Who’s Your Daddy?

Much like choosing a CB, choosing your donor is a pretty big deal. I found all kinds of preferences and, honestly, prejudices, that I’d never experienced when I was dating. Suddenly, I only wanted someone with an athletic body type, someone taller than me, someone with thicker hair. I began to realize that I was searching for a donor that had the best chance of counteracting all of my perceived physical faults.

  • I wanted someone lean and athletic – because I’ve struggled all my life with a slow metabolize and was never thin or had an “athletic body type” no matter how hard I trained as a Division 1 softball player.
  • I wanted someone taller than me because I always wanted to be taller than my 5’9″ bulky frame ever got.
  • I wanted someone with thick hair and texture because my own fine, brown locks have always seemed so underwhelming.
  • I wanted someone with darker skin than me because I’ve always found my own pale, tan-resistant skin, to be embarrassing when I wear tank tops or, heaven forbid…shorts.
  • I wanted someone with obvious ethnic and/or racial heritage because I’ve found my own “European Mutt” background to be so difficult to find grounding in. I realized how beautiful it would be if It were clear where my baby’s heritage lay so we could learn about it, celebrate it, identify with it if they wanted to.

I’d never thought specifically about these things before when I was dating. I’d always been much more focused on someone who celebrated the fact that I am a strong, independent woman, someone who would be loyal, someone who would have my back, someone I could be honest with, someone who respected my boundaries…myriad things that were much more about a relationship and what kind of parent they’d be instead of what kind of baby we could make together.

But, without the concern of a relationship to maintain or a parent to co-parent with. I had surprisingly self-deprecating and shallow thoughts. It was positively fascinating. I learned all kinds of things about how I thought of myself as a woman, an athlete, and an aesthetic being. And given the opportunity to potentially counteract what I see as my weaknesses, I took it. I chose someone lean, who’s into sports, taller than me, thick hair, naturally darker in skin tone, and with clear ethnic heritage. I don’t know if any of that will actually matter to my child. And it really won’t matter to me once their here, but I had choices presented to me, and I made them. The rest is up to mother nature.

The rest is up to mother nature.

However you choose your donor, my best recommendation is to explore those choices. Embrace them if you want to. Try something else if you don’t. There’s a great deal of privilege in getting to choose your donor like this and I’ve chosen to celebrate that since so much of the rest of this journey will have very little privilege to be found.

Today, I ordered my sperm and notified the clinic that I’d be heading their way when my ovulation stick tells me to. I’ve had more emotions in these past few weeks than I can even begin to articulate. And I’ll confess, fear has been winning lately.

All I could think about was how many things could go wrong, and I was suffocating. And then, two days ago, I saw this adorable baby picture posted on Facebook, and it was like a light through the storm clouds. I realized that I’d been surrounding myself with stuff that wasn’t in line with my goals. Sure, it was the stuff that supported my goals, but not the stuff ABOUT my goals.

So, I did what any  self-respecting millennial-addicted-to-facebook would do….I searched babies on Facebook, liked about 30 pages about babies, parenting, and pregnancy. And since then, my Facebook wall has been flooded with exactly what I want, rather than exactly what I’m afraid of.

And with all those precious little baby faces, my courage returned, my drive, my stubborn resolve.

I hadn’t realized that I’d let my vision get so fuzzy, allowed myself to focus on the periphery of my dreams rather than the dreams themselves, and that allowed fear and doubt to have a field day in my head.

I’m back on track! And in a little less than three weeks, it’ll be go time!

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