Just plain weird

T's parents visited from country South Australia this week.

But I didn't see them. Her father refuses to see me or acknowledge me.

They stayed a week.

An entire week, from Sunday to Sunday and I did not see them once. Not even for a split second.

They stayed a suburb away.

T took our little boy to them each day, or she took him to his regular weekly activities like swimming and gym. And they tagged along.

There were no combined dinners, no "let's go out together and try this new Italian place I heard about" or "let's just grab a shnitty at the RSL tonight".

We dropped him off yesterday, Saturday, to spend the day with them while we had a hit of tennis and did some shopping.

I sat by myself in the car while T took him upstairs, and I contemplated the ridiculous situation as the traffic whizzed by my open window.

T's father would rather not have me around as a reminder of the sort of relationship his daughter is living in. A relationship he does not condone.

We think he believes I have corrupted their daughter...that I have got my hooks into her and turned her gay.

They must be pretty powerful hooks that attach with some sort of crazy-concrete super glue, because they've stuck and stayed in for coming up to eight years now...

There are so many things wrong with this situation.

Firstly, let me just vent in my not-always-fair black-and-white way. T and her mum should grow some balls, tell this idiot to get his head out of his own bigoted ass and wake the fuck up to the fact that life is short, his daughter is happy, and this is her CHOICE.

They should both STOP, right now, bowing down to this fuckwit and stop letting him call the shots, stop him standing in the way of the happiness that should come from seeing their daughter living the fulfilled, nurturing life she does: as one integral part of a three-person family.

If he wants to sit in a chair and grumble and moan about a kid having two dykes for parents, then he can do it. BY HIMSELF.

How dare he draw everyone around him into that swirling black hole of hatred and ignorance?

Right, now might be a good time for the rational me to step in. T has always had a brilliant relationship with her father...daddy's little girl and all that.

Of course, that went haywire and pretty much exploded into nothingness when she revealed the truth about us.

If any of my parents or loved ones had have reacted the way he did at the time that news was shared, not only would I never speak to them again, I would in fact take great glee in cutting them completely from my life. Much like a cancerous boil is sliced off with a white-hot scalpel. And with much relief afterwards.

I would be flippant and carefree about denying them, and gain salacious pleasure from rising an axe above my head - the rustier the better - and slamming it down on our relationship with a hefty cleave of intent.

Yes, you would be wise not to cross me.

But of course, that is easy for me to say when I am over here in the fortunate comfort of a supportive and loving reaction from every single member of my family.

And you know what is even weirder about all of this? He doted on J and both of them were delightfully astounded at his personality, his speech, his development, his mannerisms and his good behaviour (he really is an angel and this might sound corny, but almost every day, I thank whoever was responsible for blessing us with such a beautiful boy).

So, put that in your freaking pipe and smoke it, old man. Two women - and two women you knew and really liked before you found out we were in a relationship - can raise a smart, sensitive and caring boy.

If it was me, you would never get to see him. Because this type of behaviour makes me come over all vindictive. If it was me, I would take great joy in depriving you of him. Just as you are depriving your daughter from being completely honest about her life and the person she is, in her beautiful soul.

But I am slowly learning to chill about it. Firstly, it only makes me angrier if he dares to steal emotional energy from me, so I must put it out of my mind.

And secondly, I don't want to be another source of anxiety for poor T in all this. I won't be a slice of bread in this disgusting, mixed-up sandwich - and she should not be forced into the middle.

I understand it is not so easy for her to cut him out and stand up to him. We are different people and this is her father.

But she has always said that once the next baby comes along, if they wish to treat the kids differently (because I will be having the next one), that will be the end of their involvement in our lives.

Another reason why I so wished to be cradling a two-week old in my arms right now.

The final, relieved cleave could have already been cleft and we might be able to move on from this torment limbo...

Creation

"Your blog has been created"
Were ever more thrilling words ever written? Haha, I will try and suspend the melodramatic. Although, I must warn you all, I am currently on some wacky drugs designed to put my body in a menopausal state. So melodrama may in fact end up being the dominant theme of this little blog.

Hello, this is me.

I have just taken my first cautious steps aboard the IVF rollercoaster, although my female partner has been there are done that - the ups, the downs and the final spectacular, exhilirating rush to the finish that produced our little boy, Jay, who turned two last month.

Now it's my turn and I am 14 days into my first round of IVF treatment. That's 28 doses of a nasal spray called Synarel (cue the menopause and the homicidal thoughts) which helps prepare my ovaries for a round of stimulation injections. And they are now more imminent with the arrival of my period today.
Hang on.
What was that? I think I just heard all the men click out of this blog, right? Haha. If you had a penis and had already read the words "menopause", "ovaries" and "period" just five short pars into a blog, would you hang around? Really?

So, hello ladies, and hello to you, lone man who has stood tall in the face of judgment and hung in there, perhaps out of interest, or perhaps because his computer has frozen stuck on this page. In my mind, you are called Terry, you live in a garage above a kebab shop and maybe you are intrigued by this strange IVF process. I'm with you on that one.

I have started this blog to document my IVF...no, I refuse to say it. There will be no "journeys" here - in my mind, journeys should remain firmly confined to the realms of Idol, Biggest Loser and So You Think You Can Dance (and they shall be accompanied by fake tears and sob stories). This is my experience with IVF - it may be like yours, it may be like that of someone you know, or it may be completely different. But like Dr Phil...or someone, once said, "It's healthy to share". And now that I have joined a blogosphere that for better or worse doesn't seem to understand the concept of "too much information", here I go.

Feel that? Butterflies in your stomach, dry mouth and a whoosh of air as, thud!, into your body goes the bumper bar which has just lowered and clamped to your chest. It's meant to secure you snugly into your seat, but you are shit-scared you might fall out, that something will go wrong or it might not be as good as you'd hoped.
Ready? The rollercoaster has just taken off.
Click, click, click. Here we go.