At the party on Saturday night I met a mother-of-two about my own age. When she learned I was pregnant (boy, I sure had to get over my hang-up about announcing that in a hurry!) she did the typical shriek thing. And then told me she cried when she had learned of her own pregnancy. I asked, "Good cry or bad cry?" Seemed like a reasonable question to me. But she balked and looked at me funny and said it was tears of joy. My own feelings are much more complicated than that.

I was never the girl who played dollies and wanted to have lots and lots of babies the second I grew up. My Barbies were independent fashion designers, punk musicians, and--though I didn't know it at the time--lesbians. Coming to realize that I kinda, sorta, actually wanted to have kids has been a very long process.

The first indication was a change in my late-night-thoughts-of-horrible-things-that-keep-you-awake-even-longer. For me the typical direction was early widowhood. At first the sleep deprived exhibit of grief involved such rational plans of action as not washing Mr. b's pillow case so that I would have his scent with me still. But gradually I realized that I was more upset about the idea that I wouldn't have a part of him left. And my semi-conscious mind began to include a surprise pregnancy as consolation for my loss. I didn't want to have just anyone's babies. I wanted to have his baby.

I decided long ago that I will not have any major regrets on my death bed. I think that it is much more likely I could regret not having a child than having one. And logically, I've got this female body. I should use all its features. How can I completely experience what it's like to be a woman without going through the reproductive process? Hell, this could be my first time on the wheel as a woman so who am I to deprive my soul of that?

So, even though I technically want to do this, I view it in much the same way I viewed loosing my virginity. Ok, let's just get this part over with so I can get on with the rest of my life.