Tomorrow’s my psych eval that’s required by the RE for anyone using donor gametes. Woo and hoo. I’m sure I can fake sanity for the requisite 50 minutes. Of course, my dad’s coming to town to drop off some of my furniture (inherited from my late great-grandma in 1989, on extended 16-year loan to my parents) and I had to explain *why* I wouldn’t be home until 4 or 4:30. To whit: “I have a doctor’s appointment.” Which is not entirely untrue, I might add!

Lab came back from the RE – all normal, woot. Paperwork for the RE and the sp*rm bank are both done, just need to send them in. Psych visit is tomorrow. Everything’s rolling along.

So why does the psych visit make me so sick to my stomach? I think it’s probably that I really, really hate anyone having to “approve” my choices. Um, adult here, financially solvent, good career, own my house, stable lifestyle, good friends & family support, etc – but the idea of having to prove myself to this woman makes me physically ill, and makes me feel completely incompetent, and like a little girl asking her mother if she can keep the puppy that followed her home. Sigh.

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