We composed an introduction e-mail together right then and sent it off. The woman responded within twenty-four hours and within a week, we were sitting in her living room. I was amazed at how nervous Dustin was. He’s typically a gregarious guy, yet as we sat on the couch, he struggled to speak. And his body language—wow! If he crossed his legs and wrapped his arms around himself any tighter, he might have turned blue! I swear his teeth were chattering. Overall, the conversation went well. She shared some details of her experiences searching for a co-parent, including how there were a couple of strong prospects who hadn’t worked out. She had tried other venues without success and then she thought of putting something online. The posting that Dustin found was her first attempt and it had received only a few nibbles.
Thanks to this woman, we learned you don’t need to limit yourself to people you know when looking for a co-parent. Co-parents can be found the old-fashioned way: through want ads and subsequent dating. Yes, dating. Only instead of looking for the love of your life, you’re looking for someone who shares your vision of having and raising children. As with romantic relationships, compatible personalities and the ability to communicate are essential. The way to find out if you have that compatibility is through dating, which usually begins with a brief face-to-face meeting over a cup of coffee or a drink, like we were having now.
Things didn’t work out with her in the end, but as a result of that meeting, we learned about an informal group called Prospective Queer Parents (PQP). Through a bare-bones website, people could volunteer to host one of the monthly potlucks where prospective parents could mix and mingle. We attended our first one in February 2004 and had no clue what to expect. The potluck began with everyone grabbing a bite to eat, then sitting in a circle, group-counseling-session style.
We went around the room and introduced ourselves and explained our vision of the ideal family. It seemed the most common thing being looked for among the women was a known donor, but not one who wanted to be a legal father. Their children could know their father and see him on some limited, agreed-upon conditions, but he would have no custodial rights or decision-making authority. As luck had it, that was in line with what most of the men seemed to be looking for. They didn’t necessarily want to be a legal or full-time parent, but they did want to have steady contact with their children and to fill the role of primary male role model. Since we wanted full shared legal custody, that made slim pickings for us among the prospective moms, but at least there was less competition from the prospective dads.
After everyone was introduced, the host said a couple of things to kick-start the conversation. The discussions covered the entire spectrum of planning for procreation and child-rearing: fertility testing and troubles with conceiving, costs of insemination, sperm donors, avenues of adoption and referrals to various lawyers, doctors, adoption agencies, clinics and sperm banks. Discipline, nutrition, birth techniques, custody laws, grandparents, nursery decorating—all that and more was discussed in due time.
With traditional married couples, even those of the same sex, half of these answers are known or at least assumed. If you marry someone, it’s almost a built-in assumption that you might want to have kids with them or that their approach to child-rearing is in line with your own. For those looking at parenting options outside of the two-parent, one-household model, there can be no assumptions. Every angle needs to be explored and hammered out.
It was a tremendously informative support group we were relieved to have found. But there was this odd undercurrent running through the meetings. While we were all supportive and sympathetic, many of us were technically competing with each other. The women wanted fathers and the men wanted mothers. So this parenting support group was also part meat market, the local pick-up bar with a twelve-step component. After the introductions were made and the conversation got underway, we started sizing each other up. Outwardly, we might be discussing prenatal healthcare, but inwardly we were thinking, “Would she be a good mother? Does he look like a reliable father?”
In spite of our first two dating scenarios not going anywhere, our parenting quest was proving at least interesting and educational, so we kept going. Our next PQP meeting was on April 18, 2004. The majority of attendees were new faces from the prior meeting: “fresh meat.” We did the rounds of introductions and one of the last to speak was Daisy. She explained how she was in the early stages of research on becoming a parent. She was open to various options, but as she was single, she was leaning most strongly toward co-parenting. Bingo! As with our previous PQP meeting, there appeared to be opportunity for success.
After the formal conversation had wrapped up, we began the casual mixing and mingling. A handful of us were standing in a circle, chatting. Daisy and I were maybe two or three people apart and stealing glances at each other. Over time, we inched our way closer to each other and finally had the chance for one-on-one introductions and small talk. And yes, the description above sounds very much like—and felt very much like—when you are attracted to someone at a party and work your way over to them in the hopes the attraction is mutual. In this case, it was. By the time we left, Dustin and Daisy had exchanged e-mail information and we left with the standard, non-committal line, “We should get together sometime.”
At 2:50 P.M. the next day, Daisy e-mailed us asking if we wanted to meet and talk over coffee. Wait, isn’t it a sign of desperation to write to someone you’re interested in the very next day? The rule is to wait at least forty-eight hours so you don’t come across as too interested. But maybe that’s just for romantic dating and not prospective-parent dating, so we responded right away. After some scheduling conflicts, we finally had our first date and this time it was followed up by a second and then a third.
We had already been scheduled to host the next PQP potluck, which coincidentally fell on Father’s Day. The turnout was about the usual dozen or so people, but this time there were no prospective moms who stood out to us. We interpreted that as fate. Daisy couldn’t make it to the potluck, so there were no distractions from the continuation of our courtship. After a few more dates, Dustin suggested the idea of a weekly “family night,” where we could get to know Daisy without the constant need to find space on the calendar.
Family nights (or more accurately, family planning nights) were sometimes casual and included having dinner, going bowling, seeing a movie or getting to know each other’s friends. Other nights we intentionally focused on discussions of what we were looking for in a co-parent, what our expectations were regarding shared custody, how we planned to approach child-rearing, options for conceiving, the legal steps necessary to cover everyone involved and more.
We were enjoying our family nights together and eventually felt confident enough to ask Daisy if she was satisfied and wanted to make babies with us. Turns out she had already decided it was a done deal. For her, our connection just felt right. So there it was—we were having a baby.
By that point, we already knew Daisy had some personal goals she wanted to reach before having her first child. So we needed to wait a while longer before taking the next concrete steps. That was just as well, since the following months turned out to be a pretty eventful time for all of us, with personal challenges and loss.
On October 30, 2004, Dustin started feeling achy all over. His neck and shoulders were cramped, which in turn gave him headaches. This had happened before, with stress being the cause. The following day it became worse and the pain started spreading to other parts of his body. This new pain was nothing he had experienced before, so we headed to the hospital. The doctors ran some tests on him but couldn’t figure out what was wrong and sent him home for the night. The next day, Dustin was admitted to the hospital and underwent further testing. The results came back that Wednesday, so I left work early to hear the news and arrived while Dustin was sleeping.
He eventually woke up, but was in a morphine stupor. We made some hasty greetings and at his request, I helped him sit up on the edge of the bed. He
asked if I’d heard about the test results. I said I knew they were in, but I didn’t know what they were. He grimaced a bit and told me he was HIV positive. A wave of relief passed over me. Odd reaction, right? Not really. First, there was the relief that we finally had an answer, something definite that could be dealt with. The uneasiness of our not knowing was finally lifted. Also, Dustin could benefit from all the advances made in treating HIV. It wasn’t a death sentence anymore, just a really crappy chronic illness that he had to keep in check with lifelong daily medications. But at least that life could be long. I assured him that we’d deal with it together. His energy quickly faded and he went back to sleep while I resumed watching him from the bedside chair.
Then it hit me: Dustin was just three short weeks from his fortieth birthday. He was already not thrilled about that, since he’s more like a twenty-year-old at heart. Now he would have to reach that dreaded milestone as someone living with HIV. It was not going to be a very happy birthday.
That realization saddened me and I got choked up. And then an even bigger realization hit—Dustin couldn’t father a child of his own now. Hitting forty and becoming HIV positive was going to be a real blow to this man who had such eternal optimism. Then heap on top of that the loss of this dream when we were so close and I couldn’t imagine Dustin’s reaction once he was coherent enough for it to sink in. The thought was heart-wrenching and by that point I had already become excited by the prospect of a little Dustin running around, an excitement that was now reinforced with a layer of urgency due to the scary nature of these past few days. The scary thought of his passing away was slightly less painful if a piece of him remained. But now that prospect was gone.
Dustin woke briefly and gave me a quizzical look. I forced a smile through my now tear-streaked face. I was counting on the low light and his drug-induced stupor to hide the fact that I was crying. He drifted away quickly and I went into the bathroom, where I ended up kneeling on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably like some over-the-top soap opera actor.
The next day Dustin was far more coherent and we were able to discuss his diagnosis and treatment in detail with his doctors. As the days passed, his condition improved. The pain went down and he regained his strength, so we were able to start discussing what all of this meant to us and our future. How would this news affect Daisy’s decision to have kids with us? It wasn’t just Dustin’s inability to father a child that could now hamper our plans; it was also the possibility that the woman we’d spent so much time building a relationship with might not want to raise kids with someone who was HIV positive. And if she didn’t, would we be able to meet someone else willing to create a family with us?
Early on in our talks with Daisy, we had all decided to have two children together. Over time, the idea was proposed for Dustin to father the first child and then I the second. So now, under these new circumstances, it didn’t take much to determine that I would just father both kids. It wasn’t ideal for me, since much of my excitement about having kids had revolved around the thought of a little Dustin.
When we finally broke the news to Daisy, we included the suggestion of having me father both kids and said we understood if she wasn’t comfortable with going forward. Fortunately, Daisy isn’t prudish or delicate. She had a few concerns, naturally, but her overall reaction was just a shrug and the attitude of adapting to the situation. What a relief! We could now check that off the list of concerns as we moved forward with addressing Dustin’s new health status.
Next we started to formalize all of our discussions into a written parenting agreement. During this period of calm, cool collectedness, we pondered every aspect of parenting and came to agreements on how to handle them: shared custody, holidays, names, religion, circumcision, health care and insurance, taxes, finances and schooling. We tried to approach all topics from every possible angle.
When the time came to announce that we were going to have kids, Dustin’s parents and my mom were elated (My dad had passed away a couple of years earlier). But they also had some questions for us as well: Were we going to adopt or ask a surrogate to carry the baby? If the latter, then which of us was going to father the child? Those were fair questions and ones that even heterosexual couples are asked if they can’t conceive biologically. But when Dustin and I said that we planned to co-parent with a woman we had met less than a year ago, the inquiries about adoption and surrogates were nothing compared to the barrage of questions we were slammed with after that. Our friends were just as slack-jawed as our families.
I can’t recall a single person we knew who had heard of co-parenting prior to our announcement. Considering all of the planning we had written into our parenting agreement, it was annoying when people asked about a list of worst-case scenarios, as if we hadn’t put the least bit of thought into this:
“What if you divorce?”
“What if one of you gets a job across the country?”
“What if one of you dies?”
Yeesh! Can’t you people just be happy for us and say “Congratulations”? Well, apparently not, but that was actually a good thing.
Yes, our friends and family understood that when people have kids, it’s usually a happy occasion. But they were also concerned for us, since we were venturing into new territory with our approach. The reason why married couples aren’t slammed with all of the same questions is that the worst-case scenarios have already been addressed extensively. You don’t have to ask a married couple about what happens if they divorce, because we’re already aware of how divorces are handled, whether amicable or not. And we don’t ask a married couple if they’re sure they want kids, because it’s already assumed that marriage leads to babies (although this assumption should be challenged, since not every married couple truly wants kids or is prepared to have them).
But what about this new concept of intentional co-parenting, where the parents are not legally bound to each other, but just to their children? If one half of a married couple needs to move for a job, it’s a given that the spouse and child will move as well. And if that doesn’t happen, there are laws and precedents to address that. But unmarried parents don’t have any such obligation to each other.
“Where will the children live?”
“Where will they go to school?”
“Which parent will pay for this or that?”
“Who will make the decisions about this or that?”
And the questions kept coming.
It didn’t take long to get past the initial annoyance of endless questions and instead come to appreciate them. While we had considered most of the same concerns that our friends and family expressed, there were still nuggets of wisdom or uncovered areas that needed to be addressed and their feedback helped us hone in on them. So in the end, we are better parents because of it.
Dustin and I are now staunch advocates for any and all intrusive questioning of prospective parents. Raising a child is no insignificant endeavor. It is the responsibility of everyone in a prospective parent’s life to grill him or her on his or her readiness to create a future adult human being. Miss Manners be damned if that’s not proper etiquette.
Things went smoothly in 2005 as we continued to fine-tune our plans. Daisy bought her first home, the final goal she had set for herself prior to conceiving. Now there was nothing left to do but start making babies. All of the legal aspects were still being worked out, but those were just technicalities. To ensure that everyone was covered as best as possible, we met with a very well-known family lawyer in the area who specializes in alternative families. We also set up a joint savings account between the three of us and began depositing 5 percent (and then later 10 percent) of our gross salaries. We planned to use the joint account for all big-ticket childcare costs over the years—things like medical care, tuition and family travel. The respective parent was responsible for anything beyond the necessities, such as gifts and leisure-time activities.
We had also met with counselors both as a family and separately to address u
nderlying issues. In hindsight, I suppose I should have spoken up about my still-lingering doubts regarding this baby-making business. That lack of courage eventually came back to bite me later on.
One twist that did take place that year came about when Daisy started dating someone. Prior to this, she had proposed a clause in our written parenting agreement that prevented any hypothetical partner from having parental authority for at least the first two years. After the two years, all three of us had to agree on extending equal authority, if Daisy’s partner herself was even interested. This suggestion was a display of the pragmatism Dustin and I found reassuring in Daisy. We all know how the initial throes of love can cloud judgment and she willingly offered to protect against that. This clause also covers Dustin and I should there ever be a worst-case scenario between us (although that’s really hard to imagine).
But everything in the written parenting agreement had been considered within a post-birth context. We hadn’t considered the possibility of a hypothetical partner being around prior to insemination, let alone the birth. We decided to keep the clause in effect and hope for the best. We could discuss the matter in more detail when the baby was two years old. If Daisy’s partner was around from day one, our child was naturally going to view her as another parent. What if the relationship didn’t work out? Fortunately, that is a scenario we haven’t had to deal with, as the moms are still together over eight years later.
As for the actual process of insemination, we had already determined that no medical intervention was required. All medical tests showed that both Daisy and I were healthy. Through research we had learned that, minus any health problems, there was a very high success rate for do-it-yourself insemination. It was also the most cost-effective way to go. Daisy had been tracking her cycle closely, so we knew the optimal dates of ovulation. Then she gave me a heads-up so I could “save up” on my end for the days beforehand. I’ll skip the specifics of the actual process (which were pretty tame, so you can keep the imagination in check), but will admit there was a high degree of performance anxiety. No matter how romantic Dustin and I tried to make our half of the process, it was hard not to feel like a stud being used for breeding. It was all so mechanical. Where was the wine, the flowers, the Barry White?
Journey to Same-Sex Parenthood Page 19