"Kat," a single physical trainer from New York, has long wanted to be a mother. Now in her early 40s, she is currently undergoing Intrauterine Insemination (IUI). She has agreed to share her experience with us, although she would like to keep her identity private. In her first installment she descrbed her decision to try to get pregnant this way. In the second part she told how she picked the sperm donor. Today she describes the procedure.

I walked into a pharmacy last night to check out the home pregnancy tests. I’ve never used one before. They have tests for three days, four days, and even five days before you expect your period. I am trying to decide if I should get them. I had planned to wait the two weeks and go in for a blood test at the doctor’s office, but everyone keeps asking me why I hadn’t taken a test yet. It’s been 10 days since the IUI—too early to tell anything. Normally I hate suspense. But not knowing has actually provided some sort of bliss. It's nice to just enjoy this time, possibly the last days before saying goodbye to my “freedom” and entering the busy life of a single mom.

But this waiting period isn't exactly relaxing. Ever since the IUI was complete, I've been turning over the same questions, tackling doubts that married friends have told me they had, too, when they found out they were pregnant for the first time. What did I do? What will this be like? Is everything going to be alright? Did I make a mistake?

The night before the procedure, I stayed at my very friend Angie’s house. She’d agreed both to be the godmother and to go with me to the appointment. I was relatively calm and slept pretty well. I’m not saying I wasn’t nervous or nonchalant but I decided just to let it be, rather than ratchet up the stress level. In the morning my friend brought me tea in bed, then we did a little prayer ceremony and got dressed. (I wanted to look especially nice for the momentous day, I’m not sure exactly why.) On the kitchen counter was a note from Angie’s husband saying "GOOD LUCK" with a big smiley face ... we put it aside for a scrapbook and cabbed it to the appointment.

We were early, and I was getting more nervous. Not really feeling up to speaking. We got something to eat, took some pictures of me outside the bank, and went in. I was feeling sick, trying to read, trying to calm myself down. I’ve spent hours wringing my hands asking myself am I doing the right thing, what if the child is not healthy, how will I afford it? How will I have enough help? I have so much more respect for my mom, who at 23 had two kids in a new city with no family and no friends.

Waiting for the sperm to defrost, Angie said to me, ”You have always wanted kids, I’ve heard you talk about it for years. You’ve been out there looking trying to find the right guy in time and you didn’t, just do the IUI. And don’t make a scene in there.” She continued: “It’s a beautiful sunny day, your baby will be born at the perfect time of year—and don’t worry, because it probably won’t work anyway. You’ll be lucky if you get pregnant.”

Actually it’s true. The chances of it taking are not high. For women over 40, there’s about a 50 percent chance of getting pregnant over six months of trying IUI. I know so many women that have tried it three or four times and still have not gotten pregnant.

Yet somehow I know I’m getting pregnant on the first try. I have always thought that. We are fertile in my family. I have never been on the pill. I eat mostly organic foods, have taken my vitamins religiously since my 20s, don’t drink coffee, basically take good care of myself.

I had to go into this with the idea that it could take, because the decision is forever.

OK, the sperm is ready. They actually hand you the vial, tell you to keep it upright and walk it downstairs from the lab to the doctor’s office. So here I am carrying a vial with about 2 tablespoons of my baby daddy’s sperm through the hallway. We took pictures of me holding it, waiting. Now I’m called in. (“What am I doing?” Have I lost my mind?”) The doctor comes in and they put the sperm in in a syringe. That’s it, it’s done. No flinching, just a lot of cramping. I lie there for 15 minutes, my eyes are tearing a little from fear and a little from excitement. This is momentous. And now it is time to wait. Everything is in God’s hands. That in itself provides some kind of relief.

Tags: IUI, single moms, sperm donor

Thank you to all the single moms by choice who have written in. I'd still like to hear from you if you have a story to share. E-mail me at emma@thecomebackbook.com. (Putting "single mom" in the subject line will help keep my e-mail a little more organized!) I've picked Kathryn Quigley's piece as the first one to run because it made me laugh. Sometimes choices are that simple.

Pat Benatar said love is a battlefield. Or it might be a trampoline. Let me explain. For years, I have searched for love. There were boyfriends, hook-ups, and weird hot-or-cold long-distance relationships. Back in the 1990s, I tried personal ads printed in a newspaper. You had to call a 1-900 number to get the messages. I remember one guy, Lee, who called my ad four times. Each time he gave his name, but each time, he used a different voice. Perhaps he thought I wouldn’t notice? Perhaps he had multiple personalities all named Lee?

When I got a personal computer, I looked for love online. First it was “Love at AOL” then Match.com, eHarmony and Democratic Singles. Lots of e-mails, some dates, no love. Who knows why things didn’t work out? I am cute, funny and not crazy. But in addition to love being a battlefield, it is also a crapshoot. Especially on the Internet.

I did find true love in May 2006 when I became foster mother to a lovely infant boy. My dating life ground to a halt, of course. All new mothers know that the first few years are so exhausting that getting a shower becomes impossible, much less a date.

My son’s adoption became final in November of 2007, and slowly, I began to re-enter the dating world. I would like some adult conversation. I would like some sex. Or at least some making-out.

For convenience's sake, I once again turned to the Internet. I knew it would be tougher—I'm not as thin as I used to be, and now I am 42. Most guys search within the 25-35 age bracket. And trying to date as a single mother also has its challenges.

There is the time factor: I have none. If I want to get online, I have to do it at night, when I would rather be sleeping. Taking care of a three-year-old while working full-time is demanding. (By the way, I love the single dads who write in their ads: “I only have my kids every other weekend, so I have lots of free time!") Then there is the privacy factor: I have none. As I was writing the line “I would like some sex,” my son peered over my shoulder.

“Wat dat say, mommy?” he asked.

“Uhh, that I love you VERY much.”

My friend Mark suggested I try a new, free dating website, which shall remain nameless. Mark is married, so he might seem an odd choice to advise me on love. And his advice can sometimes be questionable. A few years ago, I asked him about a guy I really liked, but was afraid to make a move because the guy just broke up with his girlfriend and was still upset.

“Ah, go ahead and sleep with him,” Mark said.
I did. The guy cried afterwards. Yes. Cried. Then he leapt away from me as if I were on fire. Oh, and the sex was bad.

But Mark recently married an awesome, smart and beautiful woman, so I thought his taste—and advice—might be improving. Now, there seem to be some very nice men on this site—but they're not the ones who write to me. Instead, I got noticed by the guy who wore a Confederate flag in his profile photo. Another revealed that he and his wife decided their lives were dull and that they should each have sex with other people. Such fun for me!

Then came the single dad who promised to “look into my eye’s[sic]" on the first date. I can ignore spelling errors. I could not ignore that the dad weighed close to 300 pounds, was scowling, and had long hair and a giant mustache. Perhaps he is very nice. But he kinda scared me. I feared he might want to eat me for a snack.

I immediately sent Mark the photo.

“Look who wants to date me on this website. Aiiiee!” I yelled via e-mail.

Mark pondered the photo and wrote back. “While the Romeo in the picture may not look like the perfect candidate for lifelong happiness (having no smile and approximately 200 surplus pounds), you should check out the background of the photo,” he wrote. “The guy has a trampoline. Let the romance begin.”

Huh. I did not notice the trampoline. Could it equal love? Nah, not for me and Big Guy.

But Mark raises a good point, even if he didn’t know it. I need to look beyond the photos and beyond the obvious. Maybe I even need to look beyond Internet dating.

Love is out there and someday, when I am less tired, and freshly showered, it will find me.

Kathryn Quigley is a writer, teacher, and mother who lives outside Philadelphia, Pa. She can be reached at KSQWRITE@aol.com

Tags: adoption, foster mom, match.com, online dating