I’m not sure if it was the safe-sex lectures or the ‘girls can do anything!’ career advice. Mostly I suspect was the absolute lack of decent men. Regardless, it seems that my many years of responsible, safe sex have been quite stunningly effective, for I am now 34 and trying to have a baby.
It took a while to find the right fellow, you see. But I finally did, tucked away on the other side of the globe. While everything we have is great, there are a few hiccups when it comes to us getting sprogged up, or, as I’m wont to call it, enacting Project Pretzel.
Should you stumble upon this blog later, you’ll likely learn way more than you need to about both of us. For now, let me just tell you the most pertinent things:
• He has two wonderful sons (who I desperately hope don’t create progeny any time soon), so it’s quite obvious that his *other* boys are effective.
• I have boringly normal insides and quite surprisingly good fertility.
• His boys can’t reach my girls.
It’s a responsible-parenting type thing. My husband is so great that, back in his first marriage, which I like to call his practice run, he opted to get the snip to save her from undergoing the tie. Which was lovely and thoughtful. Damn him.
So here we are, at the start of Project Pretzel. Welcome into our world.