How we made our lovely baby boy... Part 3: NO! We did use a turkey baster...ugh!

How Tristan came to be
Part 3:

If one more person asks me if we used a turkey baster to get pregnant I'm gonna lose it! Let this be the blog to end to those dumb albeit genuinely curious questions regarding artificial insemination. It's quite funny because my black friends ask if the insemination process was anything like that scene in the season finale of a show called "Mary Jane". Ok so in this ridiculous scene, Mary Jane, played by Gabrielle Union, laid on the floor with her legs akimbo and asked her friend (an obstetrician..pfft..like I believe that...) to inseminate her with the ejaculate that she managed to keep in a condom from her recent sexual encounter. 

UGH! THAT IS NOT HOW IT WORKS! 

A woman would never get pregnant like that! 

Now my white friends ask if the insemination was like the infamous turkey baster scene from the show The L-word. I don't remember much about that scene but I think I remember glitches of a jar of frozen sperm, and a turkey baster being inserted in a vagina and then the woman doing a handstand against the wall after her girlfriend squirted it up there... Ugh! 

That is a bit closer to the mark but still way off.  I've heard some lesbo fables in which some women get the frozen sperm delivered to their house so they can do the insemination in a calm environment. 

Shiiiiiit! 

Sperm cost too damn much and we are to clumsy to try to do it ourselves. Could you imagine? Sperm all over the bedroom walls and us looking crazy with rubber gloves on with Kenny G playing in the background...ummmm no thank you. 

Let's leave all the sperm insertion to the medical professionals shall we...?

Good! Now to explain how the actual insemination works: 

(Again, this was MY experience...)

While sitting in the waiting room my doctor came over to us and handed us a small, crack vial sized tube with six numbers (the sperm donors identification number) printed on it. My doctor handed it to me and said "put this between your breast to keep it warm." My wife and I looked at each other and laughed. My doctor giggled at us and said "do it now!" 

Whoa! It was the sperm...it's really happening! 

As I was putting the vial between my boobs my wife said "that little bit cost $500?" Jeez, she was right because it was only three quarters of the way full. Ugh...straight couples sure have it easy with all that free sperm.

Anyhoo, after about two minutes my doctor comes back out to the waiting area and beckons us back into the medical room. When I walked in I remember that the room was dimly lit. 

Mood lighting??? Ha! 

Our doctor instructed me to undress from the waist down and to get on the table. She told me to breathe because I guess I was tensing up and she didn't want the speculum to hurt during insertion. I was nervous. That was a crazy moment. All I kept thinking was that we were to be parents and there is no turning back. 

The doctor took an empty syringe with a long catheter tube attached at the end and stuck it in vial of sperm. She drew back the plunger and the sperm went in to the syringe. She then walked over to me and told me to take a deep breath. She inserted the catheter inside my uterus and pushed the sperm inside. After that she tilted the table backwards so I my feet were above my head. She walked over to the left side of the table, grabbed my hand and then said "good luck" and walked out. 

It didn't hurt at all...at all. The entire insemination took around five minutes tops...maybe less. It was sort of underwhelming if I were to be completely honest. 

As we walked out of the office, the nurses told me not to lift anything over 30lbs and to return back to the office for an official pregnancy test in two weeks time. 

And then the dreaded two week wait began... 

As if I could think of anything else besides being pregnant. After every twinge, fart, burp, cough, itch, etc., I thought "am I pregnant?" That was one of the longest two weeks of my life. My wife walked on egg shells around me during that time but managed to ask "do you feel anything?" about a one thousand times. 

And I didn't because at the end of the two week waiting period I went in to the doctors office and received a negative pregnancy test. 

Ugh! I was super sad and I cried all the way home. My wife was super supportive and super gentle. 

For the next cycle we decided to ramp up the fertility drugs. I increased the shots and started taking another fertility drug that my doctor recommended. Unfortunately, that new drug did not agree with my system and it landed me in the ER twice. I lost 30 lbs in 3 weeks and was super ill.  Needless to say, we suspended the baby making until I regained my health. It took approximately five months for me to get back to normal. In that time, I was working full time and I somehow managed to finish graduate school and earn my Master's degree.

The very next month I told my wife I was ready to start another insemination cycle. 

She was NOT happy. She was super worried that the fertility medication was not agreeing with my system and was making me permanently ill. I couldn't blame her for thinking that but I was fine! FINE! I tell you!

I told her soooo many times but she wasn't happy when I made an appointment to start the insemination process that week. And before you know it, I was injecting fertility medication every night and back on the path towards baby making. Around ten days later, the doctor said I was ready to ovulate and she needed to inseminate me that very morning. 

Whoa! 

O.K. Take Two!

 I was shocked! 

Shocked but soooo ready... 

I was at the doctor's office alone that Friday morning as I usually went there before going in to work. My wife was already at work and I texted her to tell her that the doctor wanted to do the insemination right then and there. She was shocked too but I heard more worry in her voice than anything else. 

So again, the doctor did the insemination and sent me on my merry way. 

My wife and I spent that weekend in Fire Island. We ate, danced and partied with all the drag queens and managed to forget about the insemination...well...at least for those two days. 

Looking back on that two week waiting period, I can now say that I felt small twinges in the stomach area. It felt like regular ole' menstruation cramps so I thought nothing of it. 

But after the two week waiting period, I went in for my routine blood test and later that day at 1:00pm in the afternoon I received a phone call that would change my life forever. 

Phone rings...

Me: Hello?

Nurse: Is this Shavon?

Me: Yes.

Nurse: I have the result of your blood test.

Me: OK.

Nurse: You are DEFINITELY pregnant. 

Me: Huh?

Nurse: Yes, honey. Congratulations. 

Me: Can you check again? Are you sure? My full name is......

Nurse: (Laughs) Yes, honey you are absolutely pregnant. Please report to the office tomorrow so you can meet your obstetrician.

Me: (flatly) O.K. Thank you. 

I remember hanging up the phone and sitting in my car stunned. I was focused on this little piece of dust that was on the dashboard. I must have stared at that bit of dust for at least a half an hour before I realized I should call my wife. 

Me: Baby?

Wife: Yes love. Are you ok?

Me: Yeah....ummmm Guess what?

Wife: What love?

Me: We are having a baby.

       LONG PAUSE 

Wife: Really?

Me: Yes.

Wife: THAT'S AMAZING! 

Me: Yeah...crazy right?

Wife: Yes, I love you.

Me: I love you too. I'll see you at home. 

And that was the start of an amazing journey...

How we made our lovely baby boy ...Part. 2

 How Tristan came to be...

                                                                           Part 2:

After spending approximately $3,000 on two unsuccessful inseminations, my wife and I regrouped and decided to call a nearby fertility center. And thank the good Lord we did because this place was fantastic!      

(If you want the contact information for the Fertility center feel free to contact me and I will gladly pass it along.)

At our first appointment, we met with a wonderful doctor whom I will call 

"Dr. M." She was lovely! She explained the entire science-y-ness of "getting us pregnant" and took all the mystery out of the process. In this initial appointment, she showed us a plastic models of the entire female reproductive system. Now let me explain that my wife and are learned folk...between us we have two BA's and three master's degrees and a half of a doctorate. And when Dr. M showed us the entire female reproductive system and then started to explain all that has to "happen" to make a female pregnant we were surprised, shocked and quite frankly intimidated by the entire process. 

Dr. M must have sensed our panic and dread because she immediately  began to reassure us that all will be OK. She said "you ladies aren't the first lesbians I got pregnant so chill out because I only make cute babies!" My wife and I locked eyes, smiled at each other and we instantly knew we were in the right place. 

Towards the end of the initial interview, after we discussed my test results, Dr. M asked us how we wanted to get pregnant. She asked us if we wanted to use fertility drugs during my ovulation period ( to enhance the quality of my eggs) or to  proceed with an insemination au natural by only monitoring my cycle.

Sheeeeeeeeet! We ain't got time for au natural! We wanted a baby and sperm isn't exactly cheap ($600 per vial not including shipping)  Besides fertility drugs are safe right?...right??? 

My wife and I decided to shoot me up with those good ole fertility drugs. We could only afford three vials of sperm ($2,300 including shipping) and we wanted to maximise our chances for a positive pregnancy test.

After visiting the sperm specialist, and placing our order for the sperm specimen we previously agreed upon, we walked back down the hall to Dr. M's office and she gave me a brown paper bag that contained needles, syringes and several vials of fertility drugs.  

(This particular fertility center has a whole staff that helps you coordinate  sperm orders from the US based sperm banks. They also have an    in-house cryobank so the sperm will be on site when the woman is ready to ovulate.) 

Dr. M explained / demonstrated how to inject me with fertility drugs. You should have seen my wife's face. She actually turned green. I have only seen her turn that shade of green the morning after her boi bachelor party. I'm not needle phobic so I was fine. Thank goodness because little did I know I would be injecting myself with fertility drugs and then blood thinners for the next 15 months. (Keep reading to hear that story in part 3!) 

The basic instructions were to attach one of the thin needles to a saline filled syringe. Then slowly add the saline that was inside the syringe to the powdered fertility drug vial. Dr. M said to make sure we shook the vial vigorously to make sure all the fertility medicine was dissolved. After we threw away the used syringe, we were instructed to open a new, empty syringe and draw the medicine inside it. After the medicine is in the syringe, Dr. M showed us how to tap the syringe to rid it of air bubbles. To be perfectly honest, this was the only part of this process that freaked me out. I felt as if I was one of those heroin junkies about the shoot up. It felt crazy but I knew this wasn't that kind of drug. We felt this was necessary so we could get pregnant.

EYES ON THE PRIZE! 

The pregnancy prize! 

Ha! 

Now onto the moment moment of truth! 

Dr. M checked the syringe for air bubbles (and to make sure we did it right) then she told me to grab a hunk of fat on the front of my thigh and to jab the needle straight in. The needle didn't hurt because it was really thin but as the medicine was going into my thigh muscle it stung. A lot. I remember saying "oooooooooooooo" as I pushed the syringe's plunger down and took a couple of deep breaths and it was over. 

Dr. M told us to repeat this process and give myself one shot a day for the next 5 days and on the sixth day I was to report back to her office so she check the size of my eggs. What an exciting first appointment! It exhilarating to walk out of Dr. M's office with a definite plan! We felt so good and accomplished. I remember my wife and I stopping on the way home and picking up our favourite Mexican take out to celebrate being on the definite path towards baby making! 

Woo! 

After five days of injecting fertility medicine, we went back to Dr. M's office for the follow up appointment. I laid on the exam table with my legs spread apart in the stirrups and Dr.M put lube on a vagina probe and proceeded to check the size of my eggs. The doctor said my eggs were responding well to the fertility drugs and she was hopeful that I would be pregnant soon. We were so happy.

Dr.M told us to come back in 2 days to get our first insemination. Yeeeessssss! 

Two days later we returned to Dr.M's office and she told us that my blood test revealed that I was ready to ovulate and it was time for the insemination. 

Cue the dramatic music...

Dun dun dun... 

How we made our lovely baby boy...Part 1

How Tristan came to be...

                                                                         Part 1:

Artificial insemination is a wild concept. If I stop to think about it (and I don't!) the sheer 

science-y-ness (that's totally a real word) of the whole process will make my mind scramble. It took 4 non-consecutive inseminations to conceive the young master. The average is 6 inseminations so we consider ourselves lucky as the process is super-d-duper expensive (depending on your medical insurance) and emotionally draining. And no, don't even think about it, the purchase of sperm is not covered by medical insurance. 

(I do not claim to be an expert on this process. This story is an account of our experiences.)

For me, the process of intrauterine insemination (IUI) began with four diagnostic tests. I refused the last test so it was only three for me. These tests were to make sure my lady parts were in working order. The first test was a run of the mill Pap smear. Pap smears are uncomfortable but they literally only last for a second and it's over. 

The second test however was a doozy! The test is "affectionately" called 'the dreaded dye test'. If you denote any affection from that name then you are sadly mistaken! From what I understand, this test is done to check if the woman's fallopian tubes are clear from blockages and scar tissue. On the morning of the test, I gobbled down a mouthful of home fries and took a Motrin...just in case.  To make a long procedure filled morning short, I laid on a table and the technician inflated my uterus with a balloon and then preceded to inject dye into my fallopian tubes. When my tubes were full of dye the technician took X-ray pictures of both tubes. Intense huh? It was! And as soon as I got off that table of horrors, I took another Motrin! It felt as if someone took a leaf blower, stuck it up inside my vagina, and turned it on full blast. Thank the Gods and Goddesses for Motrin! 

The third test was to check the vitality (?) of my uterus. During this test, the doctor shot saline inside in my uterus. It felt as if he was poking and prodding every single one of my internal organs from inside my lady portal. Thankfully, the test was over quite quickly but the doctor told me to continue laying on the table for an extra 15 minutes because the saline often makes woman dizzy. 

And yes, the saline made me dizzy but it also made me projectile vomit all over the room. I guess eating a Burger King veggie burger and a large order of fries wasn't the best idea before having medical procedure. ::shrug::

While scheduling and then trying to recover from these medical exams, I had to keep on with my normal life. I was working full time during the day and taking classes towards my MSW at night all while maintaining a loving martial relationship with my supportive wife. In addition to all the tests, (as if that weren't enough) I was expected to give blood at different stages of my monthly cycle. A lot of blood! I remember one day before work, I had to give twenty vials of blood in one sitting! It was crazy. Thank goodness for Netflix on my smart phone because I needed an escape during that appointment. 

After a year of that craziness and the test were all scored and tallied, the doctor said my lady parts were all in working order. Woo - hoo! Now we were ready to make a baby...except for one minor detail. 

We need sperm. Ugh! Damn! My gynecologist recommended a company that shall nameless (They were assholes and had the worse costumer service.) and we picked a donor. Unfortunately for our bank account, my gynecologist did not accept our insurance and only accepted cash per insemination.

Ugh! Fine! Let's go! 

We are in it to win it! 

We wanted a baby!

The doctor told us to buy an over the counter ovulation detection kit and when we got a smiley face on the pee stick (which meant I was ovulating) we were to call the sperm bank and schedule an overnight delivery to his office with the intention of getting inseminated within the 48 hour ovulation period. Tricky tricky right! ::cue Run DMC's song Tricky::

We did that convoluted process for the next two months and it cost us a total of $1800.00 cash plus $1000.00 in sperm. I know....Crazy! It was super ridiculous because the insemination process only takes about 7 minutes total. We have never spent that much money in such a short amount of time. And when I got my period after the second month of insemination, my wife told me, delicately, it was time to find a fertility specialist who actually accepted our insurance. 

And that we did...

Chapter 2: What does cunnilingus, homesickness and rats have in common?

     My lengthy college journey towards an advanced degree began when I was just a short and jangly junior high school student of the 8th grade. My 8th grade assistant principal was a proud alumni of Morgan State University and to instill in her students the importance of a higher education, she planned a trip for us to stay in the dorms so we could live like college students for an entire weekend! (Crazy...I know... but it was the early 90's. The era no one talks about.) 

     From what I can remember, this trip was amazing. I can still smell the sweet smell of soul food that wafted in the air and carried us off the bus onto the campus quad. They pulled out all the stops for us! As soon as we stepped off the bus, we were greeted by hundreds of beautiful young sorority and fraternity members stepping and chanting their various organizational songs and strolls. They then ushered us to a grand buffet where they served us every kind of soul food dish one could ever desire. From fried chicken to smoked collard greens to hog maws and pigs feet  (gag) to the most mouth watering desserts like peach cobbler and red velvet cake. I never ate so much in my life! 

     To be honest all I can remember about that weekend was the food and how fly ( check that 90's slang!) those sorority girls looked stepping and dancing. I knew for sure that I wanted to be one of them and when it was time for college applications to go out, in my junior year of high school, I remembered those very "mature" 8th grade feelings and foolishly only applied to Morgan State University. When my acceptance letter came in the mail I screamed so loud I swear my ancestors could hear it.  However my girlfriend at the time was not accepted and put on the wait-list. (Insert tires screeching sound here) Luckily, she was accepted later in the year with the condition of attending some pre-frosh summer classes and everything was all well in our little planet... or so I thought.

      So let's fast forward to my high school graduation day. My mom threw me a party after the graduation ceremony. Thankfully my uncle was NOT on the invite list and therefore no blow job scandals developed to ruin my celebration. Anyhoo, a few months later, I was off to college.  My mom could not have been more proud. I would be the first in my family to go to university. My entire family packed my stuff and we drove five hours from Queens, New York to Baltimore, Maryland and as we pulled into the parking lot of my new dorm, I remember thinking "Oh shit! I hate this place." I quickly pushed those ideas out of my head , chalked it up to nerves and put on a happy face. 

      I attended freshman orientation weekend and I met some cool folks. To be more specific, I met lesbians... southern lesbians....how exotic! However my new southern lesbo friends did not hold my attention long. To make a long and very convoluted story short, the first four months of my freshman college career I came down with severe depression because I was super homesick. On top of being homesick, I caught the flu and was bedridden for a month. Then we found out that the health department closed down all the campus cafeterias because they found traces of fecal matter and other rodents in the food in storage facilities.... awesome.  The straw that broke my back was when I walked in on my girlfriend eating out another girl one day when I came back from class early. Needless to say, Morgan State was not living up to my 8th grade fantasy. I hated that place and it seemed to hate me too! So what does one tough girl from Queens do after all that emotional and situational drama?  She calls her mommy (I came out of the closet during that call...SURPRISE!) and begs to come home that's what! And that I did. I dropped out of school and ran back to New York on the first greyhound bus smokin'.  

     Thankfully, my college career did not stop there. For some reason I did not learn my lesson and went to the very next school that accepted my application. I dragged my sorry butt to Marymount College in Tarrytown, NY. But somehow while filling out all the mountains of transfer application paperwork,  I somehow missed the fact that Marymount College was an all women's college... shit!  I'm sure you are all thinking this is a good thing right?  Similar to be kid in a candy store,  or a chunky person being left alone in a pastry shop or a lesbian being sent to a minimum security jail...But that was sooooo wrong! It was awful! All these women were so homophobic. But the most surprising thing was that there weren't even any feminists on campus.  I  though at least there would be some topless feminist chicks that would scream for Women's rights at the random college demonstration. (You know there is always a topless feminist at a protest.)  Nope! These girls were so overly hetero it was nauseating. 

      I mistakenly went to some study groups metaphorically waving my rainbow flag in every ones face in hopes of getting some attention, good conversation or at the very least a drunken kiss but all I got was fewer study group invitations. I, of course, didn't stop there. Your not-so-humble author signed up for the woman's softball team. My thinking was that there has to be lesbo's on the softball team.... right?  Bzzzzzzz...wrong again! The only girl on girl action I found on that team was when the whole team bonded over their hatred for my black ass! These were some racist heffas. I remember they intentionally tried to hit me with the ball during batting practice . I'm sure this had nothing to do with my less than adequate batting skills. No...couldn't be that, they were just racist. 

      My lesbo search began to feel hopeless and eventually I stopped searching. Surprisingly enough,  around that very time my grades miraculously improved. Any correlation? Nah.  But just when all else failed, the softball coach introduced me to another gay student.  Eureka ...right?  Wrong again! Unbeknownst to me, this girl was two days out a mental hospital and was so emotionally sensitive that she would freak out if she heard loud noises. Well it's a good thing I didn't know that then because I wouldn't have invited her to dinner with me and my home girls.  I wouldn't exactly describe my home girls as "mean" per se but let's just say that if I was fresh out of the mental hospital the last thing I would do was go out to dinner with them. It was like dining with the leaders of Palestine and Israel at one table... yeah, it was that bad. I knew going in they both came from different worlds but  I thought at the very least the conversation would be interesting . Well I was right about that.  Dinner became super interesting when this girl began crying spontaneously every couple of minutes while my home girls laughed and pointed.  Yup they actually pointed at her. Dinner was a disaster! I guess diplomatic work was not my forte and when we got back to school the word spread that I brought this fragile girl in front of my firing squad of friends and yours truly was officially annexed out of social circle of the college. Admittedly the social circle had the circumference of a single pea but I was certainly booted out and next semester I transferred out...again. 

     And no, in case you were wondering, I did not research any schools and went to the first school that excepted my colorful application. The next spring, Long Island University (C.W. Post campus) was graced by my presence. This was my third college and boy oh boy did I have fun. In the two years I was a student at "Post", as we called it,  I made tons of friends, led an intervention for my roommate who was addicted to speed and ecstasy, convinced a girl to date me even though she had never dated women before and became the president of the LGBT group on campus . I was busy busy busy and I even had time to go to class . My grades were okay but who had time for class? I was officially a co-ed! I even managed to join a little crew. We were a hodgepodge of miscreants that did traditional college things you know... watched movies, slept through class, took the midnight trips to Walmart, and ate everything in sight . I thought I had found the college I was destined to graduate from but Bzzzzz.....wrong again! I'll condense the events that led to me transferring the third time into one sentence. 

I got kicked out of the dorm because I left my 4- foot glass bong in my room over Christmas break.

This led to me being fired from my resident assistant position on campus. I was obviously totally embarrassed so packed up my stuff and left school with my tail between my legs.  

     I transferred again and before you ask, no, I did not research and I went to the first school that accepted me. This time it was SUNY University at Albany. However along with my bong I also had my girlfriend from C.W. Post with me. We moved upstate together and all was well until four months down the line when I dumped her for a cuter and slightly butcher girl. That situation was fun and full of drama because we were living in off-campus apartment at the time and I sort of moved the new girl in while my ex from C.W. Post was still there. Bad karma ...I know, but I was young, stupid, insensitive, and skinny which was a recipe for causing drama and heartache.

       I eventually graduated with a Bachelors of Arts from SUNY University at Albany. My college journey was super crazy, fun, ridiculous and it taught me sooooo much about life and bureaucracy.  I was and still am the first in my family to earn an actual college degree. My college graduation was a joyous occasion and my biological father came and even wore a suit. (I only ever see him wear Adidas track suits so it was an amazing day all around.) I dedicated my degree to my mother because without her I would not have survived all the craziness I got myself into. But the one thing I did learn from my college years was: 

Before you make decisions that will affect your life... do some self work on your spiritual foundation so that you can be honest about what environment will be the most productive for your academic and social success. 

BOOM... lesson learned! 

Chapter 1: Why Blow Jobs are not the best thing that can happen to a teenager....

      Picture it!  It was 1996 and New York City was abuzz with big floppy suede hats , clothes that were six sizes too big (think the television show Blossom+ the R & B group T.L.C. ) and the streets played nothing but Teddy Riley produced New Jack Swing party tracks. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about you better google the shit out these terms...they are very necessary!)  But more importantly, yours truly was turning Sweet 16! My mother wanted to throw me a big bash in celebration of this milestone partly because she spoiled me rotten ( I'm an only child.) but most likely because my step father had died the year before which was super emotional and painful for the both of us. So my mom saved her pennies for a whole year rented out a huge banquet hall in some a**hole part of Queens, New York. My best friend's mother offered to make my dress and all was going according to plan. However, there was small hitch in the plans. You see, my girlfriend, who a huge secret at the time, could not be my date because we were not out of the closet yet. I mean it was the 90's and it wasn't exactly cool for girls to hook up with girls. Will & Grace, Logo network, and MTV hadn't warmed  those icy hetero waters yet. Nevertheless, this became a huge point of contention within our relationship that drove us both bat shit crazy but as I never say but should...what doesn't make you crazy makes you a stronger lesbo. 

     I eventually concluded that my Sweet 16 party was not the right time to come out to family and friends and decided to continue my straight acting charade. I asked my ex-boyfriend to be my date for the party because he knew I was lesbian and was very cool with helping me out with this big ole lie for one night. So let's recap...dress...check, false date...check, friends...check, family???? ...oh shit! 

      To mark this momentous occasion, my mom swallowed her pride and asked our estranged family from upstate to attend the party. My grandmother and aunt cooked a huge spread of mouth watering, greasy, soul food and served all my guests as they entered the party. In another shocking occurrence my mom invited my uncle. You see, my mom and uncle have been estranged since the big 80's for a multitude of reasons and I had only seen him about three times my whole life. (This event proved to be a last time I would ever see my uncle for reasons you will soon find out). 

     My family and friends were staying at my house for the 3 days that let up to my party. We lived on the second floor of a two family house. Our apartment had 2 bedrooms and we had about 11 people staying with us. It was tight as hell in my house and loud to boot. Black folks are loud...yeah i said it!  Needless to say my mom was uber stressed but she kept her game face on and managed to buy tons of food, liquor and snacks for everyone to enjoy. Unfortunately, my mom caught my uncle stashing a bottle of Hennessy and keeping it for himself. My mother was so pissed at him that her whole mood was off for the rest of the days before my party.  

     So let's get into the day of my party! Wooo -Hoo! Party time right ?!?! WRONG! The day of my party my mother swears to this day that she caught my uncle and his older white girlfriend stealing her silverware. ( Yeah, I underlined white because it was shocking. My uncle was a staunch Muslim and every other word out of his mouth was about how white people caused all these issues for Black folks yadda, yadda yadda.) Oh did I forget to mention her? Yeah well my uncle chose my party to introduce this woman to the family. Unfortunately, or fortunately we didn't have a chance to converse with her because they were sucking face (dry heaving is totally appropriate now) in front of the entire family and all my friends the entire weekend...they had no shame! Anyhoo, I have no idea when my mother saw this supposed thievery but to this day she maintains he is a silverware thief. 

     My party turned out okay. If "meh" was a term in the 90's I would have said "meh" a lot! My best friend's mom made my dress, which was dope, but it didn't fit the way I imagined it because my boobs were nonexistent...and still are...ugh! My mom even paid for me to get my hair professionally done. Too bad I hated the way it turned out but when I think back at the time of my life I realize that I hated most things. But I was a teenager and it was par for the course. The music was good and all my friends seemed to be having a good time until my uncle and his girlfriend took to the floor. The words "shock" and "awe" immediately come to mind and when they started making love on the dance floor it was fraking GROSS! It was the most horrifying thing I'd ever seen. The entire party came to a screeching halt and all my friends watched with horrified amazement. My uncle and his girlfriend were one thrust away from having full on sex on the damn dance floor. They were gyrating, shaking, kissing, and doing all kinds of wrong in the middle of the floor. And boy oh boy was it wrong! I distinctly remember seeing my uncle's hand go up the inside split of her dress and it remained there for an obscene amount of time... emphasis on the obscene. I stood there watching like it was a car wreck and I was fascinated by the sheer horror of the event. By the grace of the Almighty the song ended and they left the dance floor. Trust me, that three minutes was the longest three minutes of my life. They then, by some added grace, went outside to get some air. They probably needed to come down from the disgusting orgasms they had on the dance floor. (Again, dry heave as needed...) After my uncle and his girlfriend left the room I actually started to enjoy my party. I danced with my friends, blew out my candles (my cake was stunning) and managed to avoid any further drama. Or so I thought...

     By the end of the weekend, all my family went home and my life went  back to normal . I was excited to go to school the next day to hear my friends talk about my party. I knew they would give me honest feedback but I had no idea what they were about say and I was in no way ready for it! I was giddy on the way to school and I couldn't wait for Monday morning. I wanted and craved the attention I was sure to get but unfortunately the attention I was to receive but not the attention I craved. To fully express the horror in what I'm about to explain to you I can only do so in dialogue form, so let's begin the play! (Places everyone!)

A group of my guy friends walk up to me with cheesy grins and say:  

Boys:"Yo Shavon! Your uncle is the man"
Me: "Hahahahaha that's funny.Why do you say that" ?

Boys :"Yo, he made his girlfriend give him a blow job front of us !"
Me : "Stop playing! That's disgusting! "
Boys:"No, for real. He shoved her head down towards his dick and said look this is how you do it. It was amazing! "
Me : horrified shock, face palm, passes out on the floor

     So now the only thing my friends remember about my Sweet 16 is my uncle and his drunken blow job lesson! NOT ME, not my party favors, not my hair or the food or the DJ or how amazing I looked dancing, not how fantastic everything was but just this infamous blow job ! So no, blow jobs are not the best thing that can happen to a teenager!