Free Does This Baby Make Me Look Straight?: Confessions of a Gay Dad by Dan Bucatinsky Page A

mean? I do hate mayonnaise, but I know plenty of Jews who love it. And I’m sure plenty of non-Jews hate it.” Although growing up, I didenvy those kids at my school with bologna sandwiches on Wonder Bread with tons of mayonnaise, wrapped in waxed paper. We never had any of that stuff. I mean, we had turkey and ham but always on rye bread. And once in a while there’d be pastrami or tongue. Tongue! Who the hell ever thought that would make a good sandwich?
    I tried to find my way back to a point: “But lots of the blond-haired non -Jews had white bread sandwiches that weren’t slathered in mayo in their lunch bags. And I’d be willing to bet some of them were circumcised.” Huh? I was lost. So I know Don was too. I brought it back: “I want our son to look like both of us.”
    Don wouldn’t have it. “How often are we going to be comparing penises with our son? We’re gay men. You want to ask the guys at Social Services who are gonna take our kids from us if they’re circumcised? Are you looking for jail time with supervised visitation?”
    “It’s a health issue!” I brought out the big guns, pelting him with statistics: “Penile cancer occurs in one in six hundred men in this country but neonatal circumcision abolishes the risk. Uncircumcised boys are ten times more likely to get urinary tract infections.”
    He cuts me off with “Super! I bet you men with no fingers get fewer hangnails too. Let’s lop those off. Or we can suck his brains out to prevent headaches.”
    I’d grown accustomed to our having different points of view. Believe me. Over the years we haven’t always seen eye to eye. And certainly after Eliza was born. Wow. How on earth had we neglected to discuss our parenting philosophies before we had a child? I’m a stickler for minimal TV, healthydiet, no grazing. I’m for more government intervention and Don much less. I never thought it would come down to Democrat versus Republican in my own house. We both always voted the same. And with the bigger issues, we tend to find our way to the same page. But now the Circumcision Caucus was upon us and the differing points of view so clearly defined. We just didn’t agree on them. Even though one party was so obviously right. I knew how Don felt. He knew how I felt. We were going to have to compromise. But you can hardly meet halfway with something like this. You either cut or you don’t cut.
    In the end, we agreed Jonah would be circumcised by the doctor in the hospital. There’d be no ceremony (no slicing open a smoked salmon after slicing our baby’s foreskin). And Don, who gets queasy at the sight of a paper cut, would not be in the room with me when it happened. I’d have to be there alone. I was disappointed we wouldn’t have a traditional bris. But we had found a compromise and I appreciated that.
    We didn’t speak of it again. I hoped it wouldn’t create too much of a rift between us during this tense and uncertain time. Adoption’s not without its stresses, especially during the seventy-two hours in which the birth mom still has the chance to change her mind.
    As we had done with Eliza, the day after Jonah’s birth Don and I took turns taking care of Monica. Each night of her hospital stay, one of us would sleep in her room. We brought her tabloids with photos of celebrities who were “just like us” and had more cellulite than she did. That always seemed to put her in a good mood. We’d also bring her favorite refreshments and movies, and we snuck hercigarettes. Making matters worse, she had always suffered a great deal of postpartum depression after having her kids. I imagine that’s particularly difficult for a mom involved in an adoption plan.
    The night after the birth it was my turn to sleep overnight on the pullout in Monica’s room. Well, I don’t know if “sleep” is an accurate term. It was more like sporadic, hour-long naps in between wheeling Monica down to the plaza for cigarette breaks.
    At seven in the