Making babies

We were trying to get Amy pregnant. Scout was a month old and now it was time to start on baby number two. I had gotten pretty good at jerking off while two lesbians waited for me, but this time was different.
“I’m ovulating.” Amy told me on the phone.
“Alright, I will be up to the house after work.”
“We’re going to be at my mom’s house. Meet us there” she said.
“Your mom’s?”
“Yeah, all the grandchildren are having a sleep over.”
“Where going to inseminate at your mom’s house?”
“Why not? She knows what we are doing. Her place is good as any.”
“Okay, I’ll be there around ten.”
Now, to catch you up, I was a sperm donor for a lesbian couple. And rather than do it the old fashion way, with doctors and science, we opted for the home method. Me, to a Rubbermaid cup, to a baby food syringe, to them. Sheri’s theory was if people can get pregnant in the back seat of a 1974 Camero, we could do this.

So I drove up to Amy’s mom’s house after work. Mom is cool and liked me because I was taking a sign language course and she’s deaf. We all sat around and made small talk for a while and then I decided it was time to go do my thing.

“Okay, where am I going?” in the past I would use Sheri and Amy’s bedroom, leave my “deposit” on the nightstand and return to the living room. No such luck here.
“There is a bedroom downstairs. We need to be quiet because the kids are sleeping down there.” Sure enough 5 little kids were sleeping on the floor of the downstairs rec room. We gingerly made our way around them to a bedroom at the end of the hall. We opened the door and I immediately smelled “boy”. Someone was living in the room.
“Who’s room is this?”
“Oh, one of my mom’s friends threw her son out and he is staying here for a while.”
“And where is he?” I asked.
“He’s at work,” Amy said casually.
“And when will he be home?” I said not so casually.
“Uh, pretty soon, I think. Well, good luck!” and she left.

So I am standing in the bedroom of some guy. There are clothes strewn everywhere and again, it smelled like him. I walked in and sat down on the edge of his bed. This wasn’t going to be easy. I will spare you the details, but let’s just say that I had been “doing my thing” for well over a decade and this time it was almost impossible. But finally after much focus and will power I was successful. Almost immediately, there was a knock on the door. Picture this; I am sitting on some other guy’s bed, pants at the ankles, cup of “stuff” in my hand. How do you answer that knock?
“uh, yeah?”
“Are you done yet?” It was Amy.
“Yes. Just.”
“Well get up here quick.”
I got myself together and rushed upstairs, with my little cup, to find Sheri lying on the ground in the fetal position.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with her! We called the ambulance.”
The worst thoughts shot through my head. If Sheri died, I was legally responsible for a one-month-old little girl. That chilled my blood. The paramedics arrived and carted Sheri, with Amy in tow, off to the hospital leaving me with Amy’s mom and baby Scout. Talk about feeling helpless.

For the next hour we heard nothing. Nothing except Scout crying. It was time for a feeding, but the necessary breast was at the hospital. So Grams and I took turns rocking, singing, and praying. Finally around 1:00am we got a call from Amy.
“It isn’t her heart. It might be gallstones. We will know more in a couple of hours.”
“We don’t have a couple of hours. Scout is hungry.” I pleaded.
Amy of course remained calm.
“Have my mom give you directions to the store and pick up some formula. Oh, and a bottle. And a nipple. She should be able to stomach some formula.”
“Okay.” And she hung up.

I got directions from Amy’s mom for three different stores and headed out the door like a rocket. I didn’t, and still don’t, know anything about babies. If figured if she didn’t eat soon she might spontaneously combust. Store one was closed as was store two. Store three was 900 miles away. It was a huge grocery store. I ran inside and found the baby food isle. I got to the formula and stopped dead in my tracks. For as far as the eye could see in each direction and straight up was every type of baby formula known to mankind. Soy, non-soy, lactose, non-lactose, carbonated, dye free, high octane, free range, kosher, vegan, and generic. I began to shake. I grabbed three different formulas at random and turned around to the bottles. Once again the shelves grew until they reached the sky. I grabbed a few bottles and any nipples that I might have enjoyed and sprinted to the register. The kid behind the counter could see the panic in my face and did what any overnight cashier would do. He took his time. Fortunately for him, my desire to care for the little hungry girl outweighed my desire to cause him bodily harm.

I ran to the car and spent three minutes trying to invert the directions back to the house. Not since Blues Brothers has nighttime suburban driving been taken to such levels. I came tearing around the corner on two wheels to see a cab pulling away from the house. I parked in it’s spot and leapt from the car. I ran inside to find Sheri holding Scout to her breast and Amy and her mom smiling. I put the bags of feeding supplies down and plopped in a chair at the kitchen table. Then I noticed my “sample” waiting on the kitchen counter. Spoiled. All my hard work down the drain. And that is exactly where it ended up.

Fortunately Amy got pregnant the next month. And 40 weeks later Tate arrived. But that is another story…….