What comes next will depend in part on what we learn from tomorrow’s analysis.  If everything comes back completely normal, then I’m fucked, no doubt about it.  If it comes back genetically abnormal, though, then we’re still in business. 

(And when did my life progress down the path of the surreal to the point that I’d be desperately hoping that the genetic analysis of yet another dead protosprog would show that I’m completely washed up in the egg-makin’ business?)

But I am.  

I think right now I’m leaning toward ignoring the damned frozen embryos we have in a freezer in Manhattan.  They’ll keep, but I’m thinking that their chances of ever turning into a real live boy/girl are pretty grim.  Not to mention the fact that me being able to survive another miscarriage/abortion with anything left to mother with would be a goddamned miracle and I don’t believe in miracles.  Really I don’t.

But I do believe in science.  I believe that there are some clinics out there with some pretty hotshit donor-cycle numbers, and I believe that as long as I’m paying cash, a few plane trips or train commutes would not be the end of the world.  I’ve found a few clinics with bang-up numbers, and a few clinics with out-of-this-world “6 for the price of 1″ shared-donor rates, and I think we’re going to find something that works, without going through too much more heartache than we already have.  Remember that pregnancy guilt I was feeling a couple of weeks ago?  If I  When I get sprogged up next time?  It’s going to get crazy gloaty in here.  Just to warn you all right now.  

Seriously, I’m feeling ok about the next step being a donor egg step.  I think I’ve had it proved to me conclusively enough (provided that my old eggs really are the culprit of tomorrow’s fun times) that I’m done.  I can’t provide the genetic material.  But I should still be able to parent, and I should even be able to gestate.  As I’ve mentioned, my body does seem to love being pregnant.  Can’t give it up even when it ought to know better.

So we move on.  The way I figure it is that this will be sort of like internet dating, finding a donor online.  Scrolling through lots of pictures, crossing ladies off simply because I don’t like the fact that their mother had diabetes, or because they’re too damned tall.  Definite potential for fun here, I’m thinking.  

Actually?  At this point?  I’m thinking that my main category is going to be “not yet 39″?  She’s a winner!  

God, I can’t wait to be past this time in my life so I can start to feel young – or at least not on the tottering edge of senility and the grave – again.