As part of this process we have to write our wills. We have to make sure that there will be someone to take care of our unborn child if we die before the birth. If we die after the child is born and fully adopted by the non-natural father, there are laws in place to govern what happens to the baby. But an unborn child in the womb of a woman who is not his or her biological mother is a legal gray area.
Of course, there’s no reason to write a will that just governs what happens to the child in utero. We needed to decide what would happen to our child no matter when our untimely death might occur. We also needed to come up with a way to divide our meager assets.
We were concerned that we were going to start a minor territorial war when we started asking the questions necessary to make these tough decisions. Luckily when I gingerly asked my mother what she would want to happen to our child in the event of my death she exclaimed, “I can’t take care of it, I’m too old! And your father is ancient!”
Well, that’s one way to make a decision. Alberto’s parents expressed similar concerns about their age, but were not quite so absolute. And so, should we pass on before our time, they get the kids.
It’s a strange thing to contemplate. We know a lot of people who we think would be great parents and who we would trust to raise our children. But how do you ask someone to whom you’re not related to take on that responsibility. Especially given two sets of grandparents that intend to be very involved in the child’s life. You can’t ask your best friend to take on a child and four senior citizens, right?
Ideally, if Alberto and I were to die, I would want my child to be raised by Ina Garten. Yes, the Barefoot Contessa. Not only do I think that she and Jeffrey would be good, loving parents, but they live a magnificent life. They have a majestic house with a lush garden in the Hamptons. They eat simple, but delicious and creative foods. They fill their life with short excursions and exuberant picnics. She infuses small moments with fullness. And it doesn’t hurt that she surrounds herself with gay men.
Maybe I can bequeath my shelf-full of Barefoot Contessa cookbooks to my mother-in-law along with my child. But I don’t know where she’s going to get the house in the Hamptons.
