Jelly on the Scrotum
Initially wrote this in April 2021.
I guess the easiest jump-off for this story would be years ago in another place. I suppose Mother’s Day is commonly in May. I believe this story is May 2013. Got married (the first time, which is always a nice thing to have to add to “got married”) in March 2013, so this was two months later, and my ex and I are sitting at “brunch” (it’s inherently class warfare) in Uptown Minneapolis. I’ve long been into the idea of being a dad, although I ain’t quite there yet, and I tried to say something coy at this brunch like “Well, this might be the last Mother’s Day that you don’t have the mom title.” I got a half-smile and semi-acknowledgment, but then we moved on to discussing something else. In the moment, my heart sank a little bit.
Now, if you want context on that moment and that relationship, I can’t bark up that particular tree very far because it’s not my story to tell. But I can tell you both of us had Northeast ties, and kids maybe happen later (common narrative!) therein, and I think in May 2013, none of our friends had kids, so I guess the half-smile makes sense. If I did something like that to a woman from Texas/the south, they’d probably jump me on the brunch table and be like “Make it a reality now!” A generalization, but not by a ton.
