River of Denial? That's Original!

Last night, after Max was put to bed and Nip/Tuck was over, I looked into the dark and still waters that are my husband’s disapproval of a sperm donor, took a deep breath and dove in head-first. I’m not sure if it was the shock of how cold it was or the sudden ‘thunk’ of my head hitting an immovable object that sent me reeling and gasping back to the safety of the shore. Whatever it was, it wasn’t what I had hoped, but pretty much what I had expected.

I’m not known for my subtlety, but I swear I was as calm and quiet as Buddha knowing that any high-pitched, fast-talking bullshit would send him running. It was all for naught. He says he just isn’t comfortable with the idea of an IUI with donor. He wants the “baby to be ours,” to which I countered with the impossible scenario: If some woman stopped by our house with a baby or child and said, “I just cannot take care of my child, and I know you would make perfect parents.” would he turn around with an apologetic, “Oooh, gosh. I’m sorry, but since that baby isn’t OURS, we just couldn’t take care of it.” Not like that would ever happen, but he knows he would never do that.

I then tried to steer him into the realm of possibilities. Maybe the doctor will recommend some additional testing. Maybe there’s been some blockage. To this Jerry responded, “I thought you were already tested for that?”
Huh? WTF! “Uh, not me, honey, you.”
“Oh.”
That simple interaction to me indicated he is on some level of denial about the Male Factor. He even mentioned that we probably weren’t timing things correctly before we sought out the professional assistance of an RE. Those waters I dove into? They appear to be the River of Denial. Hardeharhar!

I will drop the subject for a while and again push that fuckin’ white elephant back in the corner and cover it with a giant slip-cover and some fringed pillows and call it my chaise, just in case anyone notices.