Good Babies

“So, is he a good baby?” My son is six months old and I have been asked this question approximately 1783 times (you know, give or take). Although it is seemingly a rhetorical question the asker will still stare at you until you offer a response. The only acceptable answer is yes followed by a smile that conveys love and fulfillment. Saying no isn’t really an option. Unless you want to look like a miserable mother who hates her child. Could you imagine the look on that little-old-lady-at-the-mall’s face if you answered “No. He cries incessantly, sleeps sporadically, and when he’s not biting me he’s puking on me”?

This Christmas Mac shared the new-baby spotlight with his little cousin Reid. While we had to stand and bounce to keep Mac happy, because apparently altitude matters, sweet little Reid was content to chill out in his swing just inches off the floor.

While Mac was voicing his displeasure at the temperature/the level of the voices in the room/the colour of paint on the wall by crying at the top of his lungs, little Reid let his parents know he was unhappy by quietly emitting an adorable billy goat sound.

Reid napped in his swing during Christmas dinner, only needing his mother to attend to him for a few brief moments. By comparison the only way I could convince Mac to take a nap was by carrying him in the Ergo so I spent Christmas dinner photographing my family instead of eating with them.

Reid and Mac both napping during dinner

Not eating meant that I got great pictures like this one of my grandmother and wife

And my family is thankful that I got so many great shots of them shoveling food into their mouths while wearing silly hats. Obviously.

All week people commented on what a “good baby” Reid was. After hearing it for the millionth (OK, more likely the tenth) time I finally corrected the person speaking. He is an easy baby. Mac is not a bad baby. He is just more difficult.

The truth is that babies are neither good nor bad. Or rather, each one is good simply by virtue of being a baby. So perhaps I shouldn’t have corrected my mother/father/aunt/uncle/cousin/brother when they referred to Reid as good. Because of course he is. He is sweet and charming and irresistible. And so is Mac. He is good at screaming really loudly. He is good at kicking really hard. He is good at making the top of his head smell better than warm baked cookies. He is good at playing with toys and snuggling and laughing when raspberries are blown on his belly. And he is really good at capturing our hearts.

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The Fergus

A little over five years ago Tracy and I were shopping when we stopped to look at some cute little dog clothes. At the time we only had a cat but that didn’t stop me from suggesting that we get the tiny camouflage t-shirt. Tracy rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you let me get a dog,” she replied. I was unaware that I was the one impeding a dog adoption.

“We can get a dog if you want,” I responded and then saw her entire face light up like it was Christmas morning.

“Really?” She asked, her face full of hope.

“Really,” I replied, almost in a whisper, a bit confused by the sudden burst of emotion. It wasn’t long before The Fergus was making himself at home in our hearts. Tracy was dealing with the impending death of her mother and Fergus seemed to be the only thing that could make her smile. Suddenly she was waking up an hour earlier than necessary to spend extra precious minutes with the tiny ball of fur.

We spent the equivalent of a mortgage payment on a crate, toys and a tiny wardrobe fit for a king (or a princess – his gendered identity was fluid after all).

For the next five years he lived at the center of our universe. At night we tried to convince him to snuggle between our faces. He usually obliged for a few minutes before shaking off our cuddles and burrowing down under the covers and out of our reach.

We joked that he was just counting down the days until his moms would have a human baby. We were smothering him. My love for Fergus was so intense that while pregnant I actually wondered if I would love my child as much as I loved my dog. We swore we’d never be the kind of parents who ignored the dog when the human baby came along. Not us!

And then Maclean was born. At first Fergus seemed pleased with the new addition to our family. Mac’s insistence on sleeping while walking for the first few months of his life meant that Fergus got a lot (A LOT!) of walks.

But days passed and Mac’s needs increased. Or rather, they continued to be intense and I got tired. It turns out that babies need a lot of touching. And at the end of the day I often feel touched out. The poor Fergus is paying the price. I didn’t quite realize how much until this morning. It was 10:30 AM, four hours after we woke-up, before I realized that neither of us had taken the dog outside. The poor defeated pup had gone back to bed.

My heart broke a little when I entered the room and saw his little tail wag hesitantly. I left Mac with Tracy and took him on an extra long walk. I was trying to assuage my guilt. But as we walked he repeatedly turned around to make sure I was still there. His eyes caught mine and his tail wagged. He was still the happy little puppy that made our lives so much more enjoyable five years ago.

I know our lives are busier these day mister. But I promise that your moms love you as much as ever. And I promise that tonight I will smother you with snuggles until you retreat under the covers to get away from me. 

 
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Parent Shopping in New York

This is chapter two in a series written by Andy (Mac's dad). To catch-up on chapter one please click here.

The elation I felt as the families shared their co-parenting stories quickly morphed into dread when the host took back the microphone and announced that she'd like each of us to stand and tell a little about him- or herself. Or, as it turned out for the female couples, the one whose idea it was to come could do the talking while the other sat arms-folded deciding whether to be resentful or appreciative for being dragged to a Sperm and Egg Mixer, depending on how it all turned out.

Row by row, the mic made the rounds, but I was too nervous to hear anyone else's introduction. I had no idea what to say. After 12 years in New York, I was still quick to point out that I was from Ohio in these situations, as if to excuse myself for not being a polished New Yorker. I’d have to wing it, and follow the advice of every sitcom I had ever seen, each drilling home the same Jan-Brady lesson: just be yourself. 

I stood up, and started with the usual basics: name, age, neighborhood and profession. But then, something like this came out:

"I'm from Ohio, and my family is very close. One of my brothers is getting married this summer, and we grew up with a lot of cousins, so I thought now would be a great time to start a family so that our kids could grow up with cousins, too."

Andy and family, 2010

A collective sigh rose up from the seats around me, in a sort of Oprah moment. I watched as heads tilted in unison, and at least one hand clasped to a bosom. Sensing that I had just made a few shortlists, I quickly passed the mic and sat down.

Soon the actual mingling began. A woman in business attire with dark curly hair rushed right over to me, her biological clock ticking on her sleeve. "Hey, I like what you said. You live in the Village? I live nearby in Murray Hill." She was direct and confident and had a nice smile, and she reminded me of someone – a lawyer I had met through my Turkish friends named Cynthia. Cynthia had sued a muffin shop over nuts in a muffin she hadn't even ordered, just for the fact that it was on sale without a little sign to say "contains nuts." Never mind that the shop was owned by our mutual friends’ cousins – she sued, won, and shut that muffin shop down. Not exactly the person you want to come to mind when shopping for moms. We chatted politely for a minute, but the red lights were flashing: WILL END IN COURT.

Next, a very joyful couple introduced themselves as Jenna and Moonseed. They were almost half my age, giggly and roly-poly, a feather earring here, a pierced this-and-that there. I had the idea that maybe they’d cut class at Bryn Mawr and hitched a ride into the city, with no plans for what’s next. "We love cousins!" said Jenna, as Moonseed wrapped her arms around her. They told me that they’d actually taken the train down from upstate. The psychedelic lights were flashing: WILL END IN A TOM ROBBINS COMMUNE.

It was quickly sinking in that this would be tougher than I had imagined – or more precisely, tougher than I hadn’t imagined. I hadn’t really thought about what it would be like to search for co-parents. And the last time I’d chatted up a lesbian was at a “Xena: Warrior Princess” Night at Meow Mix. Would I even know what to look for?

I reminded myself that this was only Day One of my search. There would be another co-parenting meeting each month, so I joined the mailing list and left, knowing it’d be good to have some time to think before mingling again.

A few days later, I met my friend Patti for a Meat-n-Greet, something we like to do when her vegan girlfriend is busy. I told her about my plans and the Sperm and Egg Mixer, and her reaction was a mix of surprise, encouragement, and just the right amount of concern.

Andy and Patti

“That’s amazing. Have you told your family?”

“No, it’s a hard one to explain. I was going to wait until I met someone, or maybe even until the baby arrives. It might be easier with a visual aid.”

“So you’d share a baby with strangers? How would that work?”

“I’d have to get to know them first.”

“Would you have sex?”

“I’m pretty sure it would be artificial insemination.”

Patti took her time chewing a bite of currywurst and thinking. I knew I had confided in the right person.

“Just make sure you find the right couple. That’s a big one. Wow, it’s so weird you can just...make a baby.”

Patti, telling it like it is.

When the next month's co-parenting meeting rolled around, the vibe was completely different. This time there were far fewer women. None, in fact, as even the group leader had called in sick. The wanna-be dads who had shown up decided to make the best of it, and we sat in a circle to share the hopes and (mostly) woes of our quest for fatherhood.

Just when the prospects were looking as bleak as the March sky, the door squeaked open with some latecomers. And that’s when I first met Emilce and Katy. (And no, those are not code-names for “Cagney & Lacey”– I mean, Kris and Tracy.)

Stay tuned for chapter 3!

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Family Day

In Ontario we celebrate Family Day on the third Monday in February. When our provincial government announced their plans for this new holiday in 2007 many people complained that a holiday in the middle of [our cold Canadian] February would be a waste of a vacation day. Some thought that Remembrance Day on November 11th would be a better choice. Others argued that another long weekend in the middle of the warm summer would be more enjoyable. At the time I didn’t give the debate much thought at all.

This year, with my new little family, I am so grateful for the day. We decided to invite Andy (Mac’s dad) to join us for the holiday weekend. He seemed amused by the concept. You Canadians and your happy-go-lucky-lets-all-hold-hands-and-love-each-other-holidays! But it was a good enough reason to board a plane and come visit his Canadian family.

Queers have a long history of recognizing and prioritizing our families of choice. Many of us (far too many of us) are excommunicated from our families of birth and to compensate for that loss we cling to our friend-families like life rafts. Tracy and I are some of the lucky ones. We both came from supportive families. And we have created a family of choice that has seen us through life’s struggles and celebrations. Our family is a perfect blend of blood and love.

On this Family Day we were privileged enough to be surrounded by that family. I am connected to Mac by blood, as is Andy. I am connected to Tracy by law. And our group of friends, who act as Mac’s aunts and uncles and cousins, are all interconnected by strong bonds built on love.

One day I will tell Mac about his first Family Day. I will tell him that his moms smothered him with kisses. I will tell him that it was an unusually warm February weekend but that his American dad still needed long johns and a parka. He didn’t complain about the cold when his son was snuggled next to his chest in the carrier though.

 
And I will tell him that he clung to his Auntie Tata as she rocked him to sleep – knowing that her arms are always a safe place.

I will tell him that his Auntie Rishma visited and that she brought his dad an Oilers toque so that he could match his son.

 
I will tell him that his uncle Brit helped his sore gums with the cold glass of a beer bottle.

And I will tell him how happy he was to be bounced around by his auntie Dharma as his cousin Cailey and I baked peanut butter cookies and squeezed 50 mini marshmallows into a cup of hot chocolate.

I will tell him that his first family day was filled with love and cuddles and giggles. And I will make sure he knows that although blood might be thicker than water, love is thicker than everything.

Happy Family Day from my family to yours!

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Should there be a Hippocratic Oath for Parenting?

Before becoming parents most of us have lists of the things we will and won’t do when we welcome children into our lives. But we can’t possibly predict how we will react in all situations because the possibilities are infinite.

And beyond that, as technology evolves there are possibilities that we can’t even predict. Fifteen years ago we didn’t imagine the extent to which our future children would live their lives online. Social media sites like Facebook, YouTube and Twitter have revolutionized the way that people interact and those children who are just coming of age in this digital revolution will never know any different.

I am amazed by the power of the world wide web to form connections between people. Without it we wouldn’t have met Mac’s dad and consequently wouldn’t have Mac. In fact, without the internet I would have never even met Tracy since I met her when a girl I had dated started dating a new girl and the new girl introduced me to her ex-girlfriend whom she had met online (did you follow that? It is surprisingly more common in lesbian circles than you’d imagine). But the downside to the internet is that the words we say to each other through that medium exist forever. Our lives leave a digital footprint and we can’t always predict the ways that those footprints will impact our future.

And that brings me to the point of this (non-Monday) post. This video has gone viral. No doubt you have seen it circulating on your Facebook newsfeed. The Reader’s Digest version is that the father of a girl named Hannah finds that she has posted a letter complaining about her parents on her Facebook page. In response, her father reads the letter on camera, lectures her on how spoiled she is, then takes a gun and shoots her precious laptop.

Haven’t seen it yet? Press play and join me below. 

So? Thoughts? The video now has 24,386,304 views and 196,473 comments. There are some who criticize the father’s handling of the situation but the majority of respondents are giving him a large, digital, standing ovation. The sentiment seems to be that in the post –Toddlers-and-Tiaras world, kids today are too soft and too spoiled. Finally finally! some parent is saying enough is enough and using his kid’s own medium to deliver the message.  Comments include “This is amazing. You have made my day, sir. Clapping*. You are the best parent in the world!” and “~claps~ BRAVOOO.. also though.. i think you should shoot her phone because she can get on facebook from there.”

But let’s examine exactly what is going on here. Hannah’s father is angry that she embarrassed him by airing private family business online. So, to retaliate, he embarrassed her by airing private family business online. In addition, he destroyed property in a very violent way.

Now, my child is still a baby so discipline has yet to enter into my parenting skill set. But my guess is that teaching a child to be respectful while disrespecting them is unlikely to be productive.

As he read Hannah’s public letter I tried to imagine myself as her parent. I would be embarrassed, certainly. And I would likely be angry. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of sympathy for her situation. Hannah is acting out but in her own mind she is very justified. She feels overworked and underappreciated. How many of us feel that way in our jobs or in our relationships? The difference is that, as adults, our brains are developed enough to know better than to air those feelings on a public forum.  At only 15 Hannah does not yet have an adult brain and it is up to her parents to help guide her as it develops.  She needs someone to listen to her complaints (her parents walking with dirty boots on the floor she just cleaned? I’d be pissed off too!) equally as much as she needs guidance (like teaching her not to refer to Linda as “the cleaning lady”).

But what she doesn’t need is to be publicly shamed. Particularly not with a video that has been uploaded to Youtube and will follow her to college and beyond. Technology is evolving faster than we understand and our ability to process the ramifications is lagging behind. In the olden days when our relationships with family members played out face-to-face and over the phone the angry words we said to one another might sting, and the worst of them might even hurt us to our core, but they were never immortalized into digital archives. If every angry word I said to my parents, or they said to me, during my teenage years existed online, up for public consumption, I fear we would not have the relationship that we have today.

I hope that Hannah’s father is able to see where he went wrong here and apologize to his daughter. Apologies can go a long way in a troubled family. I hope that they are all able to learn from the many mistakes that have been made and can grow and heal as a family.

And now back to Mac and my hopes for my own parenting. I know I have a list of the things I hope for him as he grows but I suppose I should also have a list of things I hope for myself as I grow into a parent.  I hope that I will listen to his frustrations even if I don’t feel like he is justified in having them. I hope that I will teach him how to be respectful while also showing him respect. I hope that when I make mistakes (which I of course will) I hope that I will be able to recognize them and apologize. And, if I continue to blog about him as he grows, I hope that I will remember that some stories are not mine to tell.

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Join me in making this wish for equality

Today Washington state Gov. Chris Gregoire signed the marriage equality bill into law.

To celebrate that victory I would like to share with you the beautiful candle lighting my mom performed at our wedding. "Someday" is happening today Mom. At least in one small part of the world.

Two and a half years and one Mac later we are still so very grateful that our marriage is legally recognized.

Sundays with Mac

My dearest Mac,

I can hardly believe that it has been six months since you arrived in this world. In a way it seems like just yesterday that our hearts stopped beating as we waited for you to cry for the first time. But it also feels like forever. It’s hard to imagine that there was ever a time when you weren’t in our lives.

I’ve avoided taking your sixth month photo all week. I was trying to convince myself that if I didn’t take the picture it wouldn’t be true. People always say that time speeds up when you have children but I had no idea that it would whiz by faster than those Nascar racers that your Grampa likes so much. Days have just seemed to blend into the next and now, suddenly, it is six months later.

Month five was your best month yet. Smiles and giggles have been plentiful. And if cuddles were currency your mommy and I would be very rich.

You had a few unhappy days as your teeth started to emerge but we made it through.  Your Gramma came for a long visit and you napped for 2 hours on her chest every day. I can only convince you to stay asleep for about 30 minutes. I think you liked that menopause has made her as warm and cozy as a roaring fire. Your toasty little body probably only made matters worse but she didn’t complain. Your auntie Tata visited you nearly ever day and delighted in your giggles. And the two of you had your first Valentines Day (or Saturday before Valentine's day as the case may be) date together. You made her watch Charlie Brown and then fell asleep on her shoulder. She didn’t complain either. And you had lots of visits from other aunts and uncles and friends who all love you dearly.

Mac, auntie Tata and The Fergus

One of the best parts about month five has been your weekly Mommy-and-Baby-No-Mamas-Allowed-Mall-Dates. It began as a way for your mommy to take you out of the house for a few hours so I could write this blog but it quickly became the highlight of your week. And your mommy’s too.

She dresses you like a little man. Or, I suppose you could say like a little lesbian as your extensive wardrobe is modeled after hers. When you see the pictures showing how handsome you looked I think you’ll forgive us for that. You might have your dad’s lips and your mama’s eyes but at six months old you certainly have your mommy’s sense of style.

Every Sunday afternoon she snaps the Ergo carrier around her waist, bundles you into your snow suit, and heads to the St. Laurent Mall. If you are old enough to be reading this you will now know that our family has a strange attachment to the St. Laurent Mall. When your mommy and I were just dating we went to that mall, ate Thai food, and did a little Valentine’s Day shopping. We ended up choosing our own presents and had a great night. I still wear the earrings from that first Valentine’s Day date almost every day. We enjoyed ourselves so much that we decided to make it a tradition. Dinner at the food court and buying our own presents might not sound like a glamorous date to most but your mom and I are suckers for a tradition.

And just like us, you love it there. She takes you up and down the escalator and your eyes scan back and forth taking in all the lights and pictures and people. You coo and squeal for all the grandmothers who come over for a quick hello. And then when you are all done wandering (and your mommy has spent most of her money) you head over to the food court where she has a coffee and you have your bottle. You sit on her lap, bang your hands on the table, and entice strangers to come over and say hello.

On your last Mommy-and-Baby-No-Mamas-Allowed-Mall-Date you started to smile and coo at somebody else’s mommy. She came over and talked to your mom, wanting to exchange stories of baby smiles and sleepless nights. Always one to be honest and upfront your mommy was looking for a way to let the other woman know that you actually grew in your mama’s belly. And then, half way through the conversation, she realized that your relationship needed no explanation.  Because, you see my sweet Mac, while I was growing you in my belly your mommy was busy growing you in her heart. And if you learn anything from me my son let it be that hearts are more important than bellies.

You were so excited when you got home from your date. You chattered away endlessly, telling me all about your adventures in your very own baby language. It is a dialect that I can’t understand with my ears but speak fluently with my heart. And then your mommy, with tears in her eyes, told me about how she didn’t correct the woman in the mall who thought that you grew in her belly. She picked you up and kissed the top of your head and whispered you are mine in your ear. Because, my darling boy, you are hers and she is, entirely, yours. She is a real mom. She is your real mommy. And gosh you are so lucky to have her.

Happy sixth month birthday Macaroni. Thank-you so much for filling our lives with joy.

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looking for a known sperm donor or co-parent?

Chapter 1: Special Guest Star

Mac and his dad. Love at first sight.

 Please join me in welcoming Andy to his first (and hopefully not last) guest post on Mondays with Mac. If you are a follower you will know that Andy is Maclean's father. If you are a new reader you can catch up with our story here. If you enjoy part 1 of his story please leave him a comment below. I have enabled anonymous comments so you don't need to have any kind of specific ID. -- Kristin

I guess I could start by saying that becoming a father was not a snap decision for me. I knew in my 20s I wanted to have kids, and I made the same deal with several of my more flirty and delightful girl friends. "If we reach 35 and you're not married, let's have a baby." In my 20s, 35 was still a vague and distant concept. No one on "Melrose Place" ever reached 35 unless they were rich and ruthless and could afford a nanny in a fabulous apartment. This plan seemed doable.

Well, time passed. The girls got married, or married and divorced and married again, or came out proudly as Cat Ladies. I discovered international travel and international boys and what true love feels like, the highs and lows of a career in advertising, the joys of writing. I was running around with rock stars and artists and getting up to all of the craziness that I'd moved to New York for in the first place. 35 rushed by without comment.

Andy "Heart"s NY while visiting La Boca in Buenos Aires

Then one day, the buzzer went off (women have biological clocks, men have buzzers). I had stuck the landing on youth - it was time to officially become an adult. I thought about a friend's father in Turkey, who had congratulated me on still being a bachelor at 39 the summer before. "You're doing it right," he told me on the patio, his grandsons playing nearby under the olive trees. "Just have kids by the time you're 45."

As the big 4-0 approached, I embraced a new battle cry: "If not now, when?" Finish that novel I'd been writing since 2005? INNW! A Jonathan Adler rug for the living room? INNW! I used my new credo to justify everything from Lasik surgery to exploring the lost city of Petra. (pay off those credit cards? INNW!)

Andy in the lost city of Petra

Andy in Guayaquil, Ecuador

But the biggest INNW! - the one that I knew would be most rewarding and take the most effort - was becoming a dad. As my tan faded from a birthday in Ecuador (INNW!), I did a little googling and discovered that New York's LGBT Center was hosting their first ever Sperm and Egg Mixer for would-be moms and wanna-be dads. Co-parenting, it was called, and it came in many shapes, forms and sizes. I was nervous, but the drawing of the sperm holding hands with a fried egg on the invitation clinched it for me - I had to go.

The place was packed. In spite of the folding chairs and bulletin boards crammed with the usual flyers for support groups and HIV testing, the room felt warm and inviting, decked out with flowers and wine and a designated "mingling area." The men looked awkward, like 8th graders at their first dance, hovering by the cheese plates. The women, mostly in pairs, looked like they were shopping for a new sofa. Sizing up each prospect, scanning for flaws, all but testing for cushiness. The first lesson of reproduction was on full display: women do the picking.

I reminded myself that this was just a first pass anyway, to take the pressure off. I was gathering information. I'm good at being aloof. Besides, it was nice to connect with the community over something other than a 2-for-1 vodka special at Good Times. What were the chances I'd meet my match on the first try?

The mixer kicked off with three families sharing their experiences of how they came to be. First up, a single lesbian and single gay man who lived in my neighborhood and shared daily parenting duties. They looked like they also co-wrote Grammy-award-winning songs and knew all about macrobiotic wines and had season tickets to Fashion Week. The baby was a perfect Benetton blend of races, with downtown styling and accessories. Already, the bar was set high. I was surprised half the audience didn't throw up their hands and walk out right then and there.

Actually, it was good to be confronted with this idealized picture of perfection firsthand. In spite of appearances, they didn't seem overly thrilled with each other. It seemed like an awkward arrangement at best. I got a flash of what it might be like to try to raise a baby hands-on with someone who wasn't also my romantic partner. It looked like the friendship would suffer.

I thought about the girls I had made those daydream promises with back in our twenties. One of them was actually still in the running, a "Sex & The City" kind of single successful career girl who looked like Barbi Benton and still wanted it all, or at least the option to have it all.  Barbi lived down the block from me, and when she was between boyfriends, the idea bounces back into contention. I was treated to late-night messages like this...

BARBI: OK - been giving this whole baby thing some thought. We'll have to set rules on this...

1. We do this the old-fashioned way.  6 shots of tequila and (gay) porn.  Nothing romantic as I'll die laughing.

2. Nothing gets pushed out my va jay-jay.  

3. And I demand $$ for a trainer - since no way I'm doing the baby fat weight gain thing....I need to look hot & fit

Clearly, our problems would begin long before conception. Barbi didn’t want to hear the words "turkey baster" ("I have needs!") and over time, we pondered every possibility from going "the Mormon route" (sheets...no exposure) to bringing in a "Sperm Whisperer" ("but he needs to be a switch hitter - I got to have SOME fun, too!").

Sperm whisperers aside, we knew we were glossing over one very big, important detail. Finally I asked, "which one of us is going to put their wine glass down and actually raise this child?"

That was Barbi. A lesbian might be different. At the very least, I was confident the turkey baster method wouldn't be an issue. Still, it was clear that if you truly want to share parenting with another person, it helps to be close, if not in love. I didn't have any single lesbian friends who wanted kids. In fact, ever since the Meow Mix had closed, I wouldn't even know where to look for one. There was Brooklyn, but lesbians there already come standard-issue with a partner and a stroller.

Ever-slow on the uptake, it didn't hit me what was missing in that picture - the glaringly obvious opportunity - until the next family spoke. An awesome lesbian power couple (cop and lawyer, just like "Law & Order") who had two kids with a very nice, unassuming, gay man with glasses in his 40s. Law & Order did all of the raising, just the two of them together - the gay man with glasses was a known donor who had given up legal rights to the kids but was still a participant in their lives. More like a Special Guest Star. As Law & Order drove home the importance of carrying all your documents with you on a zip drive while traveling, my heart raced at this new and excitingly perfect possibility. Co-parent with a couple. I could be Special Guest Star.

I could just jump ahead here and say that through the Center, I found out about co-parentmatch.com, and after making a profile and then forgetting about it while I focused on finishing up my novel, I heard from Kris and Tracy and now we have Mac. Or maybe, Kris will invite me back to share about what I learned from a near-miss or two along the way, in the year before I met the Irelands.



Would you like to hear the rest of his story? Let him know below. 

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