Let me preface this by saying it: I love my doctor. She is one of my closest friends. She is the kids doctor, and also my mom’s doctor. We’ve been friends since we were 12. Noah would move into her house if we let him.

We are not her typical patients. She works for a community health center, which is code for “health care for poor people.” Obviously, her choices and values are part of what we love about her. The quality of care is just as good as it was when she was in private practice, but there are no toys in the waiting area, there’s a guard in the entry, and today was the only time I’ve ever noticed another white patient waiting. (There are often attractively dressed, perfectly made-up white women around the waiting area, but they are pharmaceutical company reps.) Sometimes it takes a ridiculous amount of time for a nurse to return a “can we get in today?” call, leading us to have a close relationship with the neighborhood Urgent Care receptionist as well. Apparently, when you are uninsured, you have to spend a lot of time waiting.

Today was Josie’s 3 year old checkup. (For the record, she is perfectly healthy, 39″ tall, weighs 35.2 lbs, and is almost exactly on the 50th percentile line for 4 year old girls in height.)

The nurses were lovely — Josie didn’t even cry at her shot. (We had missed a vaccination last time; they were out of what we needed.)

But the support staff is still learning about a few things — like families that are not quite typical.

The discussion started like this:

Receptionist: Are you her mom?
Me: I’m one of her moms.
R (looking alarmed): Are you her legal guardian?
Me: Yes.
R: Are you her birth mom?
Me (looking stunned): I don’t think that’s any of your business. Why are you asking?
R: Legally, I’m required to ask that.
Me: What? No you aren’t. I am her legal parent. What difference does it make whether or not I’m her birth mom, or she’s adopted?
R: I have to make sure you are authorized.
Me: What? Why don’t you talk to Dr. Tully? She can assure you that I can authorize medical care for Josie.
R: She’s with a patient. You’ll have to wait.
Me: That’s fine.

A few minutes later, Josie was summoned by the nurse. We were about to take off her shoes so she could get weighed, when the receptionist announced that we were NOT checked in yet and should not be taken to an exam room. The nurse looked confused, so I explained, “We’re having a dispute over whether or not it is any of her business whose vagina Josie came from.”

The 4 or 5 women staff in the immediate vicinity began to buzz. Josie and I returned to the waiting area. The receptionist and I went back and forth a few more times. (My main point became, “The terms ‘birth mom,’ and ‘parent,’ and ‘legal guardian’ are not synonyms.”) I knew that if I caved and said, “Yes, I am her birth mom,” things would move along more quickly. But someday, Jill will be the parent at the doctor’s office. And sometimes, other parents in 2 mom or 2 dad families will come there too. So I stood my ground, unwilling to answer the question.

(Let us also leave aside the apparent weakness of the receptionist’s powers of observation. The fact that I am this child’s biological parent is so obvious as to be remarked upon by strangers in parking lots. But that is not the point.)

Eventually Josie was weighed and measured, her blood pressure was taken, and she had charmed and been charmed by a lovely nurse.

Not long after that, Madelaine arrived. She had already seen my Facebook status update, which noted my love for her and lack of love for her support staff. She had spoken to the receptionist about what happened, and explained to her and why “are you the birth mother?” wasn’t the right question. Madelaine arrived and immediately conveyed the receptionist’s contrition.

Some days it is harder to feel like the Ambassador from Planet Lesbian Mom than other days.

So much to blog, so little time!

Working backwards from today: WAY TO GO CALIFORNIA! I promise not to say anything bad about you ever again. Even if I do feel fat every time I visit. (Ok, really, thats about Southern California. But I’ll still quit talking trash about you, California.)

About 5 minutes after hearing the news that their State Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage, in a really strong and fantastic opinion, I started wondering when we could go to California to get married.

A few seconds later, I had a brilliant idea: BLOGHER is in San Francisco this summer. I wasn’t going to go, because I’m going to be ~7 weeks shy of my due date and traveling that far that pregnant kinda sucks. Plus flying cross-country is expensive.

But I had a great time last year, and even though my posse the LadyBlogs won’t be going, I would still have a good time.

The idea of going AND GETTING LEGALLY MARRIED became irresistible in about 4 seconds. My fantasy caught fire and all I could think about for the next 5 or 10 minutes was how to convince Jill.

Then I looked at a calendar.

My cousin Kirsten, the last unmarried cousin in my family, is getting married the same weekend. In Milwaukee.

I’m not skipping a family wedding to go to a conference, no matter how cool the conference is. And I’m not skipping a family wedding for what is a super exciting piece of paper, but not for us a “real wedding.”

Our real wedding was February 22, 2003. 

Our immediate families and many of our friends and extended family were there. The only thing missing from that wedding was acknowledgment under the law — and while I certainly want that, exactly when I get it is not that important to me.

We ratified that wedding once through a Vermont Civil Union when we were in New England for Dave & Lizzie’s wedding, but only because we could easily get the exciting piece of paper on Friday and drive to the wedding on Saturday.

So yeah, no BlogHer wedding for us.

Now I’m fantasizing about the 4th of July. Wouldn’t that be cool and symbolic?

(Thought: Is there any chance that being legally married in California would annoy a Georgia court sufficiently to interfere with Jill legally adopting Esmerelda Freugenspeigal? Our civil union was viewed as a good thing, but The M Word sometimes causes strange reactions. Check with the lawyer here before actually doing it.)

YESTERDAY:

Last night, our dear friend Peter Mulvey was in town for a gig. He came over for an early dinner, and stayed at our place after the show.

Noah cracked us all up throughout dinner, and again this morning, with his constant refrain of, “Man? Man? Man!!!” to get Peter’s attention. (Neither “Mr. Peter” nor “Peter” seemed to stick.)

We tried to get Noah to tell his knock-knock joke, and to those of you who know Peter and our mutual friends…I’m afraid Noah’s joke telling ability may rival Scott’s.

Even more exciting than Peter himself, was Peter’s Big Bicycle which parked in our front hall overnight. Noah was beside himself with glee that Peter let him “fix” the bicycle with his yellow plastic hammer and orange plastic wrench.

I got to go to the show, which was fantastic. It’s fun to see how his performance has evolved, and I loved the some of the stories he told. Especially the story about his Dad emailing him stories about a character named Dynamite Bill, and the story about his wife Meredith.

I won’t give away the plot of the Meredith story, except to say that never in the history of the universe has it been funnier to imagine offering someone a sandwich.

The other thing I came to realize in the course of the evening is that I think Peter has the most well-rounded education of anyone I know. I want to be in a book group with him. I don’t know anyone else who reads history, biography, religion, poetry, and apparently astrophysics.

LAST WEEKEND:

Grandma was here! And Noah had a great time. Some combination of Noah and the rest of us went out for dinner, and to music class, and for tricycle rides, and to the zoo, and to see trains.

Noah hasn’t stopped talking about Grandma and her visit since she left. Especially the part about the trip to the zoo, and seeing the elephant pooping. But he loves the toys and books she brought, and he asks about her now that she’s gone.

And Jill and I got to have a much needed date night. We had a nice dinner and saw the movie Baby Mama. It had cute moments, but didn’t live up to the comic potential of the awesome cast. We didn’t really care.

TOMORROW:

Tomorrow is Noah’s last day at Miss Heather’s for day care. He likes it a lot, and we will totally try to use her for backup and/or if there is no space at the church day care when I go back to work after Esmerelda Freugenspeigal is born.

This week is the third annual Freedom to Marry Week, and when better to discuss that than Valentine’s Day?

Yesterday, I posted about all the boringly practical things I’m planning to spend my 2007 bonus purchasing or fixing. What I didn’t say is how lucky I feel — the original plan for this bonus was that it would go straight into savings in order to pay for the roughly $3000 that it will cost my family for Jill to become Blur’s legal parent.

And that’s assuming that we don’t get assigned to the homophobic judge in our county and have to move. Again.

The only reason we can afford to do such scandalously frivolous things as garbage disposals and storage bins with that bonus check is because my company announced last week that they’re moving from annual bonuses to twice/year bonuses this year, and also giving retention bonuses. Both of those will be paid out much closer to the time that little Blur is due.

There will be no new tires with that money. That will be all about the lawyers.

When a couple is legally married, they are both automatically the legal parents of any child born during the marriage. They don’t have to spend thousands of dollars on legal fees, creating a legally binding relationship between the child and the parent who didn’t gestate the child.

And if that legally married family suffers a tragic accident, such as the death of that non-gestating parent, even a bran-new newborn will at least have the financial safety net of survivorship benefits from the deceased parent’s Social Security.

We spent nearly all of our savings on expenses related to Noah’s adoption, particularly with the unexpected fact of having to move to a new county after being assigned to the one judge in our county who flat out refuses to grant same sex couples second parent adoptions.

But it was worth it to have the security that provides.

I am by no means saying that Noah and I won’t be a serious mess if something were to happen to Jill. We would be!

But it helps a tiny bit to know that at least there would be a modest ongoing income for Noah’s support, through to his adulthood.

Can you imagine how unfair it would be for Noah to have that, but his equally loved and planned for future sibling to be left high and dry?

There are a myriad of other reasons why families like mine need to be free to legally marry, why civil unions, partnership agreements, registered domestic partnerships, and insurance benefits for domestic partners are not enough. For more personal stories about how important this is, check out Robin’s blog, The OTHER Mother, for bloggers participating in a cool week-long meme about it.

All those reasons are compelling and important too. But right now, as a mother who is pregnant with a so very wanted and planned for child, fear of the worst case scenario is the reason that wakes me up at night.

Some of you are probably curious for the post-reproductive endocrinologist visit update. I hope so, anyway, because practically all I have done since then is play “mental rubics cube” with the information he provided. You know, if we did X then Y, but if we did A, then B, what about P then Q? Which steps make the most sense, and in which order?

It isn’t graphic, but just in case you feel like knowing more about our babymaking thoughts is too much information, the rest is “below the fold.”

Continue reading »

If you are at all interested in the issue of assisted reproduction, how/when/if to tell children about how they were conceived, especially if donor eggs (or sperm) were involved, go right now and read Lesbian Dad’s response to the Peggy Orenstein article in Sunday’s New York Times. That Lesbian Dad, she’s one smart Baba.

You Are a Cappuccino
You’re fun, outgoing, and you love to try anything new.
However, you tend to have strong opinions on what you like.
You are a total girly girly at heart – and prefer your coffee with good conversation.
You’re the type that seems complex to outsiders, but in reality, you are easy to please

As long as “girly-girl” means conversational and people-oriented, rather than fashionable, I’m afraid to say that I’ve been nailed by a silly Internet quiz.

Maybe I should change from my “usual” grande skim latte. Although the last time I ordered something “different” the poor barista was having a rough morning and twice made me something I didn’t order — first my usual, and then the fancy drink the woman in front of me ordered.

In reality, I am trying very hard to keep my expensive coffee purchases to a minimum. This is challenging when there is a starbucks right in the building.

Wish me luck today. In keeping with our newly open-ended unplans about trying to have a second child, today’s my “if I’m the one to do this, what do we need to do?” doctor’s appointment.

Jill got her thyroid bloodwork results in, and they look great!

Her TSH level is now 1.3!!! That means the docs will work with her and will not be unduly concerned about the risk of miscarriage. Woot!

Also, whether it was carefully and repeatedly explaining to Noah that he wasn’t supposed to get up until the birds start singing, or exhaustion, or leaving his fan on all night, or an act of God, G-d, Goddess, or the deity of your choice, IT WORKED. Noah slept through from about 8:30 until ??? — he’s still sleeping now at 5:21 am.

Here he is looking all cute yesterday, when instead of dinner he wanted to run around outside.

Mom, can we go outside?Hi! I'm Cute!

(He loves those shorts. Yesterday I had to find something he could wear with them. As soon as I opened the drawer, he was all “Fwower? Fwower? Fwower?”)

Updated to add: The hat thing was equally funny. We have a heap of his jackets and hats sitting in a chair near the front door, with a heap of shoes under/around the chair. Every so often, Noah gets inspired and digs into the heap.

Yesterday, while ignoring the pizza we were trying to get him to eat, Noah dug into the heap and pulled out all the hats. Then he put on that one and “Mommy, up!”-ed us into taking him outside.

Noah proceeded to carry his soccer ball all the way to the play area in our development (~2, maybe 2.5 blocks), distracted only by hearing dogs behind a fence. The hat stayed in place, random tie hanging in his face, for half an hour at least.

I have a cute son, if I do say so myself.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this here, but my adorable nephew, Max, is once again thriving! He’s eating well and gaining weight like a champ. Way to go Max! Way to go Aunt Anna! Way to go Uncle Jason!

I hear birds singing. And a baby grunting.

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