Dear Unborn Son or Daughter,
You may find it peculiar that your dad is on Earth, writing a letter to you while you anxiously float around heaven awaiting conception. You're probably thinking, "What the fuck, man? Stop going to 2-for-1 happy hour in Chelsea. Not only has that neighborhood not been cool since 2009, but you should be depositing the money you're spending on vodka cranberries into a high interest savings account in anticipation of my inevitable adoption or in vitro fertilization. My birth ain't gonna be cheap, fool."
Yes, your father sucks. But believe me, if your conception was as easy as breaking a condom or forgetting to take a pill, you probably would've been born in 2003 when I first met Dad 2. Sadly, however, there is no accidental or biological activity two men can engage in that will result in the birth of an offspring. True to our stereotypical nature, a pair of dads have to meticulously plan to have a child. This isn't a bad thing. It just means we really want you.
Anyways, I digress. I'm writing to you today to say hello and let you know I've been thinking about you... a lot actually. It may have something to do with the fact I just turned 30 and my paternal clock is ticking (sidebar, I don't know if men have paternal clocks but something is definitely sounding off).
It feels strange writing to you as your father because I still feel like a son. I mean, your grandparents still pay for my airfare when I go down to visit them. That's not very adult-ish.
Growing up, being gay was a taboo (I'm that awkward generation that survived 80s fashion and Y2K but the thought of two men together was considered ridiculous). When I got together with Dad 2, I was 19, and thought it was just going to be the two of us till we needed bad toupees and adult diapers. As far as I was concerned the biggest life-event gay men faced was coming out, and we had done that somewhat successfully (more on that another time).
So when I graduated college and came to New York to write, I did not think about you at all. Instead what I thought about were sample sales and expensive chairs from Jonathan Adler, because what did I need savings for? I could live paycheck to paycheck my entire life, stay out partying till seven in the morning, and be a perpetual renter.
But then something incredible happen to the world: A hit television show called Modern Family and it featured two quirky, yet relatable, gay men who adopted a sassy Vietnamese child. All of a sudden, gay evolved from taboo to normal. Now, gay men adopting in their thirties became part of the conversation.
Dad 2 and I went to visit Aunt Julie and Uncle Kevin when cousin Mira was born in 2013. I had never seen something as beautiful as your cousin Mira. This may sound weird, but since I met her I've had nightmares that I'm a pregnant man giving birth. That's right. Take a moment to envision your six-foot tall father in a delivery room, legs spread open, and pushing you out of my mangina.
The nightmare always ends the same: A doctor, not knowing how to successfully deliver a child born of a man, offers a heartbreaking ultimatum -- either we lose you or we lose me. In that moment I know I have to sacrifice myself for you, not because this is some kind of Hallmark movie scenario and the audience expects it, but because I truly love you.
When I wake up from this nightmare, I throw a pillow over my head and cry. It's a horrific sight to see a grow man with a retainer in his mouth sobbing cause of a scary dream, but that's how much I want to meet you.
Let me be clear, I don't care what vagina you come out of, or whose semen penetrates the egg first. You're going to be my child and I'm going to love you forever. Everything I am working for in my life right now is so you could be proud of me.
So I guess this is a long-winded way of saying you won't be holding down the fort in the galactic ether much longer (tell God I say what's up and that I owe him a few). I'm looking forward to meeting you sometime in the next ten years. Rest assured I am constantly google babies in third world countries, and I even found an online baby generator that meshes photos of couples to see what their child could look like (photo enclosed for your amusement). Yea, I know it's pretty ugly. Hopefully your corporeal form will be much more attractive. I'm banking on Aunt Amy or Aunt Reshma contributing to your genetic material.
P.S. After reading this, I'm pretty sure you're going to need therapy. Feel free to use my Social Security checks (if it still exists) to pay for those sessions.
P.S.S. I love you.