The ballad of Katie and Mixalot

lesbian insemination and pregnancy

There’s a thing that has always been true of me and my wife (Sir Mixalot, totally her real name), which is that where I am slow, thoughtful, and a little dreamy and distractible, she is not. Give us each two hours and a problem to solve, and she will draw scale models, create multivariable equations reflecting all possible inputs and outputs, deploy a spreadsheet (for which she will learn formulas if necessary), make a list of two excellent solutions and 10–12 workable ones, and probably also knock out a load of laundry or a small music-editing project.

I, on the other hand, will look out the window, wonder how the aforementioned problem even came into being in the first place, interrupt this line of thought to take a picture of something I see out the window, make up a song or set up a Twitter about said problem and/or the thing I just took a picture of, check Facebook, think about how the problem and/or the thing I just took a picture of and Facebook are signs of some deeper truth about our culture today, then maybe brush my teeth and watch some YouTube tutorials about dance moves that will lead me to twist my knee and spend the rest of the time Googling knee injuries to see if there are any that might be fatal. I will be totally shocked and stressed out when the two hours are up; Sir Mixalot will wake from her nap, yawn, stretch, and suggest maybe cutting it down to an hour and a half next time.

(All of this breaks down, of course, if we get sidetracked pretending to be 5-year-old teamsters from South Boston (for example) or arguing about whether it’s messed up to learn the Dougie from a YouTube video of Chris Brown, given, you know, all the things about Chris Brown.)

Which is to say that we’re different, but we have a good time together.

But still, we’re different. Here’s another example: I’m WAY behind on this blog, Internet. In fact, I have failed to keep you updated on one of the most fundamental reasons there even is this blog. You see, since the last time I wrote, Sir Mix and I:

  1. Went on that huge dreaded trip to visit my family, had an at-times stressful but mostly positive visit;
  2. Ordered some sperm, on holiday special, in between X-mas dinners and family gift exchanges and Benadryl fogs brought on by a raging skin rash developed by yours truly;
  3. Decided on a whim to order a shipment of some “vials” (a handy euphemism for those who find themselves forced to order semen in an airport, say, or in the break room at work);
  4. Climbed out of the subway station on the night of the first insemination in a panic so encompassing that the Death Star theme music from Star Wars began playing loudly in our heads (OK actually this and the next one were just me);
  5. Came home, freaked out, confessed to Sir Mixalot about the Death Star music, had a good laugh with Sir Mixalot (who was also extremely nervous), remembered that yes in fact we do want this even though it’s terrifying;
  6. Inseminated;
  7. Waited two strange weeks (during which I saw likenesses of cervices everywhere: in ketchup cups, yogurt, paintings of cervices, and an image of Jesus in the grain pattern of my front door) to find out that we were unsuccessful;
  8. Began a blog post about the first insemination (OK actually this one was just me too);
  9. Spent two weeks apart (me writing in Vermont; she recovering from the flu then drinking lots of spinach-based smoothies in NYC);
  10. Inseminated again (no Death Star music this time, thank you very much);
  11. Decided in the days after inseminating that we were so totally early that we had missed her ovulation by a good 36 hours and there was no way she was pregnant;
  12. Worked here and there on the insemination blog post (just me again) while waiting for the news we already knew, which was: no way was Sir Mixalot pregnant;
  13. Found out on the day Sir Mix’s period was due that, in fact, she is pregnant.
  14. Finally, days later, finished a blog post about inseminating, written in list form to avoid further overwhelming of brain processor.

Aaaand, that’s where we are now. The news is still early (so we’re being cautious — we don’t get to see the little heart beating for another two weeks), but so far so good. Big ups to my wife and her spectacularly action-oriented self. Stay tuned, friends…


  1. Libby Compton says:

    I NEED to know if the headline t shirt is real. I’ve googled my little heart out with no luck. I’m so ready to buy ten of them. Cheers,


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