If you haven't read the "Whine Whine Whine" post below, here's the gist of it: despite what I thought were acceptable precautions, I managed to get myself knocked up again. I am 11.5 weeks along. I'm not exactly ecstatic, given the one-in-twenty sibling autism risks, but I am guardedly optimistic.
Please don't think I take my overactive fertility for granted. I would characterize my outlook as more like that of Stuffy Pete; I am aware that I've been given far more than I could ever want or need, while others go without.
I wish there was a way to redistribute fertility fairly. Like Rachel, I would gladly spread it around if I could. However, given that the causes of autism are still elusive, I suspect my takers would be few.
Anyhow. Here is my history, which hopefully illustrates why I will never be one of those dildos who asks other women why they haven't hopped on the baby train yet. Apologies to longtime readers for whom this is all a retread.
Broken condom. Baby boy given up for adoption. (A baby boy who is not autistic, by the way.)
This was an almost-closed adoption, with pictures and letters trickling my way sporadically. Then his mother died in 1998 and their door slammed all the way shut. I've not heard a word since.
1990 - 1996
I radiate hate waves at every self-satisfied mommy and mothering celebration I come across, for my non-qualifying, unacknowledged maternal status.
Surprise pregnancy. I am ecstatic, because, dammit, I really want a baby of my own.
Well, too bad. Turns out it's ectopic. Surgical intervention can't save the affected fallopian tube.
My doctor warns me that many women with ectopic pregnancies turn into repeat offenders, unable to conceive viable pregnancies. She thinks I should prepare myself for this possibility.
1996 - 1998
More hate wave radiating. Some, conflictedly, directed at dear friends. During baby showers I lock my emotional trainwreck self in bathrooms and hope no one notices.
I beg my doctor for a hysterosalpingogram, to see if my remaining fallopian tube is useful in any way. Bonus: it's clear!
I am pregnant! Apparently this is a common occurrence after hysterosalpingograms--like Drano for your tubes, they rout out sperm-deflecting debris and clear the way for fertilization.
This means that I can't go on June's Arctic adventure--the adventure I arranged--but I am willing to make the trade-off. Especially as it results in happy, beautiful, perfect little baby Iz.
Holy shit, I am pregnant again. We were just starting to think about it. That's okay, we get happy, cute, perfect little baby Leelo.
Except he's not perfect, say the people who hand us the autism diagnosis.
And here we are.
And there you have it--the very last post on past caprices of my reproductive system. Scout's honor.
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