Things To Be Thankful For, Part II

So, thanks to Seven, really, and her friend Four-of-Four, who have collectively
adopted the term 'Baba' for me, it has now become a natural routine for Big.

At one point, Four-of-Four asked Seven "Why do you call her 'Baba'?"

I can't remember now exactly how Seven responded. What sticks out though, is the next time that Four-of-Four was around, and referred to me as "Your Mom" or something, and then clarified by saying "Your Baba". It was darling, and since Big does everything Seven does, he has now, completely, adopted "Baba."

And boy, it is darling.

Oh, well, except when it's at 2:00 a.m.

Then I wish he'd say "Mama" more often!

At Thanksgiving dinner with BioMom's family, the kids around Seven's age, insisted on the tradition of "Naming the Turkey" (yeah, the one we then guiltily consumed) that the older, college and high-school nieces and nephews had long outgrown. We went around the table offering potential monikers, some silly, some familial, some political, when Big came running in: "Baba! Baba!"

My heart melted. Even though, I guess, even though he was essentially saying I was a turkey.

Father Knows Best?

I officially migrated into lesbian fatherhood this weekend.

The blog's title reflects this discrete shift, although in actuality, it has been a long process. In addition to my struggle with naming myself - the non-biological parent - sometimes progressive (I made all of my own organic baby food!) sometimes 1950's dad (I've been known to yell in rural Dairy Queens -- and no, I did not say "at", I said "in"!) - I also found the former title of this blog to be false (that is, after the boy was born, I was suddenly in that nether-world of "step-parent" to one and just plain old "parent" to the other). Needless to say, it was a strange place in which to be, and this odd identity of mine is constantly evolving.

Cousin and I attended the joyous wedding of an old friend of our's this weekend (pictures to follow). During one updat-y conversation, a friend of the friend's response to finding out that I was attached and that we had, in fact, multiplied, declared: "You're a DAD!?!"

So, I said to myself, "What the hell? A lesbian dad I am! Why not let it be reflected in my public persona?"

Hence, the name change.

Maybe I will remember this as my second "coming out" story.

Speaking of "Dad". One of the most vivid memories that I have of my mother is from early summer evenings when my dad's car would pull up in the driveway. When she saw that he was home she would sing (to the tune of 'Here Comes Santa Claus') "Here Comes Daddy-O, Here Comes Daddy-O, Right Down Daddy-O Lane!" The nickname "Daddy" is so tender and dear and while I covet it, it just doesn't feel 'right' to me.

The wedding was great. Beautiful. Wonderful. A true inspiration to love, trust and committment, hosted in the center of a city filled with scandal and irony.

What follows are a few of the best photos from the weekend spent carousing with Cousin in Washington, sans the mess of kids we've spawned who enjoyed a weekend home with our respective spouses.