There’s a lot of information out there for lesbians who want to have babies.  It is 2013, there is information about, just about, everything, on the internet.  Unfortunately, most of the information, on this subject, is about the equivalent of a yahoo chat room.  Laws vary state to state and insurance company to insurance company and employer to employer.  Nothing’s cut and dry.  Being that we live in Virginia, conservative, behind the times, republican Virginia it’s not as if you can go to a government supported page and find out how to go about putting a baby in me.

Being intelligent, resourceful adults we bought a few books on Amazon that had good ratings.  We read a lot of blogs.  We joined the RVA Gay Parents Meetup Group.  We scoured the web searching for gay friendly doctors.  We contacted the sperm bank we’re using for recommendations.

We called and made an appointment, outlining the reason for our visit and our expectations for what we wanted to get out of the consultation.  We requested the day off from work so we could both go.  We told people how excited we were to stop talking about family planning and actually plan our first baby.  We filled out the five page form they sent in the mail.

We got up early, had coffee and headed to the office for our appointment.  When we got there the receptionist took our forms and added us to the waiting list.  There was a variety of people coming in and out of the office, none of whom seemed, even remotely, like they could be there to find out about ordering vials of sperm and the super romantic process that follows.  Ugh.

We wait.  Nervous.  And we wait.  And we wait.

Finally a nurse calls us and we follow her into the office.  She makes a snide comment about us both coming back. I let it slide, because I’m nervous and worried I might be being a tad oversensative.

As a side note, living in Virginia, repressed and conservative Virginia, there are times I have a difficult time saying my wife.  Virginia isn’t my wife, she can’t be, not yet.  Virginia isn’t my girlfriend, 15 year olds have girlfriends, I have had lots of girlfriends, she’s so much more than that.  Virginia isn’t my life parter or my companion or my pal or my roommate.  None of the words fit.  Wife fits, but it still feels like a lie.  And so, she is Virginia, and in this particular situation it is bizarre, to this nurse, to bring her into the lady doctor office with me, and so, I let it go.

We get into the exam room and she asks us a few chit chatty questions, followed by a few ‘what’s the reason for your visit today’ questions, followed by tests and measurements of me.  She leaves the room and we proceed to sit there, waiting, nervous and quiet.

The doctor finally comes in and is surprised to see two people in the exam room.  She sits, she asks us the same questions the nurse asks and a few more invasive questions.  We go through a brief account of my sexual history.  Again, ugh.  We go through my past medical history, to the best of my memory.

She then proceeds to spend the next half hour explaining how pap smears are done and how so many doctors make them uncomfortable, unnecesarily.  If I was at a bar, I would have found her theories about pap smears to be rather interesting, in this scenario I just wanted to leave.  I’d rather her actually have done the pap than talk about it for so long and in such detail.  I was starting to feel violated.  She went on to explain kegel exercises and how if you do your kegels it will make your pap smear more comfortable.  She went on and on and on.

All in all, we’re about an hour and a half into this appointment.  She then informs us that we have selected the wrong doctor.  That her office is not one that does fertilty treatments, can order us any baby juice or really do anything except perform an, apparently, orgasmic pap smear.

She recommends a few doctors that specialize in fertility.  We write down some names and my insurance company probably paid her a couple hundred dollars.

We left.  It was about 3:00.  I only know this because we went to Chiocca’s, drank two pitchers of Fat Tire, ate the most ridiculously large sandwiches while watching Ellen, went home and went to bed.  And, it was Valentine’s Day.

The emotional investment we had made in making this appointment is what, I’d imagine, a girl feels when her boo first asks her if she wants to start looking at engagement rings.  I had to ask Virginia not to bring up the making babies stuff for a while.  We didn’t talk about it for over a month, but I could give you a really nice pap smear if you’re interested.