My wife and I are getting ready to embark on expanding our family to advance the gay agenda… I mean, to include a baby. As you may imagine, this doesn’t happen by wishing. In fact, it happens with regular appointments at the fertility doctor, visits to sperm bank websites, and confused phone calls. It is a very deliberate process and it makes me crazy that I can’t have the spontaneous, “Hooray, you’re pregnant!” moment. So, in conclusion, my narration:
OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG what if we are terrible parents and I drop the kid on its head and then it is broken forever and it’s all my fault the end.
Oh, of course my insurance is denying my infertility benefits. Even though I pay into the plan that provides excellent infertility benefits. Because there is nothing medically wrong about me or my partner except that neither of us produce sperm.
Thanks, fertility doctor money guy. Please continue to tell me how awesome my insurance is when I’ve just told you that we won’t be able to use it.
Wait, IUI is also not covered by my insurance? And only provides a twenty percent success rate? At $360 a pop?
Good lord, donor sperm is expensive. This kid better be a magical unicorn.
Dear magical unicorn baby: Sorry you can’t go to college, we spent our life savings bringing you into existence. YOU’RE WELCOME.
Wait, my job has NO paid maternity leave? Except maybe some disability?
I’m already trying to figure out what clever remarks I’m going to have when people ask me impolite questions about my child’s paternity and/or imply that we are damaging it by raising it without a father. So far, all I’ve come up with is a very cold “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” I think I will need to keep a list of the awkward questions I will receive at my office. Because I will. And it will be epic.
Sometimes I worry that I won’t like my kid if they’re ugly. Or hate to read. Or are a jerk, like my cat. And then I remember the power of hormones.
Are we sure we can’t start shopping for baby stuff before I’m knocked up? (No, must pay for baby.) Even at Target? (ESPECIALLY at Target.)
Dear magical unicorn baby: I would like to apologize in advance for all of the people out there who will be mean to you just because you have two moms. I promise to try to give you some things you can say to them that will help point out that you are awesome and they are dicks. Because you don’t exist yet and you are still more awesome than those metaphorical jerk people. Plus, they don’t know about monkeys wearing pants, so really, you should feel sorry for them. I hope you don’t resent us for putting you in a place to have awkward conversations for the rest of your life. Let’s face it, you’re being raised by two awkward people, so that was going to happen anyway. And I hope you don’t resent us for not providing a father figure to you. We promise you’ll have lots of super excited granddads and uncles and almost-uncles to be a part of your life. And also, I promise you I will always love you so hard. Except when you vomit on me at 3am. Then I might want to look into the return policy.
I just swore in my letter to my metaphorical magical unicorn baby. SHIT.
I have a feeling I will spend the entire pregnancy in need of a drink.
I don’t know who will be more excited for this child, us or my mother-in-law.
I’m going to have to spend the next nine months not being sick. I hate having to choose between taking a day to recover from my illness and a day with my magical unicorn baby.
I have this image of us being super parents. The TV will never be on, the children will find ways to amuse themselves, they will grow creative and strong and I will be amazed at how effortlessly wonderful my child turned out. I expect that this won’t even make it through pregnancy.
Crap, I need to find more guy friends. I promised my magical unicorn baby.
Also, anyone who wants me to go on vacation in the next year, sorry! Saving my vacation time for maternity leave. It’s not like we could have afforded it anyway, since we’re going to have to sell a kidney to finance this magical unicorn kid.
Wait, there’s no baby return policy?!
You know what’s more awkward than talking about sperm motility with a sperm bank? Discussing your ovulation cycle with your caseworker.
Maybe we should move to Finland so we can get a year of paid maternity leave and a baby box.
We make some of the baby-making decisions off of how I imagine my mother explaining my life to an acquaintance at the grocery store. I am not even kidding.
Prenatal vitamins make your hair and your nails grow ridiculously fast.
It doesn’t even hit me that we will be bringing a new life into the world until I least expect it. And it’s no longer a hazy someday, it’s soon. It could be as soon as nine months from now. This is amazing. And terrifying. And amazing.
Dear god, if my magical unicorn baby turns out to be a girl, that means we’ll have to deal with an adolescent twelve-year-old magical unicorn girl. What if she ends up being a mean girl? I may have to lock her in the basement until she grows out of it. (Calm your tits, guys, I’m not locking my metaphorical teenager in the basement. YET. Besides, there’s a door to the outside with a key down there, so this is kind of moot anyway.)
What if I’m too fat to have a baby? Seriously, this is something that they put on all of the OMG OBESITY EPIDEMIC shit and my brain sometimes buys into that crap. Also, I can’t stop eating quesadillas now, how will I be able to stop when I’m knocked up? (OH GOD, WHAT IF I END UP PREGNANTLY AVERSE TO CHEESE?!)
You guys, you’re not supposed to eat brie while pregnant. What fresh hell is this? You can’t take away my cheese AND my wine.
Jesus, if they end up putting me on hormones, this will all be SO MUCH WORSE.
Maybe we should just get a dog.