Oh baby

Smart people doing goofy things is funny. It's heartening, in some ways. They can't be smart all the time can they? When these things are innocuous and done in good faith with even better cheer, they make me smile. My two lovely friends - one gay, the other a single woman with no kids - decided to embark on baby making. They didn't tell me until they were 6 months in. It's worth noting that in college, I was the connector for these two folks. She was my roommate my junior and senior year. He was my first (maybe second) true love. We dated. That didn't work (see, smart people do dumb things) and so we became lifelong friends. He was in my wedding. My family took him in as their own when coming out to his didn't go so well (things were tossed out windows and burned, gay rehab therapists were called and the inevitable teary reunion ensued, albeit many years later).

These two were friends but once removed. Gay Best Friend (GBF) and I spent our early years in SF trolling the gay bars in the Castro and raving South of Market with hordes of shirtless men. I felt I owed him. I'd made him fool around with me for many years. Besides the gays are more fun. And I was a fag hag without the baby bangs and lunch box purse. My former roommate went on to become one of my most accomplished friends. Early internet mogul, book writer, super glamorous intellectual connected to the foremost smarty pants' of our day (Al Gore, Phillip Zimbardo, Elizabeth Gilbert, just to name a few across a range of disciplines).

Well, fancy pants decides she wants to have a baby. Go for it, I say. This is an independent woman who can handle it. If some of my girlfriends were to tell me this, I might say, are you sure? You have your independence (all the while thinking, she can't handle that!) Not this gal.  She's got bigger balls than any dude I know. A baby... no problem.

Six months later, I've heard nothing, but gone through enough heartache of my own to be disconnected and self centered enough not to have asked. And then, I see her. And I say, what's up with the baby making? Well, she says, I've been meaning to tell you. Me and your GBF, we're trying to have a baby. We didn't tell you because you've been going through shit of your own. I've been meaning to tell you.

Trying to have a baby?! You're having sex. (I'm trying to picture this as he and I had tried that without much success many years earlier). No! Of course not.

I don't know where to start with the questions. I'm giddy with the news of it all. And the fact that two of my closest friends (even though we don't maintain the day to day conversations that we did in our 20s) are galavanting around engaged in near-sex activity without my knowledge is somewhat mind-blowing. Especially since he and I had made a pact many years ago, amidst the thumping of techno and mind-altering substances, that we would have a baby if we both ended up alone. (Well, I'm alone, but the babies were had without his intervention... but back to the real story.)

She goes on to tell me of their baby making travails, not aided by the help of a trained professional. It amounts to this: they meet in some random city where they might both have business. He does his thing into a cup and hands it off (Isn't there something about air hitting the suckers that kills 'em?) He leaves to do his real work. She lies back, entertains herself, and with the help of some sort of of turkey baster / eye dropper type of contraption, inserts.

No it hasn't worked. Of course it hasn't. But they've done it 4 times. The thought of this is so funny and outrageous I just can't help but smile at the pure faith of it all. I think it's time for some professional intervention, I suggest. I know, she says. So they have a new plan that involves doctors and a more air tight solution. Whew.

It must also involve the admission of true commitment. Not to mention the forking over of real dollars. And the possibility of devastating disappointment. You can't be disappointed if the eye dropper doesn't work. How could it? And there are always, more formal options in store. But if those fail, then what? Reality ensues.

My GBF told me he's had his share of worries over this. But everything good in his life has come from saying YES rather than no. And she deserves this, he says. So he's going to do it. This is a rom com of the year 2011. It's got Jennifer Aniston and Rupert Everett (he might be too old?) written all over it.

Bless that man. Say YES. Let it work. My fingers, toes, legs and eyes are crossed with the sheer desperate hope and love of it all.