Welcome to the second edition of Baby Steps, my little blog about a human baby that will be born in February  and will live in our home and eat our food and cry all night but also, ideally, look very cute in onesies! Last time we talked about how we got pregnant and today we’re talking about how we told people and how, as we discovered on a trip home to see Gretchen’s family, the topic of pregnancy has a lot of potential when it comes to having conversations and strengthening ties with heterosexuals.

But first — in Baby Steps #1, I invited questions and suggestions and one of them was “I’d love to hear more about Gretchen’s journey from not wanting to be a parent to being one.” So let’s start there!


Gretchen’s Journey From Not Wanting To Be a Parent To Being One

by Gretchen

Let me start with the caveat that I’ve always loved kids. In general, kids tend to really enjoy me too, although I’ve never taken an official poll. Part of this is practice — I was a lifeguard and a swim coach for a decade, and that involved kids all day long, sunrise to sunset, all summer, every summer. Not being a mom by any stretch, but a lot of training to see if I’d be the right fit for a full-time role.

There wasn’t any point in my training where I thought, Ok yes! I’m ready for a lifetime subscription. I’m the only gay person alive who hasn’t been to therapy, so I’ve got no clue what’s going on in the dark recesses of my soul, but if I had to take a guess, it would be my kid ownership aversion had more to do with a broad fear of commitment than a fear of parenting. So what changed?

  1. I got a dog.
  2. I got sober.
  3. I got a girlfriend (Upgrade: Wife)

The dog. 

Probably you’re thinking I got a normal dog who does normal dog things and that helped me to see I could love something outside of myself. You are wrong. I did not get a normal dog who does normal dog things. I got the world’s neediest dog. The most dog that has ever dogged in the history of dog. If scientists could peer inside my dog’s brain they would see fireworks and car explosions, bombs dropping and volcanos erupting. When I adopted her at 8 weeks old they said her mom had pretty serious behavioral problems, and I thought so what? So does mine! 

Penn’s love language is mauling. She will jump on your face and nip at your ears and rip off your shirt and stick her whole head in your armpit before you even get the chance to ask “Oh, what type of dog is it?” She isn’t a type, she is wholly original, the first of her kind. Penn is easily one of the worst dogs I’ve ever met, and I’ve never loved anything more in my whole stupid life. I can’t take her to many places, I can’t have people over, she’s contracted all sorts of expensive and rare illnesses that perplex even the brightest vets, MANY doctors have urged me to consider drugging her FULL TIME, and yet. AND YET! I LOVE HER SO MUCH. If I can love a dog like this, I started to really wonder how much could I love a BABY.

The drinking.

Before July 2021, I loved getting drunk. When I wasn’t drinking, I was either hungover, or really looking forward to being drunk again. I was still showing up for my life, but I wasn’t really all that invested. My rock bottom was a nightmare with consequences I am still unpacking today, but ultimately, it saved me. Today I’m over three years sober. Having a wife and a family is, in large part, sponsored by Sobriety™. Sobriety™: Start your free trial today!

The wife.

Sobriety and a dog are wonderful but the real tipping point for me was my wife Riese. Riese is so sure I am going to be a great parent. Who told her this? Where did she get this idea? No one knows. Still, her confidence in my child-rearing abilities is unwavering. I’m not sure when it happened, but over the course of our relationship, a concept that had, for decades, sounded terrifying suddenly sounded pretty fucking cute. A LITTLE FAMILY WITH MY BEST GIRL. Maybe that’s what happens when you’re with the right person. You’re empowered to do all sorts of incredible acts of blind faith. The other day Riese made a salad that was just like, cantaloupe and cucumbers and tomatoes and several herbs of multiple varieties? Fucking weird. Was I really skeptical? Yeah. But did I eat it? UH YEAH I DID. AND IT WAS ACTUALLY PRETTY GOOD. That’s life. Doubting the recipe, and knowing deep down you should try it anyway.

I don’t think we’ll make that salad again though. It took like three hours. I’m pregnant. I can’t wait three hours for cantaloupe.

Note from Riese: this is the salad


And I Am Not Telling You: How and When We Told The First People That We Told 

everything is back to being by Riese now

hi hi i wonder where all my friends are they probably decided to miss the party that's fine no worries
Graphic Gretchen made for our friends who didn’t come to the party where we announced the pregnancy

I was definitely less eager to tell other people than Gretchen was, although not telling people is so isolating. Every time we told anybody, I’d panic internally that this was another person who we’d have to follow up with if anything went wrong.  I remembered how grateful I’d felt after my miscarriage that I’d only told a few people. This time, until the end of the first trimester — I told Laneia. Just Laneia. That was it.

At 13 weeks, two major things happened: Gretchen was allowed to get her hair done (she was very upset about her roots) and we told our Moms. My Mom is a lesbian so everything made sense to her, but we had a lot to explain to Gretchen’s family about how exactly she became pregnant.

That weekend was our friend Lucy’s birthday party which’d be attended by most of our 9-person group chat and Gretchen really wanted to tell them — these are the human beings who realistically will be the most present in our kid’s life. They’re also the people we’d had to lie to about why we didn’t go see Twisters 4-D. You could argue (and I have when attempting to promote a very niche Halloween costume idea) that in fact we are the Bette and Tina of the group, the first of the queers to make a baby.

So we gathered our small cadre of close friends in Lucy’s little living room while beer pong and pizza continued raging outside and we told them and everybody was just so fucking happy for us, and also for themselves. Childcare was generously volunteered. There was just so much joy and so much love. “I need to get a carseat!” Lucy exclaimed. “Should we all apply for parental leave?” Rachel asked.

We now call it the “group baby” and everybody’s eagerly anticipating their opportunity to touch his little feet.

Similarly to our group chat, it felt weird that I’d yet to tell Drew and Kayla since I talk to them all day every day. At 14 weeks, Drew was coming over for dinner so I told her and Kayla at the end of our editorial meeting the day before, like the perfectly work/life balanced person that I am.

My ex-girlfriend and now-close-friend Tara — who I’d been talking to about the whole fertility journey we’d been on for the past few years, as her (now ex) wife also was getting pregnant via ART in her 40s, and had endured multiple miscarriages — also visited me that week, and I told her. We were driving to The Broad and she teared up and said she was so happy for me and wished she could hug me without risking a traffic accident.

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(To step out of the timeline for a minute — I didn’t tell anyone else until after 20 weeks, except my therapist and people we saw in person together in LA. Miscarriage trauma aside, I do think it would’ve felt easier or more natural for me to tell people if I’d been the pregnant one or had provided sperm, even though I know that’s a very heteronormative feeling I should not be having! Was I unjustly haunted by the ghost of Melvin Porter’s response to Bette announcing Tina’s pregnancy in episode 106 of The L Word? Let me know in the comments.)

At 15 weeks, the night before we were flying to Philadelphia to visit Gretchen’s family and undoubtedly tell even more people — my dog, the love of my life, my best friend and esteemed chihuahua Carol Aird Bernard Sullivan — was hit by a car and killed while under the care of a dogsitter. 

Which brings us to our first pregnant journey to see straight family members and friends.


From Awkward Silences to Baby Talk: The Social Miracle of Pregnancy

Riese: Whenever you’re going to visit your family you have like, a few stories in your pocket of what you’re gonna talk about. Historically with your family, we leaned on our gay kickball league a lot, since sports are a universal language. So we were heading to Pennsylvania with these two things to talk about, and one was the best news ever —

Gretchen: And one was the absolute worst news ever.

Riese: But it was also really interesting because since I’ve been a grown up, being gay and living in various cities and working online, whenever I’d venture outside of my little bubble, there wasn’t a ton about my life that was compelling conversation fodder, because it is so gay, and so online, and so specific politically. You know what I mean?

Gretchen: Right, my Mom has no idea what I do in my job. Something something the internet.

Riese: But when you come home and you’re gay, but you’re having a baby — now we’ve got some material!

Gretchen: Then the ears perk up! The heterosexuals come alive. They are like, “We know what it’s like. We can relate.”

Riese: “Pregnancy? I’ve had one.”

Gretchen: “We have done that ourselves.” And a lot of them have experienced the death of a pet. So we’d never had a more relatable life.

Riese: But also, no one believed you about being pregnant.

Gretchen: They definitely believed us about the dog because we couldn’t stop crying. But the thing about saying you’re pregnant when you’re me is that everything I say sounds just vaguely sarcastic.  But this begs the question, in what world is a joke, “I’m pregnant,” funny? What’s the punchline?

Riese: Well you do like to fuck with people a little bit. So I think they thought that was what you were doing, but I’m also just like….. “That wouldn’t really be that funny.”

Gretchen: That would be messed up.

Riese: It would be kind of weird!

Gretchen: So what I learned is people think I’m weird.

Riese: And that you make really bad jokes, apparently.

Gretchen: Really, really bad jokes.

Riese: Really half-baked jokes with no real punch to them.

Gretchen: “I’m pregnant,” bu-dum-bum! Isn’t that hilarious? What’s the punchline? Yeah, so a lot of me announcing I’m pregnant to people is convincing them that I am, that truly I am. It really did happen, and it’s happening.

Riese: My favorite part was at the restaurant when your friend didn’t believe that you were pregnant. And your mom was like, “Stand up. Show them the bump, stand up.” And there’s no bump.

Gretchen: Flat as a board.

Riese: Everyone was just looking at you like, “Is this the joke?” But once they knew we were serious, everyone was just so excited for us. Which has been our experience through all of it.


Does the Baby Know When You Are Sad?

Riese: Then there was the Carol of it all. This intense loss we were grappling with at the same time that we were anticipating this enormous gain.

Gretchen: Eventually I did Google, “Can the baby feel sad if you’re crying all the time?”

Riese: It turns out they can.

Gretchen:  So I told Riese, I said, “I am really sad about this, but we’re going to have to pull it together a little.” The velocity at which tears were shooting from my face—

Riese: Yeah, I’ve never seen you cry like that before.

Gretchen:  I was just starting to get concerned that that level of intense feeling was going to impact the kid, which I know sounds a little crazy. But I think a lot of things have shifted about how I do and behave in the world now, where I have to think, “What’s this going to do to this human life that is swimming around in there?”

It’s weird. … I’m not moved on. I’m never going to be. It’s the saddest thing. It’s awful. But I think I had to learn how to keep it a little bit more in check because I felt like, ultimately, I have a job.

Riese: Part of what was hard was that I had definitely visualized Carol and the baby existing at the same time.

Gretchen: Yeah, of course.

Riese: I was so excited for really cute pictures of Carol and Banana! And I was just really excited for the relationship that would blossom.

Gretchen: Me too.

Riese: While, meanwhile, we are genuinely concerned that your dog will kill the baby.

Gretchen: Correct.

Riese: It was weird because I was reconnecting with a lot of people after Carol died — friends reaching out who I’d not talked to in a while, even family — and was talking to them about this huge thing, while not talking about this other huge thing! Because how do I just randomly bring that up, you know? Especially when people asked me if I’d get another dog. Because if not for the baby, I’d 100% be immediately adopting a Carol Junior. So instead there is just a hole in our hearts that will never be filled.

Gretchen: I’m going to cry again!


Participating In the Normal Structures of Family Life On This Earth

It does feel, truly, so weird, because pretty much since I started my life as a chaotic queer blogger in my mid-twenties, I’ve struggled to talk about it with anyone outside of my bubble. I could talk about our gay camp, or my gay website, but there wasn’t much my conversation partner could contribute. My work and personal problems were often too niche to effectively or engagingly communicate, or it was stuff I actually really couldn’t talk about — the few years of attempting pregnancy, Gretchen’s sobriety stuff. I also worked so much that there was rarely much happening in my life besides, well, work. Now, suddenly, there is so much to say!  We moved in together, my dog was killed, Gretchen’s pregnant, we got married.

In 2015, my ex and I got engaged, moved to Michigan and bought a house and I felt, then, too, this sudden opening up around me, coupled with a new willingness within me to lean into conversations with people outside of my bubble. Suddenly there was house stuff and wedding stuff and that was so much stuff! But (obviously) that ended, and what ensued was not just more complicated, but also very depressing.

I don’t mean any shade to straight people when I say that suddenly there’s so much to talk to them about now because honestly, I really like it. I love having this familiar structure, this world-worn topic we can dine out on together that enables me to connect more closely with people I love who I’ve often felt distant from. It’s a jumping off point, anyhow, a baseline of understanding on which a lot of the weirder things about my life weave their way in, naturally.

Yes, I do think sometimes about queer theorists have approached this topic. I think about how, as Sarah Schulman writes, “social legitimacy exists only in the realms in which we resemble straight people and their concerns,” and how parenthood and marriage both become a way of making our lives legible to heterosexuals and The Family Unit, even if our version of those institutions have their own structures and nuances. I know it’s a politically fraught scenario. But in reality, in practice? It’s actually really nice.

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Through loss and through this incredible future gain, I’ve been able to reconnect with so many people I’d lost touch with, and connect more with straight and queer friends who’ve also had kids. And then also there’s this, here, now, with all of you. That’s pretty nice too!


Again I remain so eager and excited to hear from you in the comments with any questions or suggestions! For people who’ve been through this before —  how did you tell people and when? Has pregnancy changed your relationship to the heterosexual world?