Editor’s Note: In fairness I did warn a few months back that while I was coming to terms with the whole broken uterus thing and what it’s done to me I would likely have some infertility hairballs to expel. Here are two of them…
So a funny thing happened on the way to remodeling our house. We knew it would be expensive, aggravate our neighbors, test our marriage, and bring a whole new meaning to the word inconvenient — bathrooms and the kitchen (running water, etc.) are hard to live without.
We also knew that we would be subject to all sorts of fees that have nothing to do with our project but offer the city, nonetheless, an excuse to extract money from us. One of the fees stopped me in my tracks. It’s called the “School Impact Fee.” To the tune of $2,500.
Pretty ironic given that the house in question belongs to an infertile couple.
Now I’ve come to accept that a significant portion of our taxes go to fund services in the community and education sphere that we’ll never have chance to use. The party line is that we all benefit because good schools and strong family-centric communities maintain good housing values. Fine. But, that bright shiny, newly renovated elementary school within walking distance of our house. Never been on the inside. Never will be. (By the way, didn’t our last huge bond issue pay for that?)
For $2,500 I expect to have one of those mini chairs that first graders sit in contain a plaque with my name on it.
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Ever on alert for news of pregnancies I noticed that one of the guests at the surprise birthday party I threw for my guy was sipping ginger ale … while everyone else was sampling gorgeous looking cocktails. I tossed back my cocktail and told myself: Get over yourself. This is just the universe messing with you (again!) on a night that is not supposed to be about you or your uterus.
My suspicions were confirmed the next week. Said woman revealed to my better half that she was “knocked up.”
Note to women who get pregnant without having a team of reproductive experts at the ready: Don’t act like you don’t know how “it” happened — especially when it is not your first pregnancy. It’s, well, offensive to those who can’t get “knocked up” (yes, said woman knows we’re infertile) and makes you look positively ungrateful. The words: I’m pregnant or I’m expecting more than suffice, thank you very much.
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And for those parents who need a little more reminding about “knowing your audience,” I’d like to share an article sent to me by one of my lovely readers, Robyn, from Down Under. The author of the piece “Don’t Kid Yourself” is a parent herself so she and Robyn have earned a place in my Act of Kindness category.