Ahead of Time

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Polly

I’m finally a mother. It’s something I’ve wanted to be for as long as I can remember. When I was a little girl I used to play house with my friends and always had the most kids—seven of them. Granted, they were imaginary, but I had named them and kept track of their ages and every detail about them. Of course any problems that my imaginary children had, were also imaginary and I was able to solve them by the end of the play date. There was nothing I couldn’t handle; somehow I still believed it could be that way. My parents had made it look so easy when they were raising my little brother and me, I assumed it would be that way when I had children as well.

Now here I am, snuggling with this tiny, squirming bundle of joy. She is absolutely perfect. She has ten exquisitely formed little fingers and ten equally perfect little toes and the most beautiful, big blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Her head is nice and round, not misshapen the way lots of newborns’ heads are, and she has a generous amount of dark brown hair. My mom told me while I was pregnant that I was going to have a baby with lots of hair because I had such bad heartburn. I’d love her just as much if she were as bald as a billiard ball (my dad’s words, not mine) because she is my little girl; my little Lily Rose. I already love her more than I ever thought possible. Everyone always says that, but it’s not a cliche; it’s really true.

Blaine is still warming up to the idea of being a father. Last night when Lily was born, the doctor asked him if he wanted to cut the cord. The topic had been covered in our childbirth classes, but we had never discussed it. Blaine always fled from the room or changed the subject if I ever brought it up. When my doctor stood there offering the scissors to him, Blaine just looked from him to me in horror and said, No! with a little too much feeling. Even though I’d just pushed another human being out of my body and was a tad preoccupied with the miracle of it all, I was hurt and mortified. How could he say that? It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it that bothered me—lots of people might be squeamish about that—it was his tone. He sounded appalled and disgusted by the idea of cutting our baby’s cord and as a result, cut me to the quick. As it was, instead of watching Lily make her entrance into the world by my side, he hovered near the door of the birthing room in a cold sweat, ready to bolt. Instead of feeling closer to him than I ever had before, it seemed that he found me repulsive, that he couldn’t get far enough away from Lily and me. So much for perfect moments.

Lily’s birth was the culmination of a somewhat complicated process. It was a joyful experience for me, but apparently not for Blaine. I shouldn’t be surprised and I’m not—just deeply disappointed. You see, Blaine told me from the beginning that he didn’t want children. He said that his parents had been cold and distant while he was growing up and he had no reason to think that he’d be any different. I, however, am an eternal optimist and did everything in my power to convince him that he’d be a fantastic father. I wouldn’t have married someone who wasn’t good father material, would I? I also didn’t believe that being a bad parent was genetic; it was more of a learned behavior. As long as he was aware of it, I thought that would be enough to make him Father of the Year. After all, being a parent was my destiny.

Polly, he said one evening after I’d pulled out all the stops—sexy lingerie, wine, his favorite meal—to convince him, I’ve told you, I don’t want to have children. I’m sorry we don’t agree about this, but that’s the way it is. No amount of alcohol or sheer lace will make me change my mind. He lifted his wine glass to his lips and drained it of its contents.

I looked at him and sighed. He always took my breath away no matter how much he frustrated me, which is how I wound up marrying him before we’d discussed our expectations about practical details such as parenthood. There’s a good reason for that: Blaine is gorgeous. Tall, well-built and blonde, he’s Hollywood good-looking. When Blaine looks at me with those deep blue eyes of his, I melt every time. His smile is intoxicating, as is the dimple that appears in his left cheek when he smiles really big. Unfortunately those dimple sightings are a rare thing because Blaine doesn’t smile very often. No, he’s far too serious for that.

I reached back and took the clip out of my hair, letting it cascade around my shoulders like a silky, mahogany cape. Blaine loved my hair and I knew that unleashing it while wearing my latest purchase from Victoria’s Secret could have a very potent effect. Leaning toward him, letting just the right amount of cleavage show, I arranged my lips in a seductive pout and said, Oh, sweetie, come on. We’ll make such beautiful babies—

Polly! It was a reprimand, an admonishment, as good as a slap across my face. "We will not make beautiful babies because I had a vasectomy five years ago."

Stung, I backed away from him, pulling the white cashmere throw from the back of the sofa, clutching it around my shoulders. Tears sprang to my eyes; tears of humiliation and shame to start with, and tears of disbelief and anger to follow.

I did the math in my shell-shocked head.You had it done when you were only thirty-five? While you were married to Meg?

He strode across the living room, breathtaking in his self-righteous arrogance. When he stopped in front of the fireplace, he turned and blew out the candles on the mantle. The wax splattered into the air and dripped onto the marble below in a reckless splash of apricot and sage.

Yes, I did. My fairy tale hopes for a happy little family were impaled on his barbed-wire gaze. It was the reason for the divorce. Meg desperately wanted children. Apparently she felt a little betrayed.

I sat there, speechless. I desperately wanted children. I had just turned thirty when we’d gotten married and could hear my biological clock ticking louder and louder. Had I told him that during our whirlwind courtship? I couldn’t remember. Had he told me he didn’t ever want children? No, he’d barely mentioned that he’d been married before, but I wasn’t surprised by that news. A man as attractive as Blaine, with a successful career as a corporate attorney, was unlikely to make it to the age of forty without lugging some relationship baggage with him.

All the oxygen seemed to have been sucked out of the room as the candles on the end table extinguished themselves in quiet defeat. The room became blurry as tears ran out of room in my eyes and began to slip down my cheeks.

That would do it. I wiped the tears away with my fingers and then a question occurred to me. I always have to ask just one more question. So, even though Meg wanted children, you went ahead and did it anyway?

He ran his hands through his thick blonde hair and said, I’d already had it done. He looked at me with a mixture of amusement and pride.

How did you manage that? It kept getting worse.

He shrugged. Meg had gone out of town for a week with her sisters. There was a slight pause and then, You know the saying, ‘It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission?’ His mouth curled into a wry smile.

The barbecued ribs and cheesy potatoes I’d eaten for dinner were threatening to make a return appearance as my stomach churned and rumbled. I had to remind myself to breathe at all, let alone deeply. My hands were in my lap, balled up into two, white-knuckled fists, ready for a battle that had already been fought without me.

Well, Blaine, that would have been nice to know ahead of time, but I still would have married you, because I love you. The words materialized from somewhere deep inside me, possibly within my aching heart.

He turned to look at me so quickly I thought his head was going to unscrew itself from his neck and roll across the room. Getting a vasectomy seemed like an effective but extreme way to get out of a marriage. Was he hoping history would repeat itself?

And I love you, he managed to mumble. I couldn’t tell by his tone whether he was relieved or disappointed by my declaration of love. Either way, the lack of conviction in his voice made the knife twist.

I had decided to let it be for the moment, but not long after, while Blaine was still feeling remorseful for his deceit, I’d brought up the subject of in-vitro fertilization or IVF. Whether it was guilt or just wanting to make me stop nagging him, eventually he agreed to the procedure. I was convinced that since he’d married not one, but two women who had strong maternal instincts, he must have had some latent desire to be a father, right?

Looking back, it was a weak argument for bringing a child into the world who was only longed for by one of its parents, but I was sure that I had enough love for us all. I also felt that I knew Blaine well enough to be hopeful that he’d come around once he looked into our baby’s eyes and felt its little hand curl around his pinky finger.

Long story short, we underwent the procedure (or should I say, I did), and after only one try I became pregnant. We chose a donor who for all intents and purposes was perfect. I thought that Blaine would want to choose someone who had his coloring and other physical traits, but he declined, insisting that it didn’t matter that much to him. He wanted the baby to look like me. At that point I was just so happy he was cooperating I wasn’t going to argue, even though it bothered me more than I was willing to admit. We both agreed that a reasonably high IQ was favorable and our donor appeared to have that, since he was a physician. The other traits listed in the description were somewhat ambiguous. Who knew if he really was easy-going, had a solid work-ethic or if he had a happy childhood? There were no diseases listed in the medical history, and the people at the sperm bank told us that they tested donations for infectious diseases such as HIV, hepatitis and tuberculosis, so that was a relief.

We chose donor #783496, who according to his description had dark, wavy hair, blue eyes, was six feet tall, weighed one hundred seventy-five pounds, had Type O positive blood (like me), and grew up Catholic (also like me). He was smart, had a good sense of humor, and enjoyed bicycling, camping and hiking. The catalog made him sound so appealing I almost found myself wishing I could meet the man behind the number, but then banished that idea from my mind. Of course he was qualified—they wouldn’t put a loser in there. Sperm banks needed to make money, too.

The pregnancy was perfect. I loved every minute of it. I had just the right amount of morning sickness to be reassured, but not so much that I couldn’t function. Everyone said I was glowing. It was the strangest thing; strangers would stop me on the street or in stores and tell me how beautiful I was, that pregnancy agreed with me. Blaine couldn’t help but get a little caught up in those moments and on more than one occasion I saw his chest puff up with pride. That gave me hope that he would eventually adore the little peanut growing inside me as much as I already did.

Blaine's behavior in the labor room was a little confusing for me. I’ll admit that he was more standoffish than involved during the nine months but I’d expected more when the big day arrived, when little Lily Rose made her entrance into our world. I read somewhere that happy people have lower expectations and therefore aren’t frequently disappointed. I can see where that makes sense and I have tried to do that, especially where Blaine’s concerned, but it’s against my nature. My expectations are about as easy to lower as the moon. It’s not going to happen without a major shift in the universe. Something pretty awful would have to happen to bring me down from my new mama euphoria.

Later that morning I was still hoping for a miracle. Lily had been sleeping in her little plexiglass bassinet and had started to fuss. From what I’d learned from her so far, that was a signal that she was hungry.

Blaine, sweetie, could you please bring Lily to me? I think she’s hungry.

A skittish look spread across his face as he sauntered over to her bassinet. She was swaddled in a pink and white striped baby blanket so that she couldn’t flail her arms and legs around, but the minute he approached she quieted a little, staring up at him. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking down at Lily as though she was some alien life form.

See? She likes you.

So, I just pick her up? He shot me a helpless look. She’s so tiny.

Which is what makes it easy.

Lily started fussing again when it seemed this tall person standing by the bassinet was not going to help her out. From my perch in the bed I could see her little face begin to turn a lovely shade of fuchsia as she progressed from fussing to crying. At the sound of her plaintive wails my breasts started to tingle and ache.

Sweetie, please just pick her up. The longer you wait the more upset she’ll be, I said patiently, as I prepared to nurse her.

Taking a deep breath, Blaine reached into the bassinet and gingerly picked up our now bawling little girl. He held her away from his body as though she might hurt him in some way and turned toward me, ready to hand her off.

Oh my God, Polly, what are you doing? His eyes were enormous as he observed me fishing my breast out of the slit in the front of my nursing nightgown.

I’m getting ready to nurse her.

He was so eager to rid himself of the baby he almost dropped her like a football into my outstretched hands. Lily rooted around, latched onto my nipple and began to suck greedily. I winced a little because of the contractions her sucking was causing in my uterus.

Youza! I said, cringing. She’s got quite the grip there! I gently smoothed her hair with my free hand and leaned down to kiss her head. Isn’t she just beautiful?

I looked up at Blaine only to see him frowning at us, his forehead crinkled in disgust. "Those things are massive."

I shrugged, laughing. "Those things are my breasts and they are feeding our daughter. Just wait til my milk comes in. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet! I looked down at Lily suckling contentedly. Just to be funny, I whipped out the other one. They are spectacular, aren’t they? I might nurse her til she goes to kindergarten if it keeps them like this. I flashed him a mischievous grin. He wasn’t smiling back. Come on, sweetie, lighten up. I’m kidding."

He folded his arms across his chest as though he was holding himself together and glared at me. Put that back, Polly. What if someone walks in?

This is the maternity ward. I just had a baby. If someone walks in they won’t see anything unexpected. Good Lord, Blaine, you act as though you’re ashamed of me.

His face turned pink and he began to fidget with the top button on his shirt, loosening his collar and shifting his gaze to anywhere but Lily and me. I suppose I should have been offended by his attitude, but I was still so far up on Cloud Nine it didn’t occur to me to be hurt. Too much.

Well, uh, I have to get to the office. He picked up his briefcase and started backing toward the door.

Do you have to? They won’t expect you to go in today. Lily wants to get to know her daddy, I said as sweetly as I could. When I said the word daddy, she momentarily stopped sucking, fussed a little and then latched on again.

"I’m not her daddy." The words fell with a thud onto the white and gray tiled floor as he walked out of the room.

Emma

Babies are wonderful little creatures, aren’t they? Not for me at this point in my life but definitely for my best friend, Polly. She just had a baby and is over the moon with joy. She’s been eager to get married and have babies ever since I’ve known her, and that’s a long time.

Polly and I met twelve years ago during our freshman year in college. I’ll never forget the first time I saw her on freshman move-in day. She was in the dorm room across the hall from mine, and when I looked up from the box I was unpacking I saw Polly, along with her mom, dad and little brother, standing in the hall. Enthusiasm radiated from Polly, her auburn curls dancing wildly around her head, as she dramatically announced that they’d found her room. Her parents and her brother seemed more low-key, but no one told her to quiet down or anything. They just started hauling her stuff into the room, tolerant expressions on their kind faces.

Before I knew it she was in my room, introducing herself. I’m a bit more on the introverted side, so I was totally taken by surprise and in a little bit of awe. I mean, I never could have done that—just gone up to a total stranger and introduced myself. I’ve always been grateful that she did, though, because that introduction is what started our friendship. It was especially nice to meet someone right away because I knew absolutely no one at Stout State. I’m from Milwaukee, over three hours away, and my parents didn’t come with to help me move in. I drove myself to freshman move-in day because it just seemed easier. I didn’t want a big production made about my going to college anyway.

My family is a lot bigger than Polly’s. I’m the middle child in a family of seven, so there are three older and three younger than me. The oldest, my brother Mark, is ten years older than me, and Allie, the youngest, is ten years younger. They’re also all much more extroverted than I am. My mom always used to joke that I must have been switched at birth because I’m so different from the rest of them. She could never understand why I never found it very funny. Don’t get me wrong—I love my family—but I’ve never felt like I fit in very well. What is funny, is that once I met Polly and her family, the joke actually made sense because she would’ve fit perfectly in my family, and I in hers. It’s strange how those things happen.

Polly and I were both majoring in interior design and had many of the same classes and interests. We decided to be roommates sophomore year and every year after that, eventually moving from the dorm into an apartment off campus. Last year we started our own design studio called A&M Designs. (The A and M stand for the first initials of our last names, Andover and Mortensen.) So far, things have been going great, except for what’s been going on in Polly’s personal life.

As I said before, Polly’s wanted to get married and have babies for as long as I’ve known her. She dated lots of guys in college, but was never really crazy about any of them. She always said they were too immature and inexperienced. At first she’d think she was in love, diving head first into bed with them, but then she’d tire of them and move on to the next guy. When she called to tell me she’d met Blaine, the perfect man, I thought he’d land in the discard heap like all the others. They ended up eloping after only three months. I was shocked and more than a little disappointed. Polly and I had always talked about our wedding days, how we’d each be each others’ maids of honor, but I decided not to remind her of that. Some dreams just don’t come true, especially mine.

There’s always been something about Blaine that’s bothered me, but I could never articulate it to Polly. She was too in love to have listened anyway. Lucy, her mom, was never fond of him and she did speak up. I’m convinced that by doing that, Lucy pushed Polly right into his arms. He’s ten years older than Polly, which makes him the age of my brother, Mark. That’s probably another reason I didn’t think he was right for her. Mark is a great guy but was always at different stages in his life than me, so we never had much in common. I guess I couldn’t help transferring that feeling to Blaine. Polly didn’t seem to think it was a red flag that Blaine had been married before, but I did, mostly because he was so vague about it. I’m not against divorce; I know that all marriages don’t last until ‘death do us part.’ I also know that some marriages should never happen in the first place.

I went to visit Polly in the hospital the day that Lily was born. She was born at two-thirty in the morning, and Polly insisted I should come as soon as I could. There had been talk about me being present at the birth, but I nixed that idea right away. This was Polly and Blaine’s time to become a family and they didn’t need any extra people getting in their way. So I putzed around my loft, killing time until about ten o’clock, and then headed over to see them, baby gifts in hand. Lots of baby gifts.

Knock, knock. I pretended to rap on her partially closed door.

Emma! It’s so good to see you! Lucy rushed over to wrap her arms around me.

One of my favorite things about Lucy Longfellow is that she acts like that every time she sees me, even if I’ve just seen her the day before. With some people it would come across as phony, but I truly believe Lucy means it. Maybe that’s why Polly has always wanted to be a mother; she’s had nothing but a wonderful example in Lucy. My mom was great, but always acted as though children were so much work. I suppose with seven of us rug-rats scurrying around that was true.

"Hi, Grandma. I hugged her with my free arm. How does it feel?"

Lucy beamed. It feels fabulous! Come see our little angel—oh, and Polly, too. She winked at me, grinning.

Luckily I didn’t have to choose who to go to first because Polly was sitting up in the bed, holding a sleeping Lily in her arms. I hugged them both, planting a light kiss on Polly’s cheek. I wanted to kiss the baby but decided not to, so I didn’t give her any of my germs or wake her up.

Oh, Polly, she’s gorgeous! Look at all that hair! I would’ve said more, but the lump in my throat wouldn’t let the words get past it. Wow. You did good, girlfriend. I glanced around the room. Where’s the proud papa?

Polly’s expression darkened briefly, as if a cloud had passed over her face, and then her ever-present smile appeared again. Blaine had to go in to the office for a little bit.

I thought I’d heard an impatient sigh from across the room. Lucy has a hard time keeping her thoughts to herself. I felt my face burning as I tried to smile in spite of the pervasive tension that swirled around us.

Oh well, it’s nice to have some ‘girl time’ anyway, right? I walked over to the window sill and placed my gift bags next to a breathtaking arrangement of pink roses. I saw Love,Dad written on the card. Oh, how sweet! Blaine got roses for Lily!

Uh, no, those were to Polly from Bob. Lucy’s voice had a bitter edge to it.

Well, how sweet is that? I said, trying to recover from having put my foot in my mouth again. He must be thrilled to be a grandpa.

Polly nodded. Yeah, Dad’s pretty excited to have a little girl to spoil again. He and Mom came at around five this morning, but he had to go to work.

Bob had a soft spot in his heart for his daughter as big as the state of Texas. He loved his son too, but Polly would always be her daddy’s little girl. That made it even harder for everyone to see that Blaine didn’t appear to feel the same way about Lily. I guess that kind of love doesn’t always happen right away.

Do you want to hold her? Polly asked me, grinning.

I’d love to! Let me wash my hands quick.

Lily Rose was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. She looked like a Gerber baby, with her head of soft curls and her plump, rosy cheeks. For a second, she opened her eyes and looked at me solemnly. She had enormous, dark blue eyes that captivated me, making me wish I could have a baby just like her someday. I’d never been aware of my biological clock before, but while I held Lily that day, I began to feel a very faint, rhythmic pulsation. How could Blaine tear himself away from this precious child and his beautiful wife? Polly has always been pretty, but motherhood made her glow even more than she did when she was pregnant. She truly sparkled. It wasn’t long before Lily started to squirm, scrunching her little face into a dramatic scowl.

Feeding time again, Polly said, brightly. Do you mind if I nurse her?

Of course not. Why would I mind?

Oh, Blaine’s a little uncomfortable with it, Lily opened her tiny mouth as far as it would go and latched onto Polly’s nipple. It really threw him for a loop when he saw me do this. She looked up at me with tears in her eyes. Do I look that gross?

Fortunately, Lucy had stepped out of the room for a minute. I knew that if she’d heard Polly’s question, she would’ve gone ballistic. Lucy had enough reasons to hate Blaine without hearing this.

Not at all! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You look amazing and beautiful and maternal. What’s his problem, anyway? My heart was pounding like a bass drum and my head felt like it was going to explode.Sorry.

The tears spilled down her cheeks in a steady stream—she didn’t even try to stop them. A tear fell onto Lily’s cheek, glistening softly in the late morning sun that shone through the window. Polly dabbed it away with her little finger and then looked at me again. I just expected it to be different, you know? I expected him to love her.

I’ll always remember the day that Polly told me about Blaine’s vasectomy. We were up to our elbows in a design project, a house on Lake Minnetonka. Until we had more money in the bank, we were using a corner of my downtown loft for our workspace.

She’d been distracted all morning, staring off into space one minute and bopping all over the loft the next. By the time she’d made her third cappuccino, I’d had enough.

Polly, what’s going on with you today? Are we going to work or not? We have a deadline, you know.

Sinking down onto the window seat, she put her head in her hands and began to sob. Polly could be dramatic, so I usually waited a minute or two when she behaved this way before rushing to her side. More often than not, a crisis could be averted with no outside help whatsoever. That day, however, the sobbing kept escalating until she could hardly catch her breath. I went and sat next to her, putting my arm around her trembling shoulders.

What’s going on? I rubbed her arm in an attempt to calm her down, but it wasn’t working. I’m sorry I snapped at you.

She shook her head and sniffled loudly. Blaine can’t have kids. Upon hearing her own words, she burst into another fit of weeping.

Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry—

"He had a vasectomy while he was married to Meg. He didn’t even tell her before he did it. He didn’t tell me until now. She was ugly crying now, her face red, blotchy and swollen. He knew I wanted to have kids and he never told me."

What do you say when you’re dying to say I told you so? I knew I couldn’t say that, so I just sat there, rubbing her arm, trying to find some words of comfort. There was no satisfaction in being right.

Who does that? He went and did it when she was out of town. She wanted to have kids and he did it anyway. It ended their marriage. Oh my God! Polly’s voice was getting hoarse and ragged from all the tears. "I don’t know what to do."

I wanted to tell her to have the marriage annulled, that he’d married her under false pretenses, but she wouldn’t have listened. She loved him. Instead, I just sat there in silence, something I’ll regret until the day I die.

Michael

It’s always a good day when a check arrives from the sperm bank. Sperm donation is sort of a catch-22. Most guys decide to become donors because they need the money, but to be a donor you need to take good care of yourself, and that’s sometimes inconvenient and always expensive. Fortunately, I’m a good catch, according to the sperm bank folks. I’m tall, have dark brown, wavy hair, blue eyes and good teeth. I also have a high IQ (yes, they check that), and I’m a doctor, a fifth year resident. Who knew that sperm banks would be so particular, but they are. It’s not as easy as it sounds, but having the extra money makes it worth it. How much money I make depends on how many clients choose me. The other catch-22 part of it is that because I’m a doctor, they can charge a premium price for each vial. Absurd, isn’t it? Some months I get a check for nearly a thousand dollars, just for having jacked off into a cup once a week for the past year. It still amazes me.

My parents would be horrified if they found out what I’m doing. They must never know. They’re very conservative Catholics and believe that any practice that interferes with nature is a mortal sin. I know they’d never see it as a noble endeavor—their son giving childless couples the opportunity to experience pregnancy and childbirth—something my mother could never achieve. You see, my parents adopted my sister, Valerie, and me. Our biological parents had been killed in a car crash when Val was five and I was just a baby. My mother couldn’t carry a pregnancy to term, suffering five miscarriages in less than five years. The final miscarriage occurred in the nineteenth week, just a week shy of being considered a stillbirth. Due to complications she ended up having a complete hysterectomy, which devastated both her and my dad. When I was sixteen I’d overheard my mother tell my aunt that if she hadn’t had the hysterectomy, she would have died from the continual pregnancies. Apparently before that last pregnancy, she had begged her parish priest for permission to go on birth control pills and he had refused, berating her for going against God’s plan. Lucky for my sister and me God’s plan involved adoption, but I’ve always wondered if my mother carried any bitterness in her heart for all the losses. I wouldn’t blame her in the least.

The life of a resident is not conducive to having a relationship, so I don’t have a girlfriend or even date much at the present time. That’s a good thing, because this sperm donor deal has been like a relationship in itself, one that I’ve had to save myself for every week. Not too many women are interested in dating someone who has to have sex on a restricted schedule. It kind of kills the spontaneity and romance. I’ve also heard that some women are put off by the idea that you’ve fathered a bunch of kids that you don’t even know. I suppose that makes sense, but I don’t think of it that way. What happens after I give the cup to the cute technician at the sperm bank is none of my business, and that’s how I want to keep it. I don’t think of it as having a bunch of little Prescotts running around; they’re not my kids. I might settle down one day and