As I am typing this, my five-day-old baby boy sleeps soundly, fetal position, curled tight against my body. It’s as if I’m still pregnant, his quiet presence barely there except for the mild ache in my back.
I’m 39 years old, single, and I’ve been out as a lesbian since my teens. I am a performer (actress, singer/songwriter and occasional Lady Gaga impersonator), and I have been longing to be a mother since I was four years old.
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“The first female astronaut. And a mommy!” I’d answer, my grin barely contained within my gleeful face.
At age 19, I came out to my mom, and she said, “This is really cliché, but I always pictured you with a white picket fence, a husband and kids.” “Nothing’s changed, Mom,” I replied, “I’m still the same person. I… Continue reading