Hit Me Baby One More Time

Posted: 6 June 2005 in other folks, queerlife
Tags: ,

I have a baby board but I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of. I get more uncertain with every new baby that I tack to it. There are my nieces and nephew in a couple different stages of baby cuteness and pre-teen awkwardness. There is my college friend’s son, a preppie anomaly to his mother’s hippie genes. My best female friends sport a basketball team between them, complete with toddling twins, red faced infants and one beauty queen five year old. It isn’t a big board. Just a little narrow green striped thing with pretty ribbons to hold the pictures, a relieved donation from my more-butch-than-that wife.

There are other babies that aren’t there. My closest high school friend has two kids, one new, one his wife’s from before she got religion. They’re in Italy and were never much inclined to figure out this new-fangled internet thing. My adorable secretary in Brazil has a daughter with the biggest blue eyes never to grace my board. I have a dozen second cousins under 10. And today, there’s one more missing – a surprised fellow named Cal born three days ago.

I love having pictures of my friend’s children on my wall. I was half raised by my mother’s friends, a group of kids scattered among four sets of parents through Fourth of Julys, birthday parties, summer camps. When my mother needed to let me walk out of the nest, her best friend caught me at the bottom. I’d pick all of the board kids (and the ones that aren’t) up before they hit the ground. Meanwhile, there are no actual kids in this house.

I’m 32. Well, nearly. I didn’t expect to want my own kids. Independence, yes. A quiet home, yes. Adventure, excitement, personal development, yes. Besides, the VVM spent my childhood telling me I’d be a terrible mother. I’m a different person than she thought though. And I got my fair share of all the rest of it while darting through the last decade. But the bottom line is, I can’t get pregnant fast enough.

I’ve spared both of us, dear reader. I didn’t think I could stomach a drawn out conversation about how loudly my clock is ticking, how much of the time I want to be pregnant so badly my teeth hurt, how I’m losing the battle to be a Sex in the City thirtysomething and falling slowly into a Brady Bunch universe. I didn’t think I could stand to think about it, write about it or spellcheck it. I hope indulging myself will drive the baby dance back into the jukebox. Cross your fingers for us, because one more baby to add to that board is going to break my willpower. and I have no idea what I’ll do then.


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