a positive pee stick this month. Did you know that some months you just don’t ovulate? I didn’t.
“If you’re a girl they don’t tell you jack shit about your body,” says my sister, who now knows everything.
I hang around the Internet, wondering if I am pregnant. I’m Googling early signs of pregnancy like mad, because things keep happening -- I get a little nauseous in the back of a cab! I never get nauseous in the back of a cab! I must be pregnant! Or -- god, that body lotion smells disgusting, I must be pregnant!
Nope -- that body lotion just smells disgusting. Almond and ylang-ylang? Bad call, Lush.
The signs of PMS -- sore, sexy tits; bloating; unending cravings for cheese steak and ice cream -- they are all the signs of early pregnancy, too. There’s nothing to do except obsessively read things online.
I read about Cat eating Kleenex as an appetite suppressant on xoJane. I’ve always wondered about that. Turns out, it fills you up and then you’re hungry in an hour, same as non-paper product snacks. Just eat some nuts or something, what’s the diff? I guess sometimes it’s fun to be self-destructive.
Scrolling down through the comments I read some ladies talking about the HGC Diet.
"Watch out you don’t get pregnant, tho!" A few ladies make comments like that. What’s this -- a diet that can get you pregnant?! I start searching HGC Diet to see what these crazy bitches are talking about.
HGC is Human Chorionic Gonadotropin, a hormone that an embryo kicks out in order to get your body pumping progesterone, which in turn makes a nice nest of blood cells and whatnot in your uterus. Later the placenta makes it.
And guess what? It makes non-pregnant people get way skinny. If they take shots of it while eating only 500 calories a day. But waittasecond -- won’t just eating 500 calories make you get way skinny? I guess sometimes it’s fun to inject weird hormones extracted from the urine of pregnant women.
What gets me excited, though, is that a shot of this stuff induces ovulation within 30-40 hours! Oh, what joy, to be able to cook the egg drop soup yourself and not just sit around waiting for a lazy fallopian waiter to deliver it to your uterine table. Oh, damn -- that was a METAPHOR MULTIBALL!
Anyway, I dig deeper into the Internet world of fertility drugs and decide to ask Sandwich to pick a bottle of the oral fertility med Clomid while she’s holidaying in Baja. God bless Mexico and it’s prescription-free pharmacies. Once I came back from Mexico with a purse full of Acyclovir, Amoxicillin, Diflucon, these amazing pink, egg-shaped suppositories that cure BV and yeast infections at the same time (what up USA, get competitive!), and Viagra. The pharmacist totally judged me.
Sandwich, will you get me Clomid in Mexico? I figure she’ll just think I’m joking, but Sandwich is so true blue she totally hit the Pharmacia looking for fertility drugs. Sadly, she had gotten sick at the start of her vacation and passed out into a metal gate, with her glasses on, so she had two big black eyes and was traveling with these bros who looked like frat dudes, and the pharmacists seemed to think she was a battered, kidnapped woman brought to Mexico to breed octuplets with fratty bro dudes.
“You want to GET pregnant? Or you want to NOT get pregnant?” They kept asking her tenderly. “Maybe you want something for your eyes?”
Sandwich stopped by San Francisco on her way back from Mexico with no Clomid, but with a super-tough black eye. I guess sometimes it’s fun to look self-destructive.
Anyway, I got other things going for me. My witch, Dori Midnight, sends me a jar of honey charmed with a fertility spell. Every modern women should have a witch, like having a hair stylist or Pilates instructor. Dori lives in the woods of Massachusetts, where her tiny poodle Rainbow spars with bear cubs among the evergreens. How’s that for magic?
She tells me to make a baby altar and talk to the universe and ask them to send me a little person that I can love forever. I start eating the honey by the spoonful -- big, golden globs of it. I like the things you have to do to help yourself get pregnant. Have orgasms, eat magic honey.
I set up a baby altar. Because I’m too busy to go to the witch store in the Mission I grab my supplies at Walgreens and feel totally gross about it. Like -- really? You’re making a magical baby altar to summon a special spirit into your body from the beyond, and you’re using a slightly glittered votive candle that smalls like synthetic vanilla? I grab a package of pacifiers while I’m at it.
In my day we called pacifiers Binkys, after a brand name, I think. Dashiell, a tad younger than I, called them Nuks, and this is the brand I grab and it makes me think of Dashiell and how I’m hopefully going to be pregnant, and she is going to go through it with me, and it’s so wild, it is really just the wildest thing ever, to decide to be a single mom and then meet the person of my dreams and suddenly everything is different, and better than I’d ever hoped.
After years of struggling to retain my belief in LOVE, I’d settled into a melancholy acceptance best summarized, as many things are, with a Morrissey lyric: Love is natural and real / But not for you, my love.
Like, love was real and awesome and some people were lucky enough to build a sweet, fun family with their true love and then grow into one of those adorable elderly couples who dress really great and are still in love when they’re 80, but that’s just not my path in this life. I get other things. Awesome things. I’ve got nothing to complain about, but still.
And now here’s Dashiell. Back at home I arranged my trashy Walgreens baby altar, placing the Nuk by the scented candle. My friend Daria gave me a stick of palo santo, and I burn that and scan my room for other items that could work on a baby altar. A package of seeds from my friend who runs an urban farm. That’s good.
I sit before the altar and sip some Sleepytime with the charmed honey, and ask the universe to send me a person to love forever. Besides Dashiell. I’m feeling greedy.
In the morning I make a breakfast snack of English muffin with peanut butter and charmed fertility honey. It’s so good!
When I finish off the jar I wash it out and place the scented candle in it. I rinse of the star anise that had been inside it and put that on my altar, too. A five-fingered star, like a tiny person. The altar is totally coming together.
Next Week: Is Quentin "donorsexual"?!