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A Small Boat on the Ocean

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Like being lost in the vast, rolling sea with only a small boat to stay afloat, there is a good bit of loneliness in the infertility journey. It helps if you have someone in the boat with you.

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Who knew a Slayer could have a biological clock? Who knew a Slayer could live long enough to think about starting a family with someone she loves? Who ever thought a Slayer could even consider having a kid when she’s constantly fighting the forces of darkness or averting apocalypses? Certainly, the only Slayer I know who had a child didn’t exactly plan to have him.


I’ll tell you who never thought that the answer to the above questions would ever be Buffy Summers.


Me. Buffy Summers. Your mom. Well, soon to be your mom anyway if you stay in my belly a few more weeks.


Someday you may ask how you came to be, and that is the story I intend to tell. Other people may have a problem with me being so open with you about things, but one thing that I’ve learned in my short time on this planet is that hiding things doesn’t usually end well. So, I plan to be honest (as honest as is appropriate) with you throughout your childhood, and when you’re old enough to understand, you’ll have this.


There is a selfish reason for this. I mean, odds are, even as one Slayer among hundreds, I may still die early, and I want you to remember me, to know that you are loved beyond measure by your father and me, and to never give up in life even when times get hard. Always remember, you were no accident and that no one was wanted more than you.


How did your father and I decide to start a family?


The good news was that around about the time that my biological clock kicked in, there were hundreds of Slayers all over the world, and the infrastructure was in place to divvy up tasks and responsibilities. I finally got the opportunity to take a break from active slayage and well, have something of a life. I could think about maybe having a family of my own.


The only problem was that having a baby with the person I love was impossible. As you know by now, your father is a vampire, so technically, we couldn’t have a biological child of our own.


At first, I didn’t tell him about my desire to start a family for several reasons.


The biggest reason I didn’t tell him (and really the only one worth mentioning) was because I was worried he’d feel like he was depriving me of something that he could never give, and then, he’d feel guilty and maybe even hurt. And given how much I’ve hurt him in the past, seeing that pain in those beautiful blue eyes would break my heart. (I wonder what color your eyes will be.)


So, for a long time, I kept quiet about it. I tried to savor what your father and I have. After our initial confusion about our status as a couple post me finding out he was alive, we really worked on our communication and on strengthening our relationship.


The physical intimacy was easy between us. (Don’t make a face.) But the communication piece was a work-in-progress at first. A lot of that was because of me. Words related to emotional intimacy don’t come easy to me, but I’ve been trying to remind him how much I care through word and deed.


The good news is that five years ago, I finally told him I love him. The disbelief in his eyes still makes my heart ache when I think about it, and honestly, I was surprised that he still loved me in return. I don’t know many guys who would still be sticking around without some sort of verbal declaration. Guess that’s why he alleviates my fear of abandonment. . . the one that’s faded of late since we’ve officially been together in a couple-y way.


I believed we could have a family. Him and me. Well, he is my family, but I mean, I believed we could have a child together. Not in a conventional way, of course, because nothing about your parents is exactly conventional as you’ll know by the time you receive this.


And that leads me to this.


This is the story about how you came to be.