Monday, November 21, 2016

Knocking up your wife, the 21st Century Way

A quick disclaimer...this post is LOADED with TMI.  If you don't want to hear about it, best to skip this one.


You may have noticed already, but I am not as young as I used to be.  And, while she is much better looking than I am, Kim is EVEN OLDER! 

So, this whole getting knocked up thing was harder than one might expect.

First of was always part of the deal when we decided to get married.  While I have been pretty indifferent about more kids (I wasn't planning it, but I also wasn't opposed and I knew if I wanted to remarry it had to be an option), it was always a big thing on Kim's list.  And, while she is an amazing step-mom, we both knew when we got hitched that we needed to plan for a family addition.

What we didn't know was how hard it would be.

We started trying right away after we got married.  Nothing was happening.  But, we figured we would give it some time.

Finally, after a year, we decided to see the doc.  What's going on here? 

Our assumption was that there was something malfunctioning on Kim's side.  Maybe she was too old.  As I mentioned in a previous post, she is considered "geriatric" age in regards to making babies.  Kim went to the doc and got some hormone pill that was supposed to help her conceive.  I don't remember the science behind it.  I just remember that it also tripled the chances of conceiving multiples.  (I would just like to take a moment to thank my Heavenly Father that there is only one heartbeat in there). 

So, Kim's on the drugs and we're still trying (bow-chicka-bow-wow).  Still nothing.

One day, her doctor says to her, "How would your husband feel about getting tested?"

Well, of course that is the most preposterous thing I have ever heard of!  Why do I need to be tested?  I have a healthy kid running around.  My plumbing is fine.  But, I love my wife and we should check all the boxes.  So, of course I will get tested. 

Hey, look...something is wrong with my plumbing.


Yup...turns out that, even with my little man being totally healthy, brilliant and, you know, existing, my pipes weren't working properly.  I won't give you the details because gross.  But, there you go.

This pretty much means that we can't get pregnant without help.  And by help, I mean medical intervention...not Jason Bateman visiting my house one night while I am out of town. 

If you have ever been curious about one of those "donation" sites looks like, I made you a quick video.  FYI, while this is rated PG, it's still TMI.  So, be prepared. 

tmi post from Jason Pankow on Vimeo.

Sorry for the top to bottom video. Broke my own rule about recording video.  I must have been distracted by the boobs.

An hour later, after they sorted out the lame-ohs, they handed me Styrofoam cup.  Inside was a test tube full of my Micheal Phelps's.  Yes, in a Styrofoam cup.  The idea was that, as we walked our sample from the deposit clinic to the Dr's office (both located in Seattle's First Hill), it wouldn't look too weird.  It would simply look like I was carrying a cup of coffee.  Kim even managed to keep a straight face as I raised my cup in "Good morning" to the passers by or in thanks to the vehicles that yielded to us. 

Anyway...later that day, in the romantic setting of Dr. Oman's exam room, our child was conceived via Intrauterine Insemination.  If you want, you can imagine the romantic music and the mood lighting.  It certainly wasn't a brightly lit room with 4 people and diagrams of lady naughty bits on the walls.

And, that's about it.  2.5 weeks later or so, Kim woke me up before she left for work at some ungodly hour and told me she's pregnant.  I immediately exclaimed "Just 5 more minutes."

We haven't told Jason Bateman, yet.  He'll be sad.

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