Yes, I know this is illegal

S and I have been talking about having kids for years. Well, I've been talking about having kids for years and S has been listening and nodding her head every now and then.

But then we got serious.

And about a year ago, we started to explore our options. Before we decided if we should bake one or buy one, we attended a number of baby seminars, we talked to friends and friends of friends and their friends, we looked at websites, read books, and questioned lawyers. And then we decided what was best for us.

Sidenote: In the land of rednecks (where we currently reside) there are laws cleverly designed to keep lesbians from having babies. Well, not exactly to keep them from having babies, but to tie one hand behind their backs while they awkwardly try to use a turkey baster to get a bun in the oven. It’s a felony, A FELONY, to self-inseminate with anything other than a penis. Seriously. If you get the little swimmers up there via penis, you’re home free, if you use ANYTHING else, you’re on your way to being a convicted felon. Thank you bigots and fundies.

Being the rebels we are, we decided to ask a male friend to contribute to the cause. And when that didn't work out, we asked another one. And when that didn't work out, we asked another one. That led to some awkward early morning shennanigans with a glass jar and a needle-less syringe. Some bad jokes were made. And, ultimately, when that didn't work out either, we decided to change our plan. Bring on the medical intervention.

S is a lesbian. And so am I.

You probably figured it out by now. But in case you need some background, you don’t know how you ended up on this blog but you’re slightly intrigued, you seriously haven’t left your house in 10 years, or you you’re just plain curious:

S is a lesbian you could spot a mile away. She’s not the softball playing, buzz cut type, but she looks damn good in a button down and doc martens. Not to mention those trendy glasses and that super stylish haircut.

This would be a great place to insert a picture. S is hot and who wouldn’t want to take a look. But for now, I’m going to leave her swanky visage to your imagination. Maybe I’ll change my mind later.

Me, I could go either way. Well, *I* couldn’t go either way (or haven’t yet), but your gaydar has to be pretty refined to pick me out of the crowd. Unless you happen to catch me on a slouchy-baggy-boy-pants day. S thinks I’m sporty/trendy. But I think that’s just because she was raised in Mississippi and doesn’t know any better.

Want to come with?

This baby journey hasn’t been a short one. And we’re only 2 steps in. And it’s probably going to last a lifetime. I have about million rants and raves (the government said I can’t do what?), insights (stolen and from the heart), questions, and stories to share. But I’ll start at the beginning, and we’ll go from there. Apparently, I’m going to have plenty of time to catch you up….

S and I met in tumult, found our way, lost our way, rinse/washed/repeated, and are now employing a therapist to help keep us in line. Before I met S, I wanted a baby. Maybe two. There was a brief stint in college (see: hair-dye-r, college radio-listen-r) when I didn’t want kids at all. The air was polluted, the water was dirty and disappearing, and look what a bangup job my mother had done with me. But over time, the angst faded and I wanted a baby again. And so it’s been. But I waited. For the right time. For enough money. For the right partner. And now here we are, two uteruses, an important decision to make, and not a sperm in sight. Should we bake one or buy one?