When the Parent Bloggers Network asked me to review Maybe Baby: An Infertile Love Story, I agreed because I was curious. The early reviews sounded fabulous and the cover shot looked perky and inviting. Yet I didn’t think I would be so engaged by a novel about infertility.

First, I don’t have any experience in the subject. Sure, it took a few more months to conceive my second son than my first. And yes, I felt disappointed and annoyed when it didn’t “work” month after month, but “month after month” was probably less than eight. I have no frame of reference other than recalling how desperately I wanted each of my kids, and watching the struggles of friends who haven’t been as lucky.

Second, the subject of infertility is a “downer.” But Maybe Baby is anything but. In a way, I feel bad for laughing at some points; and yet my chuckles are testament to Matthew Miller’s amazing ability to entertain and engage his readers. We forget at times that this novel has a heartbreaking longing at its core, and yet we cannot forget because Miller’s personality is such that we can’t help thinking “This guy would make such an excellent dad!”

He is the guy you want to be your best friend. He is an entertainer. He is resilient, yet sensitive. And most importantly, he is honest. His descriptions, manners, desires and temperament show he is an excellent fit for fatherhood.

The memoir is not the same story page after page; each new adventure of Matthew and Constance may have the same ultimate goal each month, but the journey and twists are different. The obstacles they face include flat tires and “no semen after noon” rules at the hospital. And of course there is the financial aspect: “We keep paying to have wands shoved in your hoo-ha, for me to masturbate at the hospital, and for us to be criminally disappointed every month,” Miller writes a conversation with Constance on pg. 206.

This book is educational and entertaining all in one. New to me, but Miller describes on pg. 222 the bizarre-yet-logical “cum courier” role: “… the endocrinologist conductor shouted, ‘Last Call!’ for the express brassiere train for which my semen now held a one-way ticket…” A dry description of how the woman should carry her partner’s semen to the hospital in her bra to maintain optimum temperature wouldn’t have been nearly so entertaining. I can’t help laughing at his descriptions of procedures that should be embarrassing, like huddling in a bathroom that smells of “poop in a peach patch” to unromantically create the seed from which his maybe baby might occur. But I feel mortified on his behalf, too.

Miller is not a “victim” despite his position. His voice is strong. His character, solid. And yet he and his wife have been denied month after month after month. There is no condescension as I desperately wish for a happy resolution. “They deserve it,” I think, as I turn each page hoping for that “Hey! We won the conception lottery!” declaration. Throughout the book, each pregnancy announcement is someone else in their family.

Maybe Baby is definitely worth your while. The story is compelling and romantic without being sappy. Sounds cliché, but I laughed and I cried. Further adventures of Matthew M.F. Miller are at maybebabyblog.com.