Page 3 of A Baby for the Mountain Man

It’s not my first time here. I’ve been countless times before to buy presents for my friends every time they were expecting. But this is the first time I’m here for myself.

Okay, maybe it’s a bit too premature for me to actually be here shopping for myself. After all, it’s not like I’m pregnant.

But I will be soon.

I trace a finger over a teeny, tiny pair of white shoes. The expected excitement ripples through me.

I’m going to have a baby.

I made the decision a few months ago. The night Winter announced that she and Slate were getting married.

I’d spent the evening toasting her with our closest friends. The whole time I tried to ignore the way their wedding and engagement rings glittered in the lights every time they raised their glasses.

I tried, but I couldn’t completely. Not once the realization dawned inside of me. I’m the last one. I’m the only one of my friends who isn’t married. It’s not even just that I’m not married.

I’m nowhere close to it.

Though, not for a lack of trying.

The only thing that kept me from spiraling into complete self-pity was how happy Winter looked. While I may have been hyper-aware of my singleness—and, a little bit jealous—not for one second did I want to dampen any of her joy.

It wasn’t until I was lying in my bed later that night, staring at the ceiling, that I really took the time to think about my situation. To have a State of Sophie, if you will.

Like all of my friends, I spent my twenties and part of my thirties enjoying the dating scene. Okay, enjoying might be a strong word. At least for me.

I’ve always found dating to be more like going to a bunch of job interviews. Only, there’s alcohol and sometimes meals I can barely get myself to eat because my stomach is churned into too many knots.

As I lay there, I tried to count how many first and second, and third dates I’d been on. Then, I compared it to how many serious relationships I’ve had in my life. That number was a lot easier to come up with.

Zero.

Then I thought about how many times I’ve been in love.

Once.

And then I thought about how many times someone has been in love with me in return.

Zero.

By the time I was done doing all of my math, I forced myself to ask myself the big question. What do I most want from my life?

I spun the question around and around, considering it from different viewpoints. Of course, it raised many more questions. Each of them was necessary to resolve before I could come up with an answer for the big one.

Do I need to get married to be happy? No. Not when getting to the point of having a husband means going on more and more first and second and third dates that don’t end with any real spark or feeling.

Especially when it’s been a long, long time since I even tried to go on a date.

Will I be happy with a life that’s just me, my work, and my cat, Dottie? That was a bit harder to answer. I mean, I love my job as a copywriter. I get to work from home, and it gives me a mixture of structure and creativity. As for Dottie, I adore her.

But… and this was the big question… would I really be happy if I didn’t at least try to have a family? One with human children, and not only fur babies?

No. I wouldn’t. I’ve wanted to have a family my whole life. And if I didn’t at least give it a try, I know I would always regret it.

The next morning, I started the first of many Google searches, beginning with “how to have a baby when you’re single?” Within forty-eight hours, I had an appointment scheduled with my primary care physician.

As of a few weeks ago, I started a round of fertility medications and prenatal vitamins to help get my body in the best possible condition to have a baby.

And, most importantly, I’ve ordered the specimen. That’s an awfully fancy word for something most of the guys I’ve been with have been pretty cavalier about expelling from their bodies.

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