One Good Egg: An Illustrated Memoir (3 page)

This is when I met Karen, the ex with the beagle and belongings who just left me. We’re almost at the end here, Mary.

On our first date, I told Karen I wanted to have kids. She told me she had no interest in being pregnant, but her friends all said she’d make a really good dad. Well, three months later, she flip-flopped—no kids, not hers, not mine, no way, no how—only by then we were in love.

Here’s the un-universal curveball part: Six months post-Karen’s flip-flop, I had a grand mal seizure and I ended up being diagnosed with a mass on my brain which required brain surgery, and that unexpectedly led to some temporary loss of my abilities to speak, read, or write. I was on antiseizure medication and in speech therapy and had to back-burner my next book project. I remember stammering something to a neuropsychiatrist about being afraid I couldn’t do it, meaning write the next book, and she said, so casually, “Have a baby? Let’s not rule it out just yet.” “Let’s,” you know, like maybe she and I were going to have the baby, and “yet,” like . . . never mind.

By the next spring, that was last spring, I was starting to feel more like myself. One afternoon, I went back to my car to feed the meter and I found a rosebud-patterned baby dress laid out on the navy-blue hood. I don’t know if you believe in Signs from the Universe, Mary, but this was my third in three months. The first was a pristine white lace baby’s bonnet sitting on a post at the head of a trail I hiked during mud season. And the second: a baby bib tied to the tree at the end of my driveway. Anyway, I put the baby decision back on the table. I went to a seminar on artificial insemination.

I bought a basal body thermometer.

I convinced Karen to go to a support group for couples considering parenting, even though she never really was considering parenting. I was the one; I was supposed to decide so we could both get on with our lives.

It’s awfully hard to pit an imaginary baby against a real live relationship, Mary. Paralyzing, in fact. But then I had an epiphany.

Wanting to have a baby had always meant not wanting to be with Karen. But when I separated the baby and Karen, when I made them into two decisions— SNIP! Do you want to be with Karen? Yes! Do you want to have a baby? Yes!

I could make them.

Karen mistakenly opened an old e-mail from my friend in Melbourne before I ever got to make use of my epiphany.

Dear Suzy,

Thanks for your letter. This is strange-- I’m not used to typing or e-mailing anything to you. I’ll keep this short; my aim is to open up a new channel. So, where to start? Baby, I guess. I can see a whole heap of practical issues, yet I have this innate trust in you. I told my friend Diane it’s kind of a puzzle, not one that provokes anxiety, but one that is a bit exciting. I think you’re telling me you want to be a father, she puts it to me, and I tell her, yes, I think it could be nice.

Love, Steve XOXO

Karen concluded I was trying to have a baby behind her back, packed up, and left me the night before last.

So there it is, Mary. How I got to be thirty-eight and childless.

This conversation has been so helpful, thank you. I have always wanted to have a baby.

I’m still a little afraid, but I’m done letting my fears stand in my way. I know what you think, Mary. I really hope it’s not too late. All I can do is try.

Step Two