I am convinced that my family is the catalyst to the end of the world via Zombie Apocalypse, and let me tell you why. For the last year and a half, my husband and I have been attempting to conceive a second child. I am just going to throw this out there, I am of what “they” consider “advanced maternal age.” I am pretty sure this particular pejorative was created as an attempt to be polite when calling me an OLD LADY, but I don’t think it is any easier to hear. Hearing that you are of advanced maternal age still conjures up visions of ovaries resembling dried prunes, support hose and rows upon rows of various face creams.
I finally decided to go get checked out to see what the heck was taking so long. My midwife suggested we do a post coital analysis to start. Yes, this is as gross as it sounds. Nothing like somebody shining a light on your vagene right after you’ve been soundly shagged. “Welcome to infertility, please check your dignity at the door and don’t forget to tip your speculum.” The results of this test were not positive, in fact my midwife called me over to take a peek at what was under the microscope. “See how they’re all dead?” she said. “Well that explains things, doesn’t it?” I said. She passed along some information on a clinic that does sperm analysis and I packed up my hostile vagina and headed home to share the news and take the next step in the process.
The next day we packed up and headed to Costa Rica for 7 days. We drank like fishes, while our son swam like a fish, and we had a terrific time. When we got home we went to visit some friends and there was a little accident with my son that resulted in an ER visit and a CT scan. Before going in to the room with him the tech said “are you pregnant?” I laughed and said, no. What I was thinking was “not with his dead sperm.” I didn’t feel like it was the right time to make jokes. My baby wasn’t doing to well right then and I wanted to get the hell out of there.
Fast-forward two weeks and something was definitely afoot at the circle K. I knew it wasn’t possible, but I had to check it off the list, so I peed on a stick. No shit, that dead sperm produced a pregnancy! And this is how the Zombie apocalypse begins. I am now gestating the undead. Not only that, but the “zombie” as we now lovingly refer to our little fetus, has had a small dose of radiation to boot! Our radioactive little bundle of joy is due in October. I’ll keep you posted on necessary preparation for end times as the date grow nearer.