Today I met my second potential direct donor. This is part of the next step in a long procession of steps in my trying to get pregnant through alternative means, the traditional means not having presented themselves recently.
I was a bit nervous about the meeting as I am with any new person, there is some similarity to an internet date, of which I have endless experience but this is much more surreal.
I was slightly prepared having met the first of this new breed of donor, 'L' 3 times so far, in effort to decide if I could actually share parenting with someone I dont know.
Today's donor S, or the Father of Modern Britain as I call him, was a bit different though, because he is married (albeit in an unconventional way), and although he meets his success stories by mutual agreement, he is not interested in parenting them as such.
SO despite it being Sunday, I got up at 7:45 in order to do my yoga and walk Mr. Dog before meeting him.
I had a bit of a time deciding what to wear, after all, no one has set parameters for what to where to your first meeting with the potential sperm donor/biological father for your children...definitely not too sexy but you want to look good.
And I worried as I always do, whether its an internet date, or this brave new frontier, as to how disappointed I was going to be when he would likely turn out to be not very cultured attractive bright etc...lower your expectations in advance, I've learned the hard way.
When I walked Mr. Dog around Primrose Hill, I mused that depending how many success he has had, in 500 years, Time Team would be unearthing skeletons and through DNA testing discover that hundreds f people were descended of this one man...
I chose a black turtleneck, grey jeans tucked into high leather boots and set off without breakfast ( too rushed) and with perfume (some things are necessary for a girl's self -esteem even when one isnt on the pull, plus you never know Mr. Right could be there just waiting to save me from all this...ok, back in the real world) into the unseasonably cold grey London day, wishing I was at home making muffins and dancing around the kitchen as is my usual Sunday ritual.
Arriving at the deliberately chosen anonymous cafe, I was not the least bit surprised to see an old-for-his-age very ordinary chap standing there- but not before I saw the ancient balding hippy in front if him who gave me a momentary fright, so it was with some relief I introduced myself.
We went inside, ordered our coffees, chose our seats, and began to have our surreal chat- much to the amusement of an arty (and rather dishy) guy sitting along the wall listening to us, barely hiding his mirth and taking notes (no doubt another point of view on this very encounter is being blogged elsewhere on this site as I speak). I briefly consider going over and asking if he was interested in becoming a donor himself while S was in the loo...
S did not disappoint, for the curiosity quotient, at least- I kid you not- he is a professional sperm donor! And has been for 10 years with no intention of stopping. He told me how he 'works' sometimes numerous times a week, sometimes a couple of times a day. He was open and positive, but he did look somewhat haggard, and I couldnt help thinking that it was somewhat of the same effect that working in the sex industry has on people; all that 'releasing' is losing just too much Chi as the Chinese would say.
It was fascinated to hear his story, and he is single-handedly (if you'll excuse the pun) and in a not so small way, changing the face of this country's population, I couldnt help feeling I was meeting someone who, without realizing it, was changing things in a very real and permanent way.
He was very sweet in such a genuine unaffected way- something I see so little of in the jaded world I live in, and couldnt be a bad thing to add to the genetic pot.
And, he has a vision of his numerous offspring being a network of support for each other, offering connections of a personal and business nature which I must admit is truly visionary...
But, could I make this man the father of my children? I dont think so...he wouldnt be anyone's idea of the ideal, in the Orwell-ian Utopian sense of the word...and I come from a world of very high standards.
Still, it was fascinating to meet the Father of Modern Britain circa 2010
Yet, as far as my own quest goes, 'still looking' would be the best way to describe it...
Why does the simplest thing in the world have to be sooo difficult?!
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