Unless you’ve been living under a rock, or in some weed-induced belief that we’re still in the Clinton administration, times are a little tough.
The dollar doesn’t really go as far as it used to, does it? As I said to a good friend of mine the other day when lamenting about my own deteriorating financial situation, “I feel like everything on this safari has cost me twice what it should have.”
Of course it does. Welcome to Washington. We hope you’ll be here a while.
A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting outside on the balcony reading the City Paper while Brandon was smoking. In addition to snickering like a 12-year-old boy at various “service” ads, one caught my attention.
Its slick language was something along the lines of “Get great financial compensation for giving a family hope.” Doesn’t that just make you feel warm and fuzzy? Like you want to hug your Grandma?
But this wasn’t giving a family hope in that “Vote for Barack Obama” kind of way. This was about giving an infertile couple a chance to have a baby. Yours. From your egg.
“Brandon!! Look! I can totally sell my eggs. It’s not like I’m going to use them,” I said excitedly as I jumped up to hand him the City Paper.
My enthusiasm was not met with similar enthusiasm, which isn’t an oddity in our relationship, but I was surprised nonetheless. I had totally come up with a beautiful solution for recovering the expense of moving and I was going to help a woman who truly wanted a child of her own and couldn’t have one.
“Could you handle that?” he asked. “Would you really be able to NOT think about how somewhere, your child is out there.”
“But it’s not my child,” I countered. “It’s just my equipment put in someone else’s body who carried it. It’s not like I’m giving birth.”
My argument was not easily accepted, and the more I thought about it, he’s right. It would be odd for me to think about, in say, 16 years, that I had a kid driving a car somewhere, probably just as bad at making left turns and parking as I am — and they’d have no way of knowing why they couldn’t make left turns or park. They’d never know how they got that part of their genetic makeup.
But, apparently, I’m not the only person who entertained that thought.
I saw on CNN.com this afternoon a story about a woman who sold her eggs — because of the economy!
OK, if I was on the fence before, I’m off the fence because this is NOT an easy process. And for someone who hates doctors as much as I do, I’m not sure going through all of this is worth it. And, as much as I hate to admit it, Brandon’s right — I never would be able to get out of my head the thought of someone who may look like me, act like me, be afraid of mushrooms, etc., being out there roaming around.
But it’s an interesting moral question, isn’t it? I don’t know if I’ll ever have children. I likely won’t. Compared to some of the dirtbags out there who do have children, I’m top-shelf breeding material. I’m reasonably attractive, I’m moderately intelligent, I’m painfully humble (ha!). Could the argument be made that I should help populate the world with people like me? (God help us all. That may be a really, really bad idea.)
On the other hand, though, isn’t it kind of amazing the choices a crappy economy can force people to make?