Happy hour gone wrong:

It started with an innocent confession:

Me (tipsy at happy hour this evening) : I saw  an adorable baby on my commute today, and I wanted to steal her. (but I can’t post about it for fear that if a baby ever goes missing in my metro area the FBI will show up at my door asking questions of the infertile-of-a-certain-age-and-her-new-beautiful-child-of-questionable-parentage)

Friend: Do you really want a baby or just like the idea of a baby because they are quite a lot of work (let me be generous and mention that she is 5 years younger than me, and while supportive in theory, is proving to me by the minute that SHE DOESN’T GET IT)

Me: I know how much work a child is, and my interest in having one doesn’t discount the effort involved (it isn’t like you can tell me it’s hard and I will change my mind-Follistim injections, repeated blood draws, and vaginal ultrasounds for two weeks plus are hard, but that isn’t the issue. I feel like  Premature Ovarian Failure pretty much means my minutes are sliding away like a giant hourglass over my fucking head. Even if this isn’t an ideal time to have a child, I can’t ignore the biological reality of my eggs and their GIANT CLOCK.)

Friend: Well , you know if you need my eggs, that would be cool.

What the fuck do I say to this after 3 glasses of wine? The good girl in me wants to say thanks and march her directly to the clinic for  ovarian stimulation and retrieval before she sobers up and realizes the injections, discomfort, medical procedures, and risks  involved (but I’d freeze the embryos because I haven’t come to terms with donor eggs yet-I’m totally struggling, and for those of you who have wrestled with donor eggs, I’d be grateful for advice as I feel like I’m in denial.  A post on this issue is forthcoming-I realize I’m being trite, I don’t mean to trivialize the decision)

The pissed off infertile wants to give her a lecture on the intricacies of being barren. I’ve been through this before with well meaning friends. Sitting here in my happy hour state I can think of 3-4 friends plus my sister that have offered their eggs out-right. I believe my sister. Of the others, I think 1 (of the remaining))/3-4would probably step up, but even she might have regrets. To be honest, it is very possible that I’d be overwhelmed with offers if I let it be known that I needed donor eggs  (my friends are amazing, and I’m probably underestimating them, but I’m totally emotional about this, and I’m most likely underestimating their willingness to consider donation), but that isn’t the issue. Frankly, I’m fucking sick of fucking defending that  I  want children. I know this isn’t a new subject in the infertile blog world, and I think that’s why I’ve tried to avoid it until now, but I’m tipsy from happy hour and done with listening, nodding, and protecting the feelings of my would-be-feel-good-offering-without-thinking-it-through-donor-wannabes.

I want a baby. Why should I have to defend my reasoning? People have babies because they crave  a teeny mini-me through which to live their hopes and dreams. They get pregnant by accident. They have children because they think they are supposed to. Why do we have to justify our reasons? Like most couples that give family building a thought, we have a mix of selfish and altruistic justifications.

Dear Friend: Thank you for you offer, but please don’t make offers of such a personal nature that you can’t live up to. This is a very personal and sensitive situation. I know you mean well, but I’d rather have your true support and genuine comfort than an offer you will regret when sober. I love you, but you don’t get it.  Sometimes a well played, “I’m sorry it is so hard. Is there anything I can do to support you?” Is the best gift.

PS: Congrats  on the baby, Friend M. Your daughter is beautiful. I admit I’m deeply jealous but even more thrilled for you. I can’t wait until I have the chance to spend the afternoon with her and her brothers. I promise not to steal her….I think:)