Already with the November-of-love children!

Update: More from Broadsheet …

Some said it early; now others are saying it often: On Election Night, ecstatic voters yelled, “Yes, we can! Yes! Yes! YES!” 

Sept. 11 gave us the desperate grope for end-of-days closeness dubbed “terror sex.” Nov. 4, reportedly, has given us hope sex: the ecstatic urge to, you know, like our man in Grant Park, connect with regular people. The drive to make love, not a $6 billion war. The panting anticipation of an administration that, with the possible exception of Lynne Cheney, is not completely weird about sex. And thus — as Jezebel suggests today — given our now-possible vision of a baby-worthy world, perhaps even a tossing of condoms to the wind (especially now that we may no longer need to hoard them). Abstinence, schmabstinence, baby!

Some couples are already way ahead in the O-baby making — and naming — department. The New York Times reported Sunday that in the last week, among post-election newborns, Barack, Obama, Michelle, Malia and Sasha “have become inspirations for first and middle names” (no mention of “Hussein”) across the United States, and in Kenya. Then there was the extremely pregnant gal who, perhaps in a bid for secretary of labor, BAW HAW, barely made it out of Grant Park. The (biracial!) baby’s name: Sawyer Tewolde Asgedom, which, as of the night of his advent, no longer puts him out of the running for commander in chief. (Note: The popularity of “George” has apparently declined over the last eightish years. “Dick,” I’m not even gonna look up.)

Realistically, the still-tanking economy may limit the degree to which people engage in Obama-inspired family building, or even liquid flirting (or bringing flings home, now that “home” may, increasingly, be one’s grade-school bedroom). But still, the smile-at-strangers-on-the-subway bliss I’m still feeling, even as an old married lady, suggests to me maybe there’s something to this “trend” — national-mood-wise, at least, if not hard-news-wise. And even if you didn’t get lucky in Grant Park, or in front of Wolf Blitzer, you can always curl up with some steamy Obama-Biden “fan fic.” (We are not blue states, we are not red states; we are the United States of purple prose.)