So I got this tidy little green box in the mail back in December, all cleverly packaged with a tube of...um, I’m not sure, but it was waiting for my spit, and some directions, and a hole to stick the tube in while I was spitting. Don’t worry, it wasn’t some crazy internet stalker thing (he prefers used Kleenex in sealed Ziplocs); it was a genetic testing kit from 23andMe. Yes, internets, I am offering up my genome for your amusement. Pictures of my kids and stretch marks just weren’t personal enough, so I’m contributing some DNA to science. For you, internets. All for you.
I was prepared to spend at least ten minutes milking my salivary glands for spit. The directions in the cute little green box said that as long as I had finished spitting within fifteen minutes, things would be kosher, and while it felt strange to be disobeying my own direct orders as a mom (“Would you for the love of God STOP SPITTING PLEASE! AND GET YOUR FINGER OUT OF YOUR NOSE!”) it was also strangely satisfying to drool into a funnel. After all, it’s something I apparently do for free all day long, and frankly it was the least humiliating and/or messy medical test to which I have been subjected in a long time. I didn’t have to take my pants off (okay, so maybe I did take them off, but only because they were so very uncomfortable. Nobody MADE me.), no lube or wand-like devices were inserted into any orifices, and best of all, the only strangers involved were thousands of miles away. So I guess I really didn’t need to say anything about the pants. Hi, lab techs! Ha ha ha! Eh heh. Whoo.
The hardest part of the whole spit kit experience was finding – nay, forcing – a thirty-minute window of not eating, drinking, smoking, or chewing anything. Hey, look here, pal: try being 39 weeks pregnant and not eating anything because you can’t fit more than a single piece of peanut butter fudge – no, um, I mean, a flaxseed and kale biscuit -- into your stomach at one time, or drinking anything because you are SO THIRSTY OH MY GOD, or chewing a Tums or maybe a nice plug of chaw!
Oh dear, I’ve said too much.
So I sacrificed a half-hour of perfectly good Hanukkah cookie eating time, and yet was sufficiently hydrated to fill up a tube with spit. If that doesn’t impress you, I don’t know what will.
And then? I waited. After all, I’m no stranger to waiting on the results of genetic tests; I’ve waited on the most awesome kind for, oh, about 42 weeks. Was it worth the wait? Oh, my, yes. I’ll keep you posted.