I bumped into a couple I hadn’t seen in a while. They had married this summer. Lulu was already late in her pregnancy. Her tummy was round and she kept rubbing it the way pregnant women do. When I first saw her and wasn’t yet quite sure it was her, I thought God, I hope it’s not her. Moira was like a husband’s supposed to be, busy and stressed about work. Such a great couple they make.
First I got a bit sad. I congratulated them of course, but didn’t ask about the due date, the sex or dwell on the pregnancy at all. I didn’t even realize that I didn’t before I started writing this. But I shielded myself and it was for the best.
Then, after, I started to think about the facts of life. I’m really happy they decided to have a baby, and I’m really happy it’s possible now. The child will be theirs even, if it’s not biologically of them both. But how could they decide which one got to do it? Probably the one who wanted it most. (The choice came as no surprise, though.) They chose some sperm with some conditions and hopes. A stranger will give their child half hir DNA. And the child is no less theirs for them doing so.
This is something I had to take into consideration. I’ve been labouring under the assumed fact that we are not only capable, but also entitled to a child with both of our DNA. But they didn’t. Why do I? Why is it the end of the world, if I have to face the exact same fate they did? They’re already over it!
And I said to Wonderboy, They’re pregnant and they don’t even have one penis in the house!
We laughed about it.
They got to pick the best sperm. Of course they got pregnant quickly, I continued.
They even had two candidates for pregnancy, if the other one would’ve had something wrong with them, I realized.
What is that if not biological efficiency?
What was that if not a sign?