Baby Bait

What everyone is too politically correct to tell you - and yet every parent secretly knows - is that having a newborn baby is like having a cute puppy: everyone on the street suddenly stops to talk to you.

Its interesting. I've been frequenting the same grocery store, the same coffee shop, and the same library for many moons. No one knows, no one cares. And then suddeny I show up with a baby. A cute baby. Now everybody wants to be my friend. Verrrrrrrrrrrrrrry interesting.

Diaper Dating

My daughter and I celebrated her 2-week birthday this week by (drumroll please ....) going out on our first date as a team.

No, not kidding.

A guy had contacted me on Plenty of Fish a few weeks ago. We corresponded, I told him I was expecting a baby via a gestational carrier, and then didn't hear from him for a while. Of course, I figured that news had been enough to freak him out. Wasn't I surprised to get a call from him a few days after I brought my daughter home from the hospital? The call went a little something like this:

"Hello" (that's me, exhausted and trying to lug the baby in carseat, diaper bag, and shopping bag into the house)

"Hey, Liv, this is Bob from Plenty of Fish. Is this a good time for you to talk?"

"Um, actually, no Bob. My baby was born this week and I'm trying to carry her into the house."

How's that for Dating Etiquette 101?

Again, I thought I'd never hear back from Bob, and yet he called a week later. After speaking he asked me out for dinner. I don't like to go out for dinner on a first date - its too big a commitment of time, energy and resources. Plus, I hate the whole 'Who's paying the bill?' gig. So I slipped in:

"Bob, it would be easier for me to meet for coffee, if you don't mind. I'll have my daughter with me and it's easier to plan for a short period of time."

And then it hit me ... having a child is a great dating accessory! I can blame everything on her now. Wow, they never mention this in Dr. Spock.

So we met for coffee. I didn't have to go throught the awkward desciption of what I look like -- hell, how many single women are in Starbucks on a Wednesday night with a baby?

Ironically, the conversation with Bob was one of the best I've had in months. I wonder if having a baby is also a good screening tool? All men too immature to date a woman with a child at this age need not apply.

Lucy needed a bottle half way through the date and I whipped one out and fed it to her -- imagine how awkward this would have been if I breastfed! A few minutes later I told Bob we needed to go home to avoid a meltdown. He walked us out to the parking lot and went for the dreaded first-date-parking-lot hug. But it is difficult to hug someone when they are blocking you with a 6 lb. baby in a carseat -- again, points for Lucy! Bob settled for the arm squeeze instead, and I didn't have to decide whether or not to reciprocate because my arms were full.

I'm not sure if I'll hear from Bob again. If I do, great, If not, great.

I'm too happy and exhausted to worry about what he thought, whether or not he will call, whether or not I should call him, and whether or not I care. But this date was very important to me because it is living proof that being a Mom and Dating and not mutually exclusive. And it proves what I've already begun to suspect --- Lucy and I make a great team.

Sperm in a Latte Cup

Lucy and I walked (okay, she rode) into my favorite independent coffee shop today. I'm a regular at this shop and read my newspaper with a French Roast in there every week after racewalking.

The 40-something owner said to me, "Who is this?"
"This is my daughter, Lucy"
"No, seriously, who is this?"
"I'm serious Luke, this is my baby daughter."

Silence. Looks at me, looks at her, looks at me. Contemplation.

"How?"
"I used a surrogate (gestational carrier was just too much to ask).
Do you know what that is?"
"No."
"I couldn't carry a pregnancy, so I found another woman to carry my baby for me."

Silence. Looks at me, looks at her, looks at me. Contemplation.

"Where did the sperm come from?"
Okay, we're getting a big personal here, but I can handle it.

"I used a donor."
"You used a donor? Why? I would have given you mine! You know I have 6 children, including twins! Why didn't you ask me?"

I'm picturing this conversation in my head, "Hey honey, guess what I gave a customer today in one of our latte cups ???"

"Gee, thanks Luke, I appreciate that."
"I'm serious! The next time, you use mine."

Would this entitle me to a free scone with my French Roast each week ?
Just wondering.

Happy Hour, reworked

Happy hour used to mean standing around drinking cold beer in a room full of 'young professionals', all pretending not to notice each other while attempting to eat jalapeno poppers without spilling hot cheese on their work clothes. Ohhhhh, good times folks.

Happy hour has a new meaning since my daughter arrived, rather early, 12 days ago. Happy hour now refers to the 60 minutes per day when we're both awake, neither of us is crying or pooping, and we're staring at each other thinking, "I can't believe this is happening."

Yes, my daughter is here. It actually worked. It actually worked.

I look back over the past few years of dating, break-ups, single mothers by choice meetings, pregnancies, miscarriages, surgeries, fertility treatments, surrogate hunting, more fertility treatments, failed cycles, and then a pregnancy! Followed by 36 weeks of ultrasounds, doctors appointments, and then .... a baby. Holy shit, it actually worked.

(As an aside, I can't believe that some people get one of these babies by just having sex. Are you serious???)

And now my life has changed forever. All the naysayers told me that I'd never sleep again, never date again, never travel again, never have fun again. And while I'll admit that simple tasks such as a run to the grocery store have suddenly become much more complicated, I say, 'Bring it on'. I'll trade this happy hour for a bud light and a jalapeno popper any day.

One Night Love Affair

Shit, it wasn't L.O.V.E. Her current reference tanked --- big time. As in they come home every night to her latest disaster --- poop running down the side of the diaper genie, milk all over the bottom of the frig, muddy footprints all over the white rug. Master disaster.

Let me compare shopping for a nanny with dating:

-Everyone looks great on-line; check!
-Everyone is polished and on best behavior on date one; check!
-References don't pan out; ah ha!

I think I have the secret to dating! Request a reference list and check it twice. I cannot tell you how many years of pointless dating this could have saved me...

Back to the drawing board.

Could This Be L.O.V.E.?

I think it may be. And not some dumb crush or a one night love affair --- I think this may be the real deal.

We met at Starbucks yesterday after a series of e-mails back and forth. When I walked in, our eyes met across the coffee shop. I thought to myself --- this could be My Nanny.

Her name is Rosa. She is 31-years old, beat me to Starbucks (and I was 5 minutes early), was immaculately dressed, and she had a fat binder of every certificate she has ever earned (infant CPR, 0-3 program, and a Bachelor's in child development). A Binder. Be still my heart. She is bilingual. She knows and uses sign language. OMG.

I feared that she was out of my league. A career woman, looking for $20/hour and on her way to starring in next season's Supernanny. But no, she is willing to be flexible and she might be in my league after all.

I still need to check her references. We still need to discuss vacations, the definition of 'light housekeeping', and her view on watching sick babies --- but I'm cautiously optimistic.

I was tempted to have her name tatooed on my bicep today inside a heart shaped bottle, but I'm holding off. Don't rush it.

The Road Not Taken

I met with the head of pediatrics today to tell him my story in hopes that he can help divert any problems we might encounter at the hospital after delivery. You know, the, "Hold on a minute, you're a single woman claiming that this baby coming out of another woman's body is yours?" type of problems. The usual.

I spent a few minutes in the waiting room before my appointment, dodging germs and watching the other parents with their children. As I watched them play, argue, and wrestle grimy toys away from their kids, I realized that I had a smile plastered across my face. This is really happening! Plan B has morphed into almost-reality!

After my meeting I floated over to the elevators and landed next to a couple with their 6-week old baby sleeping in his snugride. The couple looked ... rumpled. And disgruntled. They looked like they had been sleeping in their clothes, like they hadn't brushed their respective heads of hair in several days, and as though they weren't speaking to each other or their baby. It wasn't a warm, fuzzy feeling but more like a 'get me the hell out of here and don't stand too close to me' feeling.

I glanced down at them from my cloud and then took a double take at the guy. And then a triple take. Could it be???? Yes. It was Gary. They guy I dated during a 3-month holiday session from November 2003-February 2004. This guy was the recipient of my famous yoga-pilates, karma-sutra pull-up move that threw his lower back out, forcing me to massage icy-hot into his hairy ass muscle for 24 hours. Oh Gary, we laughed, and you cried. And then we broke up.

Gary was a nice guy. But truth be told, he was kind of a load. And seeing him standing there with his equally loadish wife, looking miserable, looking as though having icy-hot rubbed into his ass muscle would be the highlight of his year, I suddenly contemplated the road not taken. 'Yes, I'm doing it alone' suddenly became 'YES, I'm doing it ALONE!!!'.

Don't get me wrong --- I fully admit that this is Plan B. And it's not Plan Forever. But it also ain't Plan Icy Hot and Miserable. And for that I am eternally grateful.

I quietly backed away from the Happy Couple at the elevator and bolted down the stairs.