We didn't want kids
Corban and I talked about not having children since we first started dating. I had made up my mind in my mid-twenties that it wasn’t the life I wanted. No suburbs, no PTA, no cul-de-sac block parties with loafer-wearing neighbors; no thank you. I preferred freedom and living downtown and doing comedy when I felt like it and NOT doing comedy when I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t want to give up spontaneous vacations or doing absolutely NOTHING after work. I wanted to keep throwing ridiculous costume parties and entertaining friends well into my 40s like a fabulous gay couple.
But on top of all that fun stuff, I just never felt very maternal. I never had an instinct to hold another woman’s baby. I don’t have interest in most things other females gush over. I don’t squeal at wedding announcements or baby photos. I don’t squeal at anything. (Maybe a boxer puppy photo.) The thought of planning my own wedding sounded like an agonizing chore – so I didn’t plan one. We married three months after he proposed, alone on a beach and it was perfect.
Every now and then we’d have a drunken conversation about how cool it would be to just SEE what kind of little boy we would make and how funny it is to watch tee-ball. It was always a boy. I called him a him before I knew I wanted a him. If I had to picture a baby in my arms it was always a boy. I even remember a hazy moment a couple of years ago when I woke up after a dream and said, “Ok, I’m ready to meet my son.” And then an hour later was like, “What the hell was that about?” and totally dismissed it. We were firm on our decision. Our life was fun and stress-free and we wanted to keep it that way. No kids.
My great-grandmother, Mae Huntsman, passed away on July 28, 2013. When I was born, HER mother, my great-great grandmother was still alive and we have this great, rare photo of 5 generations of women. We could have easily had that again – but I had to go and put a stop to our family’s pattern of teenage pregnancy. My poor granny. Here I was, healthy in my 30s and still not giving her a great-great grandchild. She never complained but I know she would have been thrilled to have one.
My mom was with her when she passed and called me around 6am to let me know she was gone. Corban was asleep next to me and I quietly lay in bed crying. Then I started talking to her. I’m not religious and I don’t pretend to know what happens to us after we die, but I like creative options and I always liked the idea of reincarnation and old and new souls. I like to think we get whatever it is we hoped we were going to get. I, personally, just want all the answers. When I die I want instant knowledge of everything that ever was. I want to know how life started and how far is space or is this just all a computer simulation, etc…
But, Granny was deeply Christian, and I hope she got her Heaven was it was everything she hoped for. I like to think she was reunited with my papa, met God and Jesus and was showered with praise on being such a good woman in her 91 years of life.
But Granny was never one to just sit around and do nothing and an easy-going Heaven could easily make her antsy. So I made a deal with her. I told her if she had the choice to stay in heaven – or come back and give life another shot – I’d make an exception – just for her. I apologized for not giving her a great-grandkid, but if she didn’t think it was too weird, she could come back and BE the great-grandkid. I would only do this for her. The door was closed to anyone else. I’m not kidding, I really did this. I know that’s a strange solution to coping with a death, but I was sad and sleepy and I thought it was a nice offer.
The next month I had my first ever, positive pregnancy test.
Now, now people – I’m not saying I think it was all divine-granny intervention. Corban had a little something to do with it too. Without giving you all the details of when and where this took place or how many glasses of wine had been drank … there was a conversation. And it was out of the blue. He said he decided he really wanted to be a dad and thinks he’d be a great one and I was trapped under him and agreed with him and may have said something along the lines of, “Well, fine, go for it, cowboy. Give it your best shot.”
Who knew his aim was that good? Who would have thought?
When I handed him the two positive pee-pee sticks (and a candy bar because I thought he might need it) I saw the most genuine shock and fear ever in those enormous, brown eyes. That same day he traded his beloved, orange Dodge Challenger for a Dodge Ram truck with a spacious back seat to fit a car seat. He gave up the sexy curves, but not the HEMI.
I guess I can say I’ve done the same. Well, I still have curves, but of a different sort. Charlie Gehrig Gallagher will be here soon. We’ll try not to put too much pressure on the baseball thing. If he throws like his mommy he’ll be in good shape. If not, well there’s always the business side of the game and with baseball-bot as a father he will full of knowledge and statistics.
We realized we don’t have to give up much. We can still have those wild costume parties and go on nice vacations. He’ll just be right there with us and that’s exciting. We’re not moving to the burbs and Corban isn’t trading his dirty sneakers for loafers. We’ll be the same people – just with a boogery sidekick. And we’re looking forward to it.
And although it’s a whimsy of a story – I’m going to look for Granny in him. She was a hard-working, beef-eating, fishing, tomboy and a tough lady, so having a go as a male this time around wouldn’t be a stretch. And if he’s stubborn, allergic to tomatoes, addicted to Wheel of Fortune or I can’t beat him in a game of canasta, then I’ll know she’s there. And that will be so totally weird.











