I’ve got some sperm in the bank . . . still. As many younger transgender women do before starting on hormone replacement therapy, I wanked into a plastic cup a couple times a month for about half a year and had my little swimmers cryogenically frozen. I don’t think about it that often but it’s always kind of in the back of my mind. Every time we get the annual notice that the storage fee is due I’m forced to decide whether to pay for another year in the freezer or to have my little spermcicles discarded.

The older I get the more my maternal instincts begin to fade and the closer I get to feeling okay with the fact that I will never have children. I’ve never felt completely attached to the idea anyway. In fact more and more I find myself thinking, “I’m SO glad I never had kids!” and less and less thinking, “I hope someday I can have children of my own.”. However, the fact that I can still lose myself in the fantasy of children from time to time is pretty potent.

Ideally I would have a child or children with Trixie. In fact we spent a fair amount of time trying to conceive before I transitioned. She even had a blog, Fertile Trixie, dedicated to it. We’ve often fantasized about what our kids would be like. There are so many directions you can go with that one. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it have my curly hair and Trixie’s blue eyes? Would it have Trixie’s ADD and/or my alcoholism? Would it be athletic or a bookworm or both!?! Yes, we’ve even picked out names.

Trixie has always had misgivings about carrying a child though and now is at the age where it’s even more dangerous. The expense of harvesting and storing her eggs is also not a reality for us right now. Not to mention the headache and expense of finding a surrogate. So this fantasy seems to always get tamped down by those pesky realities.

I’ve also fantasized about donating the sperm to a younger woman wanting to be a single mother or a lesbian or trans man/cisgender woman couple. So many little fantasies about pushing my DNA forth into a new generation! Sometimes I fantasize about being the equal partner and having some type of custodial rights. Other times I am the eccentric aunt who comes to visit every month or two, showering the child with gifts and love and affection before disappearing again for few months.

In still other fantasies I have no contact until one day as an old lady, a stranger shows up on my doorstep and proclaims to be my long lost child. We sip tea together as they fill me with stories of their life and we laugh as we discover all the similar traits we share. Then I look up and see my nose or my hair or my eyes reflecting back at me. They show me pictures of my grand kids and brag about how smart they are or how athletic they are or how well they play their musical instruments. It’s all pretty silly, I know. But still . . . all pretty potent.

So every year when the bill comes in the mail and I ask myself, “Is worth paying for another year of this sperm that I am probably never going to use to be stored?” What I’m really asking myself is, “Is it really worth spending that kind of money simply to have the ability to indulge these progenetic fantasies from time to time or is it time to finally let them go?”

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