"Liza, I want to have a baby."

The words came out of the blue. My wife (well, girlfriend, since gay marriage isn't allowed, but I call her my wife), Annie, was looking out the window at the birds when she said it.

"What?" I asked.

She turned to me. "I want to have a baby," she repeated. Seeing my perplexed expression, she added, "I mean, if you're not ready, we can wait and all, but, well, I love you, Liza. And I want to have a kid with you."

I thought about that for a moment. I loved Annie, of course, and of course I wanted to have kids someday, but we were only 22, which is still pretty young. On the other hand, raising a kid with Annie sounded wonderful.

"How would we go about getting the baby?" I asked her. "Adoption? Sperm donor?"


"Okay… Um, when would this be, exactly?"

"Whenever you're ready, I guess."

"Annie, I want to have a kid with you, but…" I sighed. "I'm not ready now, okay?"

"Okay. I can wait."


"Jenny," Annie said softly one night, while we were trying to get to sleep.

"Hmm? Who's Jenny?" I asked, rolling over to look at her.

"When we have a kid, maybe we should name her Jenny. Or maybe Becca."

I smiled. "And what if we decide we want a boy instead?"

"…Luke. Definitely Luke."


I was supposed to be designing a new building for a rich customer. Instead, my mind kept on drifting to Heather (Annie had decided that Heather was obviously a better name than Jenny or Becca. Also, she seemed to refuse the idea that we might want a boy). When would I get to meet her? Could I ever be a good mom? Suddenly, I realized.

I called Annie at home.


"Annie, it's me."

"Oh, hi, Liza."

"I'm ready. I want a baby."


"I'll be back soon," Annie promised, kissing me. It was finally time to finalize the adoption of the soon-to-be-our baby girl. Since gay adoption wasn't allowed, Annie hadn't told them about me. What they didn't couldn't hurt them.

Finally, she returned, with a baby girl in her arms.

"Liza," she said, smiling, "I want you to meet Miranda."

I rushed forward. A beautiful child was asleep in a bundle of green blankets. A tuft of red hair was already growing.

"Let's get her to the crib," I whispered, referring to the crib we'd bought a few weeks before.

As our baby— Miranda Aubrey Kenyon-Winthrop— slept, I pulled Annie close.

"I love you."

She grinned. "I love you too. And so will Miranda."

And she did.