Yeah, so, it wasn’t long after mighty, mighty good man David and I moved in together that people starting asking when we were going to get married. Never mind that we had been together about six months when we moved in together.
Four months after we moved in together, David asked me to marry him, and – duh – I said yes.
Now that we are married, people have started asking when we are going to have a baby. Never mind that we’ve only been married for 7 months.
Anyone who has known me for a long time knows that kids were not really on my radar. Other people’s kids were fine, but passing my genetic material on wasn’t really something I was down with.
That all changed when I met David.
Probably around the fourth date, David told me that he wanted kids, and he wanted to know if I was in. I took one look at that guy and said, “Yeah, I’m in.” He’s an awesome man, and he should be a father. Who am I to say no to that? David should have the opportunity to raise a son, because that son would grow up to be a good man, which – as all ladies and gay men know – is like a unicorn these days. And if he had a daughter, David would raise that rare woman who doesn’t have fucked up daddy issues.
Of course, after we moved in together and right before we got engaged, other things happened. Breast cancer can be a real time and energy suck. Between multiple surgeries, planning a wedding and everyday life (meaning I have TV to watch), the baby thing wasn’t a priority.
The breast cancer is gone, but the aftermath lingers. I was supposed to take tamoxifen for five years. I had an estrogen-positive cancer, and tamoxifen is an estrogen-blocking drug that keeps estrogen-positive cancer from, well, happening. Oh yeah, and you absolutely cannot get pregnant while taking it. Your baby will be born stupid or something.
Seeing as that I’m 40, we really don’t have any time to waste, and I always keep my campaign promises. I took the tamoxifen for 9 months and, with the oncologist’s permission, I stopped taking the drug in September so we could start trying to have a baby … some day. I repeat, some day. Once again, there’s the whole estrogen-positive cancer thing, so pregnancy is tricky; however, I will be closely monitored by the amazing docs at Kaiser when the time comes.
Speaking of … the docs have Kaiser have been really attentive. Really, really attentive. They are obsessed with the whole I’m 40 thing. The docs are already scheduling appointments at the fertility department for us, and we haven’t even started trying! We haven’t even gone on our honeymoon yet. When the fertility department called me this week, I told them politely to back off: “How about we actually try to get pregnant before we start assuming we can’t?”
Halle Berry was 41 when she got knocked up, and I have a lot in common with Halle Berry. We’re both former models, and we both wish that live-action “Flintstones” movie never happened. Plus, the Mansfields are super fertile. My sister even thinks about babies and she gets pregnant.
In the meantime, I’m not really in a rush to not be able to drink red wine.