Why I'm Not Preggo

So, damn, I suck. I had a great streak there of writing on my blog and finally found a topic that I was interested in (albeit slightly controversial) and then I just upped and stopped. What gives? Well...I'm not sure what happened. It wasn't like I woke up one day and decided to stop pursuing pregnancy, although I'll tell you that since I'm single, not pursuing pregnancy is basically my normal operating mode. I don't have a good answer to why I'm not pregnant other than I stopped trying.

I just felt overwhelmed and unbelievably alone. I didn't have anyone I could talk to about sperm banks and why one bank cost double what another bank cost. I couldn't bounce any ideas off someone about the benefits of a Croatian/Israeli heritage vs a Greek/British one (and in my mind, iit all comes down to one variable: body hair. How hairy is that nationality and how much heart burn would I have while pregnant? Can you see why I needed another individual to weigh in on the process with, I don't know, actual legitimate reasons). Then there were the profiles. Sweet mother of God, the profiles! I have no idea how to pick out a good genetic match for unborn on the basis of a couple of sentences (that usually weren't written by the donors). Like I said pretty early on, once I stepped foot into this realm of solo pregnancy, I could quickly see why people start putting ads up on Craigslist. Here's what mine would have said:

Wanted: 50% genetic material required to procreate. Not wanted: Any contact with you. I'll pay via Paypal and you leave the goods on my doorstep in a cooler. Don't send any pictures, particularly of you as a baby, and don't make me read any evaluations of you, either written by yourself or by a third-party. Be drug and disease free, over 5'10 and less than 275lbs. Prefer Western European heritage and the ability to go two days without shaving.

and no, I didn't post that, although the thought amuses me. Every day that went by when I didn't make a decision, I was making a different decision. That decision didn't involve me knocking myself up. So here I am, not knocked up. For all of you who were rooting for a baby, I'm sorry to disappoint. For all of you who thought that I was making the worst mistake of my life, you can exhale now.

Here is what I did do, however. I joined a gym and got a personal trainer. If I'm not planning pregnancy, then at least I can do is get back into shape. Working out allows me to move my slightly obsessive focus onto another pursuit and unlike solo, queer pregnancy, I can actually bond with others about working out. Everyone seems to have a working out/trainer story and almost everyone in my office is on a diet. Really, I just caved to the social norm because it was healthier than drinking my body weight in Diet Coke and scarfing down Cheetos twice a day.

I'm in my second week of working out five times a week and, honestly, I thought I would like it more by now. I loved it in college. Working out twice a day, sometimes six days a week, was such a break from academics that I craved it. I had friends and girlfriends on the Crew team. I looked forward to going there. Now, going to the gym feels like some insane form of self punishment. Where is the high after a good workout? Where is longing to look in the gym mirror and see my biceps flex? It's just not there. I continue going mostly because of my trainer, which I knew would keep me accountable because: 1) I don't like wasting money; 2) I text him after every workout. For real. I'm basically the most high maintenance client he's ever had. He says he's into it, but I don't know. I pay him so I'm basically suspect of most things he says. I think that makes me a horrible person. I try and make up for it by keeping a food journal and hiring his beautiful German wife to be my grossly overqualified morning nanny. So, let me put this into perspective. I work out with him 2-3 times a week and his wife reorganized my pantry and told me that my food told a very sad story. I believe the plot of the story involved a fat woman, but I'm not sure because I was too busy bouncing quarters off the bed she made to pay attention to what she was telling me about my food. At least she didn't throw anything away! I suspect that might come next week.

So...that's where I am. I work out. I get my period. I talk on the phone at work. I take care of Zac and basically lead an incredibly boring not-pregnant-at-all life. I tell myself that I have time. According to Repro Guy, I've got eggs for days and that's at least a little bit of comfort.