That’s what my daddy taught me. Well, that’s probably what everyone’s daddy (or mummy) teaches them, but that doesn’t make it any less right.
And so we did. Try again that is. Twice.
Saying it like that makes it sound so easy and breezy, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. This insemination was Indiana Jones and the Yogurt Pot of Sperm (I know, technically that should be semen, but I just can’t warm to that word), crossed with a particularly bizarre Monty Python sketch.
It went something like this –
After an eleventh hour dogsitting crisis, we found another sitter and after dropping off the furball, we finally got on the road, straight into rush hour. Our donor couple live about 2 hours from where we do. Sometimes. Sometimes they live nearer, sometimes they live further away, but usually it’s just 2 hours. They travel you see. I told you they were full hippies!
Anyhow, we’d agreed to see if we could manage two insems this month, so we rolled into the nearest town and pitched our little tent, before heading off to see them. There it is again, that easy breezy phrasing! “Seeing them” involved a short drive from the campsite, followed by a half mile hike across country up hill and down dale! No roads you see – in and out by foot or water only, and I wasn’t up for swimming there.
The next part was unadventurous by comparison. Once all four of their kids were in bed asleep, they got down to “collecting the goods” so to speak. Very quietly of course, with the kids just down the way, and us sitting outside. But then, they wouldn’t have ended up with four of their own if they’d not figured out how to do it quietly!
Yogurt pot of goodness in hand, we set off on the half mile hike to the car. In the dark. I am proud to say that I, designated Carrier Of The Goods, never even stumbled. It was then a short speed in the car back to the tent and the moment of reckoning.
Next morning, before we’d even managed a cup of coffee, a text message sent us scurrying off again to repeat the whole process. Heaven alone knows what the other people on the campsite thought we were up to, especially when we both dived into the tent again after just having gotten up, jay only re-emerging and then battening the hatches leaving me sweltering inside on one of the hottest days of a very hot English summer (which isn’t actually that hot in real terms, but we’re not used to it you know!) They were certainly twitching their copies of the Daily Mail like mad.
If this palaver actually results in a baby, we reckon he or she will be torn between adventurer and comedian as a future career.
So, to all you women out there who get this stuff delivered to your door once a month (and those of you who moan about having to fetch it from the Fed Ex depot cos they tried to deliver when you were out – you know who you are), spare a thought for us crazy Brits next time you get down to the baby making business. If nothing else, it’ll probably make you smile.
Good luck to all this time round. Into the TWW we go!
vee
