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ImageWeekend Agenda:


From Abortion Rights to Social Justice: Building the Movement for  Reproductive Freedom




New Year. New Agenda.

It’s been a while, friends.


Things got quiet on the Agenda because I got quiet. And sad. And sadder. And quieter. And sadder still. And I left my wife. And I stayed quiet. And later, I fell in love and wanted to shout it through every open airwave. But I stayed quiet. For reasons I’m not entirely sure of. Until now.


So was this agenda “Convert Straight Friend”? Or “Achieve Bonus Child Status”? Or “Create Chaos”?


I’m preferring to call it “Best Decision I Ever Made That Affected a LOT of People.”


Stay tuned.

Happy holigays

May your gays be merry and bright!

1. Why am I seemingly unable to create and gestate a child who actually sleeps? My second child started out like a dream sleeper (slept a 5-6 hour stretch at a convenient time – 11pm to 4-5am – FROM BIRTH) who would put himself to sleep and now, 11 months later, needs to be held and rocked to fall asleep, needs to be held through the night, and is nearly impossible to put down. Like my daughter was. Until she was about 18 months old. DEAR GOD.


2. What on earth possessed my wife to run the washing machine for a load containing – wait for it – THREE ITEMS??!?! Three SMALL items. Like seriously, at first I thought maybe she moved clothes from the washer to the dryer and forgot a couple of pieces that were stuck to the sides. Dear God.


3. Why do we seem to have even LESS money now that I’m working four days a week? Ugh. I should just stay home.


I swept the dining room floor. Twice.

The other week went like this:

sick baby

sick baby

sick baby

made applesauce

sick baby

sick baby

drove a few hours to pick up donor milk

sick baby


Then we had a long weekend. It went like this:

See old friends

Watch kids play together

Eat crap food

Spend too much money

Go to fun science museum

Spend a lot of time in the car

Praise God for the DVD player


Then we came back. It went like this:






baby up all night


drink a lot of coffee



Today’s my day off. So far I have gone to “Work Share” at #1’s school while #2 napped in the Ergo on my back, came home to have the mouse exterminator check my traps, and had coffee while playing with a baby. Soon it will be time for Early Baby Lunch and (hopefully) Early Baby Nap, wherein Much Dinner Will Be Prepared.

THIS EXCITING LIFE CAN BE YOURS! Queer glamour at its finest!


I have always wanted a sister. Big sister, little sister, it didn’t matter. There is just something mythical and special about sisters.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother. He is probably my very best friend. Now. In our 30s. As kids? Not. Even. Close. Childhood, when a distance of 3.5 years feels like 50, was not kind to our friendship. We were polar opposites with contrasting personalities and, well, he was a boy.

Fast forward to five years ago and I’m¬† pregnant and one thing the wife and I are sure of is that I want a little girl. We’re pregnant with twins and there is a good chance that there is a girl in there, right? Except then we lose one of the twins.

(This could be another whole blog post about disappointment, as twins are born all around me and it seems like everyone in the universe gets to take home their twins, even the ones who dare to announce twins at 6w pregnant. But I digress.)

And then, like magic, I win the baby genital lottery and we get the girl. And oh boy, do we ever. Dresses, ponies, magical unicorns, princesses, sparkles and glitter, desperation for nail polish, ever accessorizing. (This describes neither of our girlhoods, and I am loving it.) And from the moment we start even thinking about going for #2, I know without a doubt that I want one thing: sisters. I want matching Christmas dresses and hair bows and I imagine years of impromptu dance shows in the living room. I can practically TASTE the matching outfits, people. You don’t even know.

At 20 weeks on the dot it is there, front and center – the penis. That upside down, weird-angled, “crotch shot from below” monstrosity and it is there in all its glory, announcing to the world, “THERE WILL BE NO MATCHING DRESSES.” Because while I have no problem giving my son a plethora of tutus and dress-up options, I feel like I have to draw the line at the Christmas photo. For Grandma. She’s 89, you know.

I was open in my disappointment as I had been open in my desire. I wanted an all-girl household. I could smell the Girl Power. I worried about the idea of a son, alone in a house of women. Would he feel left out? Would he wish we had more male friends? Would I be his best friend the way I am so effortlessly my daughter’s best friend? Would they hate each other until their 20s?

My son… he was conceived on the first try, with reduced-cost sperm, with donated meds, with one follicle. This child was meant for me and he came, front and center, to teach me something. About him? About myself? About life? All of the above.

It took about 3 weeks past that ultrasound to shed the disappointment’s grip and now, honestly I can’t imagine how I ever felt that way. This boy was Meant To Be, no doubt about it, he and I are MFEO. I don’t know if we will be best friends, and it was hard to part with all of the hair bows, but my love for him is fierce and deliberate, every moment, with every breath.

I believe his soul is that of the twin we lost nearly five years ago, and how can I be disappointed about that.

My true love has my heart, and I have his.

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