Sex in a Jar

The call came in at 5pm. I answered the phone, "Are you ovulating?" "Yes!", she said, "we'll be there at 9. Put it in a dry, glass jar." Got it. "We're on honey." And so it begins. The letter came 5 months ago, asking so beautifully if I would have another baby, not with Mary-Kate, but as a donor to a wonderful lesbian couple. Close friends, but not too close. Connected, yet not. Similar communities, but not overlapped. I was honoured, touched, moved. A privilege. Indeed. To be asked to offer something so personal, so powerful, life-giving, and yet, so easy. Easy? Is it really? What do we hold close. Give away. Hold on to. Let go. What is us. Not us. Me. Not me. We pass on our genes. Is that us? A part of us. And why not give it away. To honour. To cherish. To love. To give joy. Passion. Sadness. Grief. Pride. All of it. Why not give it away. And so we did. I say we, as Mary-Kate and I made a decision in that moment. That we would offer this together. We would make this together. This would connect us. We would be a donation team. And what a great reason to have sex! The lesbians have called. We need to do the thing honey. Put the kids to bed. They're here at 9. They arrived at 8. Kids eating snack. And screaming. The phone ringing, a deep, slow voice on the answering machine. A friend in the kitchen talking about baby chicks. The dog barking. The door opens. "Hello!" Ah, the tranquility. "We lost your phone #, so here we are! We'll be at our friends' around the corner, waiting for the call." Got it. Launch the kids to bed routine. Teeth. Last pee. Jumping on bed. Read books. Jumping on bed. Last last pee. Stack of books on bed for each kid. And sleep. And duty calls. So the jar. This dry glass jar. Apparently, any drops of water in the jar confuse the sperm. Water them down. Slow them. And we do not want to slow these sperm. They've got a long journey ahead. "So the jar is supposed to be at body temperature when doing the passover," I say. "You can't put your stuff into a cold jar, and then warm it up. It's got to be AT body temperature," says Mary-Kate. OK, so I tuck the jar under my arm, and we go to it. But I can't really use my left arm. So I'm falling, kind of, squeezing the jar. Keeping it warm. Like those penguins in the movie with their eggs. Falling again. Then the jar squeezes out. We laugh. Jar goes back into the pit. And we get to the moment. The moment where we got to get the stuff into the damn jar. And it's a small jar. So there's all these angles, and pointing things, pushing, and whoah this, whoah that. And bingo, sperm is in the dry jar. Tuck it directly under the armpit, and make the call. "Donation is ready. Go team." So, we gather our clothing, and walk downstairs, and they're at the door. Fast. Yes. Well this part is very important. The armpit passover. We open the door. There's that awkward, funny air in the space. Pause. "Well, here it is." And we pass the jar from armpit to armpit. We say good luck with the turkey basting part! I was joking, but she calls back, "yes, it's actually called the turkey basting!" We close the door. And smile. Mission accomplished. Self passed on. Selves passed on. Life given over. We'll see if those little critters can swim.