Navigating Parenthood: A Journey Through Love, Loss, and Reconciliation

It’s New York, 2006. My wife, Abbie, and I sit with our friend Tim and the psychologist whose approval we need before the fertility clinic will let us use him as our known sperm donor. So far, the session has gone well. We’ve pretended not to find her questions invasive. But as we wrap up, she leans forward and says she has one last concern.

The three of us have already invested plenty of time and money on genetic testing, legal fees, and the sperm bank. My mom liked to joke about how much Abbie and I spent just to avoid sleeping with Tim — for context, he’s very handsome. We’re hoping this appointment is our last hurdle before Abbie goes in for treatment, and we’re all a bit wary as the psychologist asks her final question.

“Though there are no conclusive studies,” the doctor states, “evidence suggests that homosexuality is genetic, so two gay biological parents may increase the chance that the child is also gay. I want to make sure this is something you’ve considered.”

The three of us look at one another, dumbfounded. Finally, I turn to Tim. “Forget it,” I say. “We can’t use you.” Abbie and Tim laugh, but the doctor doesn’t. I assure her, appalled I even have to explain this, “We don’t think there’s anything wrong with being gay.” She nods and smiles uncomfortably. We write her a check for $300, and she grants us permission to start our family.

How It All Started

Abbie and I first met in college. She was dating my friend Will while I was struggling to accept my sexuality. Growing up on Long Island in the Nineties, I didn’t have a role model for what it meant to be a gay woman — not in my community, movies, or even books (the joy of discovering Jeanette Winterson and Sarah Waters cannot be overstated). I figured I’d probably marry a man and have children — which I’d always wanted — keeping my crushes on women a secret. It was a miserable prospect.

Moving to New York marked a new chapter. Times were changing. More representation surrounded me, and I finally felt comfortable enough to embrace my true self. My family and friends were supportive, and it was liberation I wished I’d allowed myself much earlier.

Shortly after, Abbie and I got together, and things moved faster than either of us expected. Though I worried that she was my first serious relationship, we loved each other and became the first same-sex couple to have our wedding featured in Modern Bride magazine.

Abbie and I were both close to our families, and one thing that bonded us was our shared desire to have kids. Tim joked about being our donor, but those late-night conversations transformed from playful banter into genuine discussions. Would the kids inherit his nose? What role might he play in their lives? Slowly, the laughter faded into real contemplation.

Using a known donor carried risks. While Tim promised to relinquish his parental rights, he could change his mind after the child was born. We did our best to protect ourselves legally, but after years of friendship, I trusted him.

Birth and Bliss

In 2007, Abbie gave birth to our first son, Tommy. We could not have been happier. Tim honored his promise and signed the papers granting me parental rights. But due to the federal non-recognition of our marriage, I had to adopt Tommy, which meant more lawyer fees and evaluations from a social worker to prove I was fit to be a parent.

We didn’t know any other family with two moms and their donor — we had to pave our own way. Initially, we intended to call Tim “Uncle,” but as he took on a larger role than expected, it felt disingenuous. One day, I asked a friend how she referred to her daughter’s known donor. Her straightforward advice resonated: name things as they are. On that first Father’s Day, we asked Tim if he wanted to be called “Dad,” and he happily agreed.

The plan had always been for us to have two children, with Abbie carrying the first and me the second. However, I hesitated after witnessing Abbie’s grueling labor. On top of that, while we were great co-parents and friends, our marriage was starting to fray.

Despite attending couples therapy, I struggled to confront the growing divide between us. When I was diagnosed with coeliac disease and Hashimoto’s disease, we decided to try IVF: Abbie would carry an embryo from my egg and Tim’s sperm. Even with the stress, it was a fragile yet hopeful time as Tim was in a loving relationship with Glenn, and we all embraced our evolving family dynamics.

After an intensive IVF process, we welcomed our second son, Teo, into the world.

Teo Joins Tommy as Our Family Expands

Teo was biologically my son, but due to the non-recognition of our marriage, I was legally viewed as Abbie’s egg donor and had no parental rights. The adoption process felt absurdly burdensome, and my heart ached as I recognized the cracks in our marriage.

Eventually, Abbie and I separated. Despite believing it was the right decision, it was devastating. I felt like I was letting down family and friends who believed in our modern family narrative. Joint custody meant missing precious moments with the boys, especially in Teo’s early years.

The divorce shocked everyone, including Tim, who tried to support us both. While Abbie and Tim grew closer, my relationship with him began to unravel. Tommy and Teo thrived, but I worried about their understanding of family structure; my parents had provided me with a singular model of marriage.

Back on the Dating Scene

Months after separating, my friend Meg insisted on introducing me to her friend Caroline, who had recently divorced her wife. I was hesitant — juggling two young kids while still mid-divorce felt chaotic. Still, I agreed to meet Caroline under the pretext of friendship, even bringing Meg along.

From the moment Caroline walked in, I was captivated. Smart, beautiful, and funny, we quickly formed a bond. Our connection deepened as we navigated our respective life changes together.

When Caroline moved to Brooklyn, she seamlessly acclimated into my life. While shared custody wasn’t ideal, it allowed us to create a loving space for our new family dynamic.

Then came the historic Supreme Court ruling that legalized same-sex marriage in the U.S. on June 26, 2015. On that memorable night, Caroline proposed to me, and I knew — without a doubt — that I was going to marry her.

Life in a Bubble During Covid

As Covid swept through the world, family dynamics shifted again. Abbie, Caroline, and I took turns shuttling the kids back and forth, sharing more moments than ever before. We found joy in mundane activities: drinking in Abbie’s garden, playing board games, and sharing holidays.

Amidst the destabilizing circumstances, a childhood friend’s unexpected death jolted me to reconsider my relationship with Tim. When Caroline and I reconnected with Tim and Glenn over dinner, it became evident that we were all ready to move forward more positively.

Life began to resemble normalcy again. Weekends in the Hamptons found us gathering for elaborate meals, playing games with the kids, and enjoying each other’s company. Discussions about our collective past were tinged with gratitude and healing.

The Next Chapter

As autumn arrives, I’m preparing to launch two babies into the world: Tommy heads to college while I publish my debut novel, The Irish Goodbye. The story is not autobiographical but echoes experiences of navigating familial bonds, forgiveness, and love.

The family I created may not resemble traditional constructs, and perhaps it never will. Still, it is rich with joy and love, capturing the spirit of what matters most: connection, understanding, and redemption.

As for the psychologist’s concern, Teo recently responded with wit when a classmate asked him if he might be gay because it’s “genetic.” He confidently replied, “Nope, I wasn’t lucky enough to inherit that gene.”

Life, as it turns out, has a knack for weaving unexpected narratives, and I wouldn’t trade mine for anything.