Katie - you're prayers have been answered. I, like mr. hanks, predict a small but noticeable baby boom. Watch those uteri
I want to have an Obama Baby. Let me be clear: I don't want to have Obama's baby, I want to have an Obama Baby. One of the thousands of babies I predict will be born somewhere around August 4th, 2009. Don't believe me?
Please recall how you felt on Tuesday night. If you are so unfortunate as to be anything like me, you were alternatively crying and laughing, hugging total strangers and screaming "OBAMAOBAMAOBAMA" at passing cars and strangers. Also, if I'm being honest, you were also three sheets to the wind (nothing makes me reach for the hooch like worrying over counties in Ohio). When President-Elect Obama spoke, I felt the total validation of two years of hard work, and the release of eight years of pent-up anger and frustration. I felt joyful, hopeful, and downright randy.
Baby Boomers were conceived in the hoopla of the end of the World War II, when ladies and gents just couldn't keep their hands off each other. Planting your "victory garden" took on a whole new meaning.
I wasn't really looking to have a baby. Since my comfort with commitment doesn't extend past the third date, and I am generally as selfish as a baby myself, I had thought that progeny would have wait. Parents have to do things. I can't even get up to answer the phone sometimes.
But, whatever! The past three days I've felt enough love and joy to let all that fall behind. If you think it's only the ladies who want to be Obama Mamas, think again. Last night I saw the Decemberists perform at New York's Terminal Five. Lead singer and total geeky dreamboat Colin Meloy called out to the audience "How many babies were made last night!? There are going to be some Obama Babies! Who knows, you might even have one in you right now!" AND THEN THEY BROUGHT OUT A CARDBOARD CUT-OUT OF PRESIDENT-ELECT OBAMA.
I was this close to lying on the ground, covering myself with leaves and hoping Meloy just happened to fall in.
But I didn't. At the end of the night, I went home to Brooklyn (the land of babies) and found myself stuck behind three hipster moms and their uber-strollers. They looked exhausted, and each and everyone of those babies was screaming at the top of their lungs.
Bring on the Obama Babies! But, uh.. maybe skip me.
(Check back in after four years though.)