Moojmothers and a Sperm Pimp
I have so much to report since the last post. I feel like I’ve been in some kind of tornado of events and energies, some of which really merit writing about, but given other duties pressing upon me, I may have to take it in bits and pieces.
Here’s the overview:
The Baby W. post generated a huge wave of (positive) energy and information that I’m still trying to absorb.
I had my first bartending gig at The Magnolia on Saturday and it was balls-out crazy, hair-raising fun.
For some reason, many in my friendship circle are going through monumental personal and/or relationship challenges this week, so I’m getting all kinds of phone calls that trigger various existential afterthoughts for me about the twists and turns of life.
I made three–count them, three!–significant plans about spending time with my dad during the next 6 months. This might be a little bit crazy but it will darn sure be interesting.
I’ve had a new colleague staying with me for the last few days, which has been fun but also totally throwing off my routine.
Said colleague helped me plant two rose bushes and is teaching me all about orchids.
So, I think I’ll start in reverse, with the Baby W. update. First off, I learned from the last post that blogging adds a whole new meaning to “putting it out in the Universe.” That’s what I dig about it. However, per my mother’s suggestion I edited out a few identifying details for security reasons (in case there’s some shadowy hater out there reading my posts and plotting to hunt me down). I guess we should refer to the hypothetical baby as Baby W. from here forward, then, ‘kay?
In a nutshell, you guys responded with this great big “YES.” My meeting with Marce and Dawn was similarly affirmative–which is putting it mildly. That meeting is worth its own post, but I’ll for now just note that by the end of the night we were referring only half-jokingly to Baby W. as “our child.” All of which generated many consecutive hours of concentrated baby-related thoughts that made my brain swim and swoon around like a thirteen year-old with a crush on the pool lifeguard. I’m not sure what I expected but I guess I didn’t expect that. Maybe a little more caution and warning and deliberation in the face of the magnitude of the project. But in the wake of all that “Yes, you can do it! We’ll help!” the clearest feeling coming through is gratitude. You all are amazing, and I am so fortunate to already be in an incredible network of love and support. Also: who said staying close to your exes doesn’t pay off??
I don’t know if it will last, but I’m starting to get this “how could I say no in the face of all that love?” feeling. Which, of course, generates a whole new round of fear and excitement.
To get a little more concrete, just in one day the following offers came rolling in:
• free maternity clothes, baby clothes, and other material “spoiling”
• kidfrastructure sharing
• $2,000 “start up” costs up front and $100 a month for the first two years
• 1 overnight babysitting gig every three weeks
• additional babysitting and childcare
• baby shower
• help with bills and/or groceries
I’m tempted to name names here but I don’t want to embarrass anyone. Suffice it to say, the outpouring is incredible, and it gave me some very interesting images to go with the larger vision. Images of a big, crazy circle/circus of love around a very appreciated and loved child. Images of a uniquely communal childbirth environment (at least until I kick everyone out). Images of people I love getting to be part of a kid’s life in a way they might not otherwise be. Moojmothers (and maybe some moojfathers? foojfathers?) in a web of support, helping a little person to read, to play soccer, to throw a ball, to fix a toilet, to roll down a hill, to play a fiddle, to make olive tapanade, to change a tire, to be a good person, to be a citizen–all the kinds of things my brilliant, loving friends and family do.
And then there are the scary images–me stumbling around sleep deprived and brain-dead in class, feeling constantly frazzled, needing help, feeling desperately alone, wondering if I did the right thing. Worrying stuff. But maybe not any different from what any potential mother thinks about.
So from here I’m just going to take it a piece at a time. I want to secure a book contract and know that my job is not in jeopardy before I start planning any kind of insemination. But for now I’m setting some goals and doing some more preparatory exploration and we’ll see what happens.
Now for the funny part.
The day after the post, my mom and I are videoconferencing about all this, using this Mac software, iChat. She goes, “I think you should use B.T.’s sperm.” [Initials changed to protect the innocent.]
B.T. is the son of some good friend of my mom and Jim’s. I don’t think I’ve ever met the guy. I go, “oh yeah, why’s that?”
“Oh, because the T’s are just such GOOD STOCK. They’re just great people, and he’s so strapping and smart.”
“Okay, but what makes you thing B.T. has any interest in offering up his sperm?”
‘Well, because he told me so,” she says casually.
“What??? He told you so?”
“Yeah, about a year ago I asked him. And he was totally supportive; he’d even fly out there so you could have it fresh and everything. He’s totally fine with it.”
A moment of silence. I’m astounded. She just smiles. I’m thinking, okay, what does it mean that my mom’s been out there pimping sperm for me? Where in the hell do I put that information?
“Mom, I can’t believe you did that. That’s so…thoughtful. But I can’t believe you did that. Is the guy married?”
“No, he doesn’t even have a partner, but I think he’s heterosexual. He’s just supportive. And he’s really strapping! You should meet him!”
Deep breath. This is already a crazy, crazy ride.
