Hi there. It’s been a while, I know, and I apologize for that. A lot’s happened. I think I needed some time to step back, reflect, make some adjustments before jumping back up on that blogging horse. So with that, why do I have baby fever? Like, bad, y’all. Bee Ay Dee.
This has all stemmed from all the Prop 8 stuff here in California. As I got involved and bitched, and blogged and posted, and donated money, the more I thought about defending the rights of gays and lesbians for the right to marry, it became apparent that I was don’t it in some abstract, intangible way. Me putting up the good fight wasn’t just for other gays and lesbians to get married, because I never saw myself getting married. I never considered it an option. I knew I was gay at an early age, and as a confirmed bachelor, I’d skate through life with maybe a cat and a room balanced between orchids and African violets. Because gays didn’t get married. They didn’t raise children, or have families. They rode on the win and hooked up with whomever they liked. Or so I thought.
This whole thing, this whole debacle about, “if a man wants to marry another man, or two women want to marry each other, why not stop at a someone wanting to marry a goat?” crap, or allowing one’s underwear to not just creep up one’s crack but to permanently lodge itself there forever and ever over why civil unions aren’t equivalent to marriage and obnoxious shit to that extent gave me the time to pull away and think about me in this whole equation. Not partnered, hardly dating, and fired up as all hell.
And then I thought about my parents (who never dated anyone other than themselves). I thought about how my mom’s folks and my dad’s folks, all knew each other, went to the same church, and hung out before they even had given birth to each of my parents. And that is my legacy. I am human. I am social, and no man is an island. Me looking at rectifying that has been huge.
At 35, a lot of my friends are married. Married, with children. I’m in the midst of some major changes in my life. And I’ve made my peace with finally saying goodbye to my late mother, and accepting that my father, who I love dearly, is someone I’m never going to get to know on the level in which I’d like. But, no matter. It’s work. I know it is. And potentially being a single parent is that much more work. A huge challenge. I never thought about life insurance (who has anything to leave to anyone?), or college educations, or immunizations, or chicken pox, or playdates. But I want to. I want more than what I have. I want what my parents had. And you probably have. And I just can’t wait.