OK, so this hiatus has been exceptionally long. My apologies friends. When PPD hit I basically struggled to hit the bare minimum of promised Monday posts. And the longer I let this series slide, well, the longer it slid. But our story, the one where we meet Andy and he knocks me up, is a good one so I'd like to finish it. Need to catch up? OK, here's what happened last time. Tracy and I decided to try and find a known donor and in the process I lost my damn mind obsessively doing everything I possibly could that might make my eggs more attractive to the millions of sperm I hoped they would soon be meeting. We put an ad up online and found some of the wackiest men who are sitting at their computers hoping to give their sperm away to lesbians (because giving sperm to lesbians apparently sounds super hot until they tell you that the delivery system is a needle-less syringe). Then we found an ad on co-parentmatch.com from a gay New York City man looking to father a child, fell in potential-baby-daddy-love, and embarrassed ourselves by clicking on his profile a bazillion times before paying for a membership and realizing that he got a notification every time we did. We nervously exchanged emails and Facebook messages and let ourselves get super excited at the prospect of making a baby with such a sweet and funny man. And because the universe apparently loves us, he already had plans to be an hour away from our house which meant a “first date” was imminent. In true lesbian fashion, Tracy and I did the baby-making equivalent of u-hauling and wondered if asking for sperm on the first date would be too forward. And when I last left you we had finally met the exceedingly charming Andy and I had proved that I am awkward and weird on a first date. But somehow he saw through all that and decided that we would make suitable procreation partners. And then Andy asked us when we thought we might be ready to start trying to conceive and we told him that I was actually ovulating that coming weekend. And now you're all caught up! So we stood there on the path at Mount Royal wondering if Andy would actually be ready. He laughed, I think wondering if we were for real, and then let us down gently. When we started to get serious in our discussions he had gotten himself STD tested and was currently in the window period where you have to wait to get the second test before getting the all clear. Sweet, funny, smart, kind, and responsible? How on earth did we find this guy on the internet? It wasn't long before Andy's tests came back negative and he was on a plane to visit us for the first insemination attempt. Nervous doesn't even begin to describe how I was feeling while pacing the Ottawa Airport waiting for Andy's arrival. I was excited too. Certainly. But more nervous than anything else. We were about to embark on a second date that would last an entire weekend. And it would involve sperm in an artichoke jar. Cue the awkward silences. But Andy arrived and had us laughing instantly. He told us about a dream he had the night before where he was in our bathroom overwhelmed by all the soaps and feminine bathroom products available. Nervously he tried to pump some hand soap but ended up spilling it all over the floor. Sometimes you don't need a dream dictionary to figure out the symbolism of your dreams. We had a concrete plan for how we were going to do things. One insemination per day for the four days he was in town. The ritual began with a cup of coffee to get his swimmers moving quickly. Then Tracy and I left our home so that Andy could, well, you know. When he was done he would text us "OK" and we would return. The jar of sperm would be passed off, with as much care as an olympic torch, from his warm armpit to my wife's warm sports bra. Then Andy would give us time to, well, you know. After it was over I cooked us all dinner. He graciously ate my cornbreaded tofu and pasta and he and Tracy passed the silent moments by taking sips of Canadian beer. On the first night we had plans to introduce Andy to a few of our friends at a Karaokee bar. At that point in the conception timeline I could have indulged in a few alcoholic beverages without hurting our unborn (un-conceived) child but it would have felt strange so I went to the bar sober. Which is never the beginning of a great story. The night went along fine, if slightly awkward. Some of our friends had been forward enough to ask exactly how Andy's sperm had gotten inside of me. They were the less awkward ones. Others hadn't wanted to ask. They were the more awkward ones. For the most part I felt fine. Until the moment when everyone simultaneously left to go to the bathroom, or up to the bar, or to request a song, and it was just me and Andy left at the table. You have never experienced awkward until you are left alone at a table with a man you met online but hardly know. A man whose sperm is currently inside of you. Sperm that he did not put there. But more about that next time.
Two weeks ago I celebrated one year of blogging. Which feels like a really big accomplishment for me. Even though it just means that for the last year I have self-indulgently sat at my computer and told stories about how fantastic the top of my kid's head smells, finding sperm on the internet, and the intricacies of lesbian motherhood. And, miraculously, you've kept reading.
To celebrate this blogiversary I told you that you could ask me any questions you had about me, this blog, or my family. You did and I answered. But then you had more questions so I told you we would do this Q&A thing one more time.
So here we are. Now you know me a little better.
I'm really struck by your selfless offer to be a surrogate for Andy in the event that they want children. Have you also volunteered your eggs? I know that Andy is a part of your family but I'm not sure I would be strong enough to act as a surrogate only, particularly if it were my biological child. I'd also be interested to hear how you would make that work for both families.
No, I did not volunteer my own eggs. Which is something I feel a bit guilty about. I spend a lot of time on this blog talking about how biology does not create family so it feels a bit hypocritical to selfishly hoard those tiny little eggs that are going to waste each month. It also feels presumptuous and arrogant to feel guilty about that as Andy and Raff may have absolutely no desire for these Canuck eggs that I'm holding onto. But I've given the whole thing a lot of thought and I know I could process the experience of growing someone else's child in my womb but I wouldn't be able to grow "my own" child and then give him/her to someone else to raise. I can't really explain or justify those feelings. They just are. But waking up every day to Mac's smiling face has been the most amazing experience of my life and if I had the opportunity to give that joy to someone else then I would jump at the chance.
I should also make it clear that (to my knowledge) Andy and Raff have absolutely no plans of having children at this moment. So this is really all random musing and speculations on my part.
How did you know Andy was "the one"?
When I read his online profile I had butterflies in my stomach. And from there it was love at first email. It all just seemed too perfect not to be fate.
Does Tracy's family accept Mac as their own?
Yes, absolutely. And so does his Auntie Tata's family.
Where do I find myself an Auntie Tata?
I have no idea. But you absolutely can't have Mac's.
How many times a year does Andy see Mac?
Well Mac is 15 months old and Andy has been to Ottawa about five or six times. And on top of that we have travelled to visit him three times.
Are you a stay at home/work at home mom? What did you do before you had Mac? Do you plan on returning to regular employment (if you were employed in a "regular" work environment?) Do you miss it?
Pre-Mac I was struggling to make my home in academia. He changed my life, my hopes, and my dreams in ways I could have never anticipated. My staying home with Mac became (surprisingly) incredibly important to both me and my wife. To make that happen I have taken in my neighbour's son (and Mac's BFF) Jordan four days a week. He is the sweetest toddler around and watching him is totally my pleasure. I have also started Mondays with Mac Photography and am pouring my whole heart into it. Seeing it come to fruition is an absolute dream come true.
Does Mac call Andy Daddy?
At the moment he calls him dadadadada. But someday he will call him Daddy.
In the post titled The Unraveling, when you revealed that you were struggling with post partum depression you mentioned that you had been working day and night on a project - and then the project failed. Curious to know what the project was and what went wrong! ... And another question which will have the same answer... OK, am I dreaming this or were you calling your photography business something else before? Do you have a new Facebook page for MWM photography?
In August I started a photography business with a partner. But we quickly figured out that the logistics just weren't working so we parted amicably. I was very fearful about going out on my own. But I took deep breath and jumped in (and dragged my talented wife along with me). Since the new business is just called Mondays with Mac Photography I have just maintained my current fan page.
When we met, you were in the PhD program and your research was so interesting. Do you have any plans to return to academia? If not, how did you make the decision to leave?
I don't ever want to say never. But for now I'm loving my new business and the schedule is working for my family. I've started to make decisions based on what's best for my heart - and those decisions have been very easy to make.
Did you find out the sex of your baby before he was born? Had you been (secretly) hoping for either a girl or a boy? Yes, we did and I was (not secretly) hoping for a girl. But now that Mac's here I have realized what a privilege it is to have a son. And if I am ever blessed with a daughter I am sure I will feel the exact same way.
This was like a million years ago, but who won the fan appreciation contest... and what was the prize you spent Tracy's hard-earned money on?! I was so curious and I could never find the post that announced the winner! Oops - I guess I forgot to blog about it. The winner was Krista from Calgary and she won aMWM mug.
How did you and Tracy decide who's last name to take when you got married? Also, Maclean is such an original name; does it hold any special meaning/how did you come up with it?
Her maiden name was Green so I petitioned hard for Greenland which would be a combination of both of our names. Always the fun-ruiner Tracy thought that idea mocked our marriage. She thought Ireland was a cool name so she jumped ship. The name Maclean didn't hold any special significance for us. I was talking about how I liked last names as first names and my friend Sara suggested Maclean and we loved it. However, his middle name is Andy's middle name, Andy's dad's name, and Tracy's dad's middle name so it has special meaning.
You said that you don't want to disrespect your previous relationships with men. So are you equally attracted to men and women? Is there any scenario that would see you with a man again?
I'm attracted to masculinity - whether that manifests itself in a female or male bodied person. Although I am most attracted to butch women (which is incredibly convenient since I married one).
I love everything you write. Do you ever do speaking engagements?
You are too sweet. Thank-you. I haven't but I would be happy to. Do you have something in mind?
Do you have any training/education in writing? Have you ever thought of publishing a book?
No, I don't have any education in creative writing. And yes, I have thought and dreamt of publishing a book. Hopefully that's a possibility someday!
This post is part 7 in a series entitled Mac: The Prequel in
which I tell the drawn-out story of how my wife and I met the father of our
child online and eventually created a child with him. If you are new here you
should probably start by reading the previous entries. Seriously, this will all
make more sense if you do. Just click here. Also, if you want to read Andy’s
version of the events you can click here.
All caught up? Excellent.
We can move on then.
So we were walking along a dirt path in Montreal and Andy
finally turned to us and asked when we thought we might be ready to start
trying to make a baby. I had to hold myself back from screaming NOW! WE ARE
READY NOW! DON’T YOU HEAR THAT LOUD GONG THAT IS MY BIOLOGICAL CLOCK? Instead,
I just gave a laugh meant to imply that I was somewhat kidding but also
potentially serious. And then I said that, actually, I would be ovulating that
weekend.
Andy returned my laughter but didn’t take the bait. He
wasn’t days away from ovulating and the urge to PROCREATE.RIGHT.NOW wasn’t as
strong for him. Also, he’s responsible. Which means that he wanted to remain
celibate for the allotted amount of time to ensure his negative HIV status.
Which is totally fair and very gentlemanly.
But he assured us that he was interested in the prospect of
creating human life with us and that he would be ready soon. We were happy with
that outcome and drove home with very large smiles on our faces.
This photo was taken on our way home from the big meet!
And that’s when I went from obsessively trying to increase
my fertility to… well… obsessively trying to increase my fertility even more. Andy
chivalrously offered to come to Ottawa for the inseminations. Which was awesome
because flying to New York City and then doing the sperm hand-off in a hotel
while worrying about bed bugs, or in his apartment while worrying about… well…
how weird it would be have my wife inseminate me with sperm from someone I met
online in his apartment, would not have ensured the peaceful, calm, environment
needed to allow my cervix and fallopian tubes to relax and allow the little
swimmers in.
So that was nice of him. But getting his sperm from NYC to
Ottawa, Ontario wouldn’t be cheap. To mitigate that cost I attempted to turn my
reproductive organs into baby-making over-achievers. And when Andy asked if
there was anything he could do to help his swimmers I was more than happy to
offer him a list of “suggestions” (I won’t get into that here, because that is
his tale to tell, but maybe he’ll elaborate when he catches up to this part of
the story).
I made use of the OvaCue Monitor Bundle which predicted
my ovulation weeks in advance with surprising accuracy. The monitor is basically a small gadget
with two prongs. One goes in your mouth each morning and reads your hormone
levels. The second goes in your vagina (I just literally spent 30 minutes
contemplating on what word to use there – vajajay? Nether regions?) at night
and confirms when ovulation has taken place. Then the little screen on the
gadget shows you a calendar with colour coded boxes (light blue = not fertile,
dark blue = fertile, pink = ovulating). It couldn’t be easier. It looks like a
little GameBoy console so Tracy took to calling it the Vagintendo. Which is
precisely why I married her.
In addition to ovulation tracking I also took a variety of
vitamins and supplements. A few of these included Coenzyme Q10 (to help with
egg quality) and Vitamin B6 (to help the luteal phase). I also took FertilAid for Women
and FertileCM supplements. The FertilAid is a prenatal multivitamin with vitex in it. The
FertileCM is a supplement with L-arginine in it that helps to increase cervical
mucus (my wife is likely cringing as she reads this. God Kristin, do you have to use the word mucus on the internet?)* I also drank two glasses of FertiliTea a day.
Our trip to Montreal to meet Andy was a week before Pride in
Toronto and we made a last minute decision to attend, figuring that it would be
our last chance to party before parenthood. We partied it up like rockstars (or like the 20 year olds we
were partying with – one of whom said that we were the kind of lesbians she
hope she’d be when she grew up… if that doesn’t make you feel old I don’t know
what does!).
And then I forgot to insert the “vagintendo” before bed and had a
total melt down. I apologized profusely to the Ovacue in the morning and it
was all relax Kristin. We can totally
deal with one missing day. Which was awesome. And while I was busy turning
my reproductive organs into a five star resort for sperm, Andy was busy making
sure that said sperm was HIV negative. Which, as you likely already know, it
was. And more on the big insemination next time!
* Tracy did, in fact, read this post and asked me to take
out any reference to her.
Tracy: Seriously, I don’t even want my name anywhere near
the words cervical mucus.
Kristin: Well can I put a footnote and say that you objected
to your name being next to cervical mucus but that I included it anyway?
Tracy: No
Kristin: Well can I say that you objected to me writing that
you objected to having your name next to the words cervical mucus?
Tracy: Do whatever you want. Just please stop saying
cervical mucus.
Kristin: Deal.
**** Please note, this post was sponsored by Fairhaven Health but all opinions and claims are mine and mine alone. I did, truthfully, use the OvaCue Monitor Bundle, FertilAid for Women
and FertileCM supplements as well as the FertiliTea with great success long before I began this blog. Also, if you click over to Fairhaven Health from this site and make a purchase within 30 days I will earn a small commission on your order. ****
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I was standing in the elevator with a couple of moms the other day. The two of them, clearly friends, were venting about the fathers of their children.
“Well at least yours shows up occasionally. My daughter hasn’t seen her sperm donor in 6 months.” One says to the other and the conversation morphs into a strange competition of whose child has the most deadbeat dad. Each is certain that she is going to win this contest. I think the dad who uses the nickname ShouldaBeenAborted to refer to his daughter is the winner (looser?) but mom #2 makes some compelling arguments for her ex as well.
I can’t help but compare our “sperm donor” to theirs. Of course, there are some very substantial differences. The most obvious being that Andy isn’t an asshole. However, there are some similarities too. Sporadic visitation? Check. No child support payments? Check. But, unlike the men who conceived children “the old fashioned way,” Andy is doing everything we wanted him to do. And everything he agreed to do upfront.
Of course, he’s more than “just” a sperm donor (he's a special guest star!). Mac will call him Dad and a relationship will be established as he ages. And Mac is fortunate enough to take a place in his extended family as well. You might say that Andy is carving out a new identity as a parent (noun) who doesn't parent (verb) daily. And it bothers me to have his role lumped in with a group of deadbeat dads.
I think of the act of sperm donation as something very noble. Men are giving of themselves so that another person or couple can have a child. And now that I have experienced the true magic that is parenthood I can say with complete sincerity that it is a debt those of us who need sperm could never repay. Without Andy’s generous gift I wouldn’t ever get to see this smile.
Or wipe away this tear.
What a tragedy that would be.
And what about the anonymous sperm donors? The men who visit clinics, magazines in hand, ready to offer up the biological contribution required to create a child? What they are doing is honorable as well. I had the pleasure of reading a few of their application essays as my friend was trying to select sperm and it was immediately clear that their motivations were to be of service rather than to gain financially. With the amount of meetings and testing that needs to be done before one can donate, the payout for being a donor is actually quite small. And I hate to see these men lumped in with deadbeat dads as well.
Sometimes words are just words. But more often than not they are sites of power that invest meaning onto that which they name. The habit of referring to deadbeat dads as sperm donors turns the label into something to be scorned and condemned. And while I understand that it is a clever linguistic trick used to convey that the man is not behaving as a father should, I can’t help but wonder if there is a better term we could use to convey that meaning?
This is chapter four in a series written by Andy (Mac's dad). To catch-up on the previous chapters please click here.
One thing I love about living in a city of 9 million plus people is the feeling of conspicuous anonymity, of hiding in plain sight. No one has any idea what you’re up to. The man sitting across from you on the subway might be coming back from a show at Lincoln Center, or on his way to a Cyclones game. The lady next to him might be heading home from yoga class, or heading out to see her drug dealer! And that guy over there, the one with the silly grin on his face – maybe he’s a graffiti artist who’s inhaled too many fumes, or maybe, just maybe, he’s a wanna-be dad who’s just gotten the call to bring his balls over to Bay Ridge. Pronto.
Katy had texted me that her ovulation math was all adding up. Since I was leaving the next day for my brother’s wedding, tonight was the night. I had run out of the apartment with my lab results and the co-parenting agreement that we had printed out and talked about but never signed. The co-parenting agreement is nothing legal, just a list of our intentions – things like no money will exchange hands, that I won’t seek custody, and that we all intend for me to be a part of the child's life. It gets more in-depth than that, but the idea is to remind us down the road what we were thinking at the start.
As the train emerged in Brooklyn, I wondered how this would work – the actual sperm donor-ing part. For starters, their apartment was cramped if not cozy, with a frosted-glass bathroom door that didn't really close all the way. Should I have done my duty before I left home and, I don’t know, brought it over in a Ziploc? I could feel the grin plastered across my face – how embarrassing, already. Hopefully Katy and Emilce would have some sort of plan. In the distance, the late-evening dusk glowed behind the Manhattan skyline. I felt like I was floating.
I arrived at their building sheened in sweat, dabbing at my forehead on the elevator ride up. Katy answered the door. Instead of the usual ponytail, she had worn her hair down in loose curls for the occasion. I greeted her, shyly, all smiles, and strode in to the living room where Emilce sat waiting, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of a Members Only jacket.
"I brought this,” I said, plopping the co-parenting agreement down on the coffee table. Emilce picked it up, flipping the pages back and forth. She studied it, as if for the first time, and a strange silence filled the room – just me catching my breath and Emilce flipping those pages back and forth.
"We'll have to read this over and get back to you," she said finally, without looking at me. Her voice trembled with a restrained anger, like I was trying to pull something. It was as if instead of a co-parenting agreement, I had handed her my plan to skip town with Katy on the next freight train passing through.
I was stunned. Completely caught off guard. This agreement had been part of the plan for months. And Katy had just texted me to come over not even an hour ago. Where was this coming from?
I looked at Katy, lingering on the sidelines in the kitchen doorframe. She wouldn't look at me either.
How would my nieces have put it? That awkward moment when your wife cockblocks the sperm donor.
Andy's nieces
Riding back into Manhattan, all I could think was, what is going on in that relationship? How could one partner be taking her basal body temperature and cheering her eggs on while the other sat back and quietly plotted to pull the plug on the whole operation? I laughed to myself, the hollow laugh of the burned and baffled, realizing that whatever had gone down in the 40 minutes between Katy texting me to come over and Emilce sending me packing, it must have happened while Katy was curling her hair.
The next morning I woke up early to pack and leave for my brother’s wedding. But first, I wrote a quick email to Katy and Emilce. I kept it chipper, saying that I certainly wasn’t trying to rush anybody, and I hoped we were still on, that the co-parenting agreement was the same thing we’d been talking about since the beginning, and to please let me know.
I held onto my cellphone all the way to the airport, waiting for a beep or a buzz in reply. Nothing. When we landed in Ogunquit, still no word.
It wasn’t until I arrived at the hotel and saw my mom and dad, sitting with my brothers and nieces and brother-in-law, our high school friends and their wives, all having lunch and thrilled to be together on the beautiful coast of Maine, that I finally said, screw it. I switched off the phone and left it in my room. Nothing puts things in perspective like being with your family.
Andy and his aunt
Between the whale-watching and the lobster rolls, the poolside lounging and some fine moves on the dance floor, I realized what a mistake I had made by not yet letting my family in on my plans. I guess I was afraid of their reaction – I have a history of surprise announcements. But this wasn’t some scheme to bike across America or teach English in Japan without knowing Japanese. This was about adding to our family. They deserved to know, no matter how nervous I might be about the response. And the truth is, my family has always been very supportive, no matter what. Were we not, this very weekend, wearing ties with little lobsters on them for Steve and Kathleen?
Andy with his mom and her twin sister (good genes right?)
Andy's brother and sister-in-law on their wedding day
On a drive to the airport, I had a chance to talk with my sister. I told her about my big fatherhood plans, and how I’d met a nice couple six months ago and it had almost happened – almost. And how I had wanted it to be a surprise. She melted with that kind of warm understanding that sisters radiate, that tenderness and an encouraging smile that is the best a guy could ask for in a situation like this.
Andy with his niece and sister
"Well first of all, it's wonderful that you want to be a dad. But if they were having a change of heart, it's much better you found out now than after a baby's on the way."
Yeah, I told her, I guess it’s for the best. Maybe I was trying to see us as more compatible than we really were. They did tend to think all men were shady. And Emilce had this weird eye thing where one of her eyes kind of looked off over your shoulder while she was talking to you. And once they had invited me over for brunch and served this bacon substitute stuff that looked like something from a Soviet prison – could I really stand by while they fed that to a child?
I was joking, of course. Well, mostly. But if you can’t rip on the people you are no longer going to be having a baby with, who can you rip?
The next day, the message finally came. Emilce didn’t trust that I would be content with just a ‘fun uncle’ role, and they had decided to go ahead with a sperm bank after all. “I have to protect my family,” she wrote.
Fine, I thought. Go and have your Gattaca baby. Just send me my stuff back. They still had my pounamu necklace, the one they’d never gotten around to finding a string for, and my new stud detector. Send it all back so I can get on with my life and forget I ever met you! (I’ve learned from an ex or two that sometimes it takes a little drama to get results).
It took a few weeks, but Emilce did mail everything back, along with a new string for the necklace. I thought about leaving her hanging, but the truth was, she had done us all a huge favor. I didn’t have faith in them as co-parents. I didn’t respect their decisions, I didn’t even respect their Facon. While Katy and I glossed over potential problems, Emilce trusted her instincts: I wasn’t going to be content in a ‘fun uncle’ role – not with them. And they didn’t really want a known donor, as good as it had sounded on paper. She alone was brave enough to stand up and call it off, even as her partner lit candles and curled her hair.
I wrote Emilce an email to say I’d gotten the package and thanks for the string and good luck with everything. She wrote right back: “good luck with everything too :)” And somehow that made all the difference.
*[Ten months later – just after meeting a wonderful couple from a strange place called ‘Ottawa’ whom I had a great feeling about and fingers crossed that it would all work out – curiosity got the best of me, and I peeked at Katy’s Facebook page (long-since de-friended). I’m happy to report that the very fertile Katy must have conceived the next month, because beaming from her profile picture was a beautiful newborn girl who looked just like her.]
Next Up,
Mr. Mom?
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This is chapter three in a series written by Andy (Mac's dad). To catch-up on the previous chapters please click here.
I can't imagine what Katy and Emilce must have thought, arriving in the blank light of dusk to a room full of wanna-be dads, all turning to stare back at them at once. But I can tell you what the wanna-be dads were probably thinking: jackpot!
"Sorry we're late," said Katy, all golden-brown hair and radiant sparkle, with a figure like the Venus of Willendorf. I've never seen a more fertile-looking person in my life. Emilce was darker and more petite, preoccupied with a whimpering dog she had brought in a soft travel case.
We quickly made room and decided to go around the circle and introduce ourselves, in what I dreaded was going to be a recurring theme in this process. One guy used his hello to share horror stories of the years of "dating" he'd already endured with various women and couples, and to remind us of everything that could possibly go wrong, from break-ups and custody battles to miscarriages. Charming. Another couple – who mirrored each other in every detail, from the gum chewing to the sweaters knotted loosely over their shoulders – used their introduction to complain about the high cost of surrogates. Delightful. A third candidate took this opportunity to share his strong belief that a child should be raised by a man and a woman. Unexpected.
By the time it was my turn, Emilce had quietly slipped out of the meeting. Katy remained, looking hopeful, polite, undaunted. Rather than try to explain ‘Special Guest Star’ in an introduction, I offered that I was hoping to be a dad by name, but play more of a ‘fun uncle’ role. Katy perked up. "That's what we're looking for," she said. Her enthusiasm was all the go-ahead I needed. When the meeting ended, I gave her my email and biked away quickly, lest it turn into mingling.
Our emails were filled with smileys and exclamation points, and soon we were making a date to meet on the weekend. They would be coming in from Bay Ridge, the Saturday Night Fever neighborhood (Realness!) to shop for jewelry-making materials. (Creative!) They worked for the same special-needs adult care facility (Nurturing!) and had both grown up in New York – Katy upstate (Friendly!) and Emilce nearby in Dyker Heights. (Authentic!) We met at a restaurant near my place, and together they couldn't have been more than 10 feet tall combined. (Petite!)
My head swelled when they told me that they had spotted me right away. Emilce explained that she'd only left early because of the dog. We ordered iced teas and had a laugh about the guys with the knotted sweaters. I already felt like part of the team.
Like me, Katy and Emilce were completely surprised and thankful to find out about the Center and the Co-parenting group. Before this they had been thinking Sperm Bank, but found the reality to be too cold and impersonal for their tastes. "Choose your donor's desired eye color. Choose your donor's desired height," Emilce mocked in a fake computer voice. "It was like Gattaca." (For those of you who don't remember Gattaca, it’s a movie about a society with such high standards that it rejects Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman for not being perfect enough.)
They liked my height (Tall!) and they loved the fact that I was a train ride away, (Manhattan!) a fun-uncle dad who was a writer and loved to travel. (Special Guest Star!) Their plan was to each carry a child with the same father, Katy first since she was a little older at 33. This all sounded great to me.
The next week I made my first visit to Bay Ridge. Their apartment was in a beautiful old building filled mostly with women living on their own, who kept each other informed about a shady neighbor they all feared would climb in through the balcony. “I think he’s running a meth lab!” and other such speculation greeted us in the lobby and on the elevator with each visit. Katy and Emilce’s place itself was cozy and cluttered with books and boxes of Emilce’s research for her dissertation, Katy’s sprawling house plants and beta bowls, and furniture draped in sheets to protect it from a spastic chihuahua and a tired old cat who just wanted to sit in the sun.
Beautiful Bay Ridge and the Verrazano Bridge
At brunch, Emilce told me about her close-knit family. Her mother wanted grandchildren desperately, and was thrilled to discover a home insemination kit in one of their boxes while helping them move. Katy asked me about my family, and I told them my heritage was Euro-mutt, and that I mostly took after my mom’s Slovak/French side. “Oh, you’re Slavic too!”
Andy's grandparents on the French/Slovak side of the family
She told me that her last name – which looked like a typo, or maybe a phylum of jellyfish – was actually pronounced something like ‘Smudge.’
This took me a moment. Her name started with a string of random consonants, and ended in ‘y’. I come from a family of sound-it-outers.
I smiled, sparing a thought for what school might be like for a child called ‘Smudge’. Maybe totally normal. Cecilia Smudge. Nope, she’d run off to get married at 13. Jeff Smudge. Last to be picked, for sure.
I shook it off. It was fine. Maybe they’d want to use my last name, anyway. I hinted at it, with the story of how no one ever just calls me “Andy” in New York – always “AndyHall.” New Yorkers love saying it. I think it reminds them of Annie Hall.
They laughed at my cute story, but that was it. I left it at that, and switched to something much more important. Every time Katy looked at me, it was with something like a schoolgirl crush – not romantic, but an “I’m ready to be pregnant” look, and all her charms were in full effect. Emilce, the quiet one, the Brooklyn native, was much harder to read. It was important to know that she wanted this, too. I asked her, “How do you feel about all this?”
It was a sunny day in April, and she waited while the waitress cleared the plates before answering.
“I feel ready. I mean, ideally I’d like to be finished with school, but...I just know she’ll be a great mom.” With that, she took Katy’s hand, and the way they looked at each other, all my doubts were put to rest.
We all smiled and kind of stared at each other like, now what? I told them I would ask Skyler, the woman in charge of the meetings at the Center, for advice on what newly matched co-parenting partners were supposed to do next.
Skyler was thrilled to hear the news.
“That’s wonderful! Have you all worked out a co-parenting agreement?”
Umm...
“Did you decide who’s names are going on the birth certificate?”
Uh...
“How are you protecting yourself financially?”
Whoa.
Skyler said not to worry, but not to rush things either. She said she would send me a sample co-parenting agreement to download, and also a set of useful questions we could discuss together to help us align our vision for the arrangement. “Let me know how it goes!”
I started hanging out with Katy and Emilce more often. I tagged along when they went used-SUV shopping. Ever wary of getting ripped off, they were happy to have a big, corn-fed boy at their side who could talk maintenance and engines with those ‘shady’ salesmen (I faked it).
Andy being oh-so-helpful at the car dealership:
Another time, I brought over my new stud detector to help them hang the posters and paintings they had propped around the living room. I was careful not to overstep any bounds, but guys like to be needed, in even the smallest ways – we like to feel like we’re useful. They returned the kindness by offering to find a better string for my pounamu necklace, which was constantly slipping off my neck.
It is still missing a string
In June, I joined them for their local American Cancer Society’s Relay for Life. We were there to support Katy, whose mom had passed away several years before. It was a big family event, and as we circled the track, I couldn’t help but smile thinking how one day soon it might be our teen out here, walking tirelessly with his Bay Ridge friends to defeat ‘can-suh’.
In order to be absolutely sure I was HIV-negative, I had to wait six months since my last possible exposure before getting tested. By July, my six months of abstinence was almost up (thank goodness!) and if all went well, soon we’d be able to begin.
Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder
I suggested we fill out the co-parenting discussion questions that Skyler had sent over, and meet to compare answers over margaritas. I filled mine out on a lunch break. Circumcision? Probably not likely in the all-gay family of the future. Religion? As long as you’re not pageant moms, I don’t care. How often should the dad visit? I’ll only be a train ride away! I looked forward to another fun date – it would be like taking a Cosmo quiz at a sleepover.
When we got together, Emilce hadn’t filled hers out – just Katy, and she’d be answering for both. Already not as fun as I’d imagined, but OK. First question? Circumcision.
“Definitely! I don’t want to have to clean it,” Katy said.
I was shocked. I looked at Emilce. She was Puerto Rican, surely she’d jump in.
“Studies show that circumcision reduces the chances of transmitting HIV.”
Wow. Not the answers I was expecting. I thought about mentioning female genital mutilation in Africa, but these weren’t those kind of lesbians. They just didn’t want to clean it. Period. I had never thought about it from a mom’s perspective before.
Deal breaker? Certainly not, but...maybe we’d have a girl.
We skipped down to a fun one. Names. I’ve always loved the name Josie, short for Josephine.
“Josephine? Isn’t she a harlot in the Bible?” said Emilce.
“We like the name Alessandra,” said Katy. “With two ss’s.”
Oh great, I thought. A first name no one can spell, to go with a last name that sounds like ‘Smudge’ and auto-corrects to ‘Crazy.’
I took a deep breath. These were just discussion questions. But suddenly everything they said was ‘we,’ as in, “we’ll need three months to bond before you can see the baby.” I thought the three of us were the ‘we.’ We were a ‘we’ at the car dealership, and at the walk-a-thon. I had felt it.
I was confused, but stayed calm. “It’s good we’re discussing these things,” I offered.
Later, I had time to think about things more clearly. I reminded myself that this was the plan. Two Parents and a Special Guest Star. I had gotten so excited about the prospect of becoming a dad, so happy to fit in to a little family and community, to be needed, that I’d forgotten that I was only signing up for a #3 roll.
So, OK, expectations adjusted. But something about our first-ever awkward afternoon together made me wonder just how distant that #3 role would be.
By the end of July, I went to have my blood work done. My favorite astrologist, Susan Miller, had already announced in her forecast that a series of eclipses was upon us, and Capricorns and Cancers were about to enter a period of profound changes in their lives over the course of the next two years. “Eclipses are capable of bringing significant, life-changing events that you long remember,” she wrote. As I waited for all my test results, I hoped that wasn’t what she was talking about.
Thankfully it wasn’t. When everything came back fine, I texted Katy to let her know I had a clean bill of health, and to say ‘hi,’ since I really hadn’t spoken with them since the questionnaire day. She texted right back – she’d been tracking her ovulation and could I get over there now, tonight?
Heart pounding, I ran to catch the train to Brooklyn. It looked like the profound changes were already under way.
To be continued...
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