Mom can do … anything at all. A story of LGBTQI+ parenthood

LGBTQI+ parenthood turned out to be a very important topic, and one our readers really wanted to hear about — some of them decided to share their own experience and advice as well. Below is the story of two moms, Kateryna and Nataliia, told in the first person.

We became parents only because we wanted it so badly. We didn’t care what people would think about us, or whether it would be hard for our children to grow up in a same-sex family — we knew one thing: if you raise children in love, that can only affect them for the better. If you’re curious, here’s our story of becoming parents.

We’re a same-sex couple. Our names are Kateryna and Nataliia. We’re 30-something and 30-something plus two, respectively. We have two children — a girl and a boy. There’s a year and a half between them. Natasha gave birth to our daughter, and I gave birth to our son. Our story doesn’t claim to be unique — I personally know truly unique stories of parenthood in same-sex families — but I still hope our experience will come in handy for someone.

Let me start with this: in 2007 I met my other half and fell in love at first sight (I had never believed in all that sentimental mush before). We started living together right away. We had to listen to plenty of skepticism about it, but we didn’t listen. Natasha became the first and only person in my life with whom I wanted children for the very first time — even my first declaration of love sounded like this: “I want to have children with you.” Not very romantic, but it seemed to me that this feeling was even stronger than love.

Of course, we didn’t become parents that same year. As you’re supposed to, we “put in” the full candy-and-flowers phase, but the thought of children never left us, and everything we did, beyond being in love, was aimed at preparing the ground for our children to be born.

In 2010 we decided there was nowhere left to put things off to, and that it was time to move from thoughts to action. Some couples may have arguments about who is going to give birth — we didn’t have that. By the time we got to the “action,” we had already decided that we wanted at least two children, so both of us would give birth.

As for the material side of things, which many people try to build up so that “the child won’t need for anything,” I’ll say this: we had and still have our own apartment, we have a car (bought on credit at the time), and there was no point talking about job stability — it was the post-crisis period, and even though we both worked at good companies, no one could say it would stay that way forever. Which is exactly what happened.

But that’s probably not as interesting as the technical side of what comes before conceiving and giving birth.

About conception

Same-sex female couples can conceive children in several ways:

Conception the natural way. You can find a donor who will impregnate one of the partners. I know that people really do use this method.

Finding a donor among people you know and conceiving at home. This method differs from the previous one in that the donor knows about the couple’s orientation and doesn’t expect intimacy. In the previous case, many men who offer themselves as donors online make sex with the woman they are going to impregnate a mandatory condition.

Using the sperm of an anonymous donor. Clinics that work in this field usually offer sperm from their own bank or from the Kharkiv sperm bank, which is the first and largest bank of this material in Ukraine.

I don’t know of any other methods of conception, though there may well be some.

Depending on the method you choose, the following technologies are used for conception:

Conception at home in a natural cycle. If you’ve decided to conceive with the sperm of someone you know, then on “that very” day you need to get the material from the man and use a syringe and a urological catheter to “place” the sperm inside the mother-to-be. This technology is shown well in the film “If These Walls Could Talk 2.” There are no statistics, but doctors say that if you have sex with the woman before the sperm is introduced (necessarily with the one who will then be inseminated), the chance of conception goes up. And besides, it’s a lovely way to spend the time. Why the catheter? With its help you can “release” the sperm as close to the uterus as possible, so that they don’t get tired along the way and don’t lose their way.

Conception at a clinic through artificial insemination. This technology is suitable for women who have no health problems and who want to have a baby by an anonymous donor. It consists in the sperm being introduced directly into the uterus, so that all that’s left for the sperm is to reach the egg. In addition, the doctor at the clinic may suggest stimulation so that several eggs mature in a single cycle, which increases the likelihood of fertilization. However, stimulation also increases the likelihood of a multiple pregnancy. ATTENTION! If you’ve found a donor among people you know and want to have the insemination procedure done at a clinic, that’s possible only if this man is your husband on paper. That’s the law.

Conception at a clinic through IVF programs. Such programs are usually recommended for women who can’t get pregnant in a natural cycle for medical reasons. In that case the woman goes through two minimally invasive procedures: egg retrieval and embryo transfer. This method of conception is also possible with sperm from an anonymous donor or from a husband on paper. The essence of the method: an egg retrieved from the mother is fertilized “in a test tube,” and then the finished embryo is transferred into the uterus. The embryo’s job is to attach and “take root” there. Usually several embryos are transferred to increase the chances. That’s exactly why this technology often results in twins.

Doctors often recommend starting with IVF right away, even for healthy women. In my opinion, it’s worth trying insemination: the difference in cost runs to tens of thousands, and if there are no contraindications, why pay more from the start?

Having gathered all this information, at home we came to the following conclusions:

We would definitely have children by an anonymous donor. Why? Life is long, you don’t always know what will come into your own head tomorrow, let alone into another person’s. In short, we were simply afraid that a donor we knew might one day lay claim to our child. But that’s only our experience, and it isn’t the only right one.

So where do you go for an anonymous donor? To a clinic, of course — but which one? Do you have to tell the clinic that we’re a couple and want a baby? And that’s not the end of the “second of all”…

While we were thinking about what to do next, I met a wonderful woman online who had access, in Dnipropetrovsk, to the donors of one well-known clinic. More precisely, she had access to that clinic’s geneticist, who had a base of “his own” donors and wasn’t against selling the material on the side. This option worked out much cheaper than insemination at a clinic, and we didn’t have to explain anything to anyone — which is why we decided to go for it.

In advance, the geneticist asked for our photos and checked which of us would be giving birth. He needed this information to select a donor whose child would look as much like both of us as possible. Jumping ahead, I’ll say that’s exactly how it turned out.

And so began our long road toward our older daughter… We had heard stories about people for whom it works the first time — that wasn’t us. And not the second time either… and not even the third… Every time we came back from Dnipropetrovsk, we lived through the stress of a test saying “no, not this time either.” Of course, we had Natasha checked and rechecked hundreds of times, and different doctors said there was no reason at all for it not to be working. But it wasn’t working, and that was that. After almost a year of these wanderings, we decided to take a break and took off on vacation. There we decided that after we got back we’d make one more attempt, and if it turned out to be unsuccessful, we’d go to a clinic. Apparently someone up there didn’t like that plan — and this time everything worked out for us. And in April 2012, exactly on Easter, our daughter was born.

We conceived our son in Kyiv. First, because our daughter was still much too little for us to travel with her to Dnipro every month. Second, the donor “shop” suddenly closed down. The geneticist took offense at something and said he wouldn’t sell anything to anyone anymore.

By that time we had met a good gynecologist — completely by chance. She knew our story, and when I asked whether she knew anyone we could turn to, she responded right away and put me in touch with a doctor at a clinic that works with reproduction.

This time I had to make the trips mostly on my own. First, there was a small child at home and we didn’t want to drag her around hospitals unnecessarily. Second, at first the doctor was very anxious about our orientation, and to avoid traumatizing him any further, I went alone.

At the clinic, choosing a donor is simple: the geneticists bring a table with all the possible donors who match you by type, blood group and so on. If you’re a blonde with blue eyes, the list of donors is unlikely to include brown-eyed brunets. Why? Giving birth is a fairly stressful process, and a mother may behave in different ways afterward; she may not feel positive emotions toward the baby. So as not to provoke rejection of the newborn in the mother, doctors make sure the child resembles the parents as closely as possible. Besides, I’ve noticed that children born from anonymous donors very often look like their mothers — so I assume that men with recessive, that is, non-dominant, genes become donors.

I chose a donor by the following parameters: age, height, weight, blood group, face shape, eye color. I made my choice — and off we went… The first insemination turned out to be unsuccessful, meaning the money went up in smoke. It turned out I had some sort of problem with my uterus (honestly, I don’t remember my illnesses once they’re gone), I had to have some minimally invasive procedure, and in the very next cycle I got pregnant. And in November 2013 our son was born.

As for the cost, I’ll say that in the end both options cost us the same amount, but the second time there was six or seven times less worry and stress.

About pregnancy

Both Natasha’s pregnancy and mine went well. Neither of us had any morning sickness. We were monitored at an ordinary public clinic by the district doctor, but we had our ultrasounds and tests done with our own gynecologist — we only brought the results to the district doctor.

At first, though, it was hard to ride public transportation: it quickly got stuffy and we started feeling nauseous. We have a car, so we solved that question fast.

As for the unusual, I remember that for exactly three days all I wanted to eat was pickles and condensed milk. I remember that on the third day of such a diet I thought my liver wouldn’t survive this much. Apparently someone up there really didn’t like hearing that, and the next day I was able to go back to eating normally.

Did we gain weight? Yes, we did. It’s hard to call us slim, so during pregnancy we tried not to overeat. Natasha gained 10 kg, and I gained 13. We left the maternity hospital at our pre-pregnancy weight.

Pregnancy is a wonderful time. A life is starting inside you, and fairly soon someone begins moving in there (you feel like the heroine of the film “Alien”)). But in the final stretch it gets pretty hard. Everything is hard: sleeping, walking, sitting, lying down, and at some point you ask yourself, “When will all of this be over?” But once the birth is behind you, you realize: “Good grief, this is only the beginning! Why did nobody tell me about this before?!” And then that disappointment passes, when a tiny mouth latches onto your breast and then, satisfied, “falls away” from it and goes to sleep.

About maternity hospitals

Our first birth was at maternity hospital No. 7 on Predslavynska Street. The second was at maternity hospital No. 1 by Pecherska metro station. The first time it was by ambulance, the second by arrangement. Why different maternity hospitals? Because when the time came for me to sign up, it turned out that “the Seven” would be closed for sanitary cleaning during that period (every maternity hospital is shut down once a year for a “wash”). To say I was upset is to say nothing. I really wanted to give birth at “the Seven” — I liked it there very much when Natasha gave birth. The duty teams work wonderfully. I wasn’t ready to give birth with a duty team at any other maternity hospital. So we made an arrangement with the head of a department at maternity hospital No. 1, and I gave birth with her. Natasha said afterward that hers had still been better. I believe her.

Why did we dare to give birth with a duty team the first time? Not because we’re irresponsible (as some people think), but because many of the people we know gave birth at that very maternity hospital, with those very duty teams, and were happy with it. Because a former colleague of mine had at one point worked at the Kyiv City State Administration and dealt specifically with medicine, and she spoke very highly of that maternity hospital’s head doctor and of her talent for “keeping the staff on their toes” and disciplining them. Because there were several bad reviews about women in labor who had made arrangements with the clinic’s “big-name” doctors, and those doctors handed them over to the duty teams and showed up only after the birth with a “voilà, you have a girl / a boy.” And the money — gone.

About the cost again. Even giving birth with a duty team, we “thanked” the doctors and the staff for their work. So both the first and the second birth cost us the same amount. I don’t think this will help anyone given the changes in the exchange rate, but giving birth cost us 5,000 hryvnias, or about 600 dollars at the time.

About giving birth

What can you say about giving birth? It’s h**l! You can look for prettier words, of course, but this is exactly what fully describes everything that happens.

I don’t think any classes can prepare you for what happens there. Though we never went to any classes, so maybe I’m not right. Why didn’t we go to classes? Maybe we approached the question irresponsibly? Maybe, but we were working and couldn’t find the time.

Both times the births went without serious complications. During Natasha’s labor, the contractions were weak for a long time, so after many hours of waiting they did give her stimulation, and after that everything happened quite fast. My labor progressed normally, and by any measure I gave birth quickly (four hours passed from the contractions to the “finished result”). But I never did figure out what to do, where to push and how to breathe, so for almost three weeks after the birth I was decorated with a bruise under my eye. Natasha, by the way, also didn’t get the hang of doing it right away — which is why she was discharged with beautiful red eyes.

Both times we had partner births. Natasha gave birth with her mom, and I gave birth with Natasha. Why didn’t I go to Natasha’s birth? Because she didn’t want the sight of childbirth to scare me and make me change my mind about giving birth. And besides, her mom really wanted to go with her. I joined them right “afterward” — while still in the delivery room. Why do you need a loved one beside you at all? First, it’s much easier to swear at a loved one than at a midwife. Second, in order to have a fight with the midwife, she has to be in the delivery room, and for that someone has to call her — and it definitely won’t be the woman in labor. Until the contractions start coming close together, no one is going to sit with you in the delivery room, and in that time another 5–10 people may give birth.

In short, giving birth goes like this: it hurts, it hurts, it hurts — it really hurts — it really hurts — it hurts unbearably — I never thought anything could hurt this much — how are you supposed to push in this position? — I have to push again? Are you kidding? — what, again? — it’s a boy.

There are different opinions about epidural anesthesia. Since I’m sharing our experience, I’ll say this: Natasha gave birth without anesthesia, and I gave birth with it. That was a conscious choice. Having been at my birth, Natasha said that next time (?) she would give birth with anesthesia. In defense of anesthesia I can say that in the West you’re allowed to give birth without it only if you sign a written refusal. Oh, and also that it still hurts with it — so I don’t even want to imagine what it’s like without.

After the birth

After the birth it’s rough. Everything hurts, you can’t get up, there’s heavy bleeding — but nobody is interested in that, because in this life there’s no room left for pity toward you: you have to give your time to the baby. There’s no time to rest in the maternity hospital — doctors keep coming in: to examine you, or the baby, or to give a vaccination. By the way, our children have all their vaccinations. Why? Because.

At home, during the first month it feels like this is it — nobody expected such a collapse, a back can’t hurt like that, going without sleep like that is impossible. But after a month your body gets used to the new routine, and everything becomes normal. Six months in, you’re already used to sleeping little, eating whenever it works out, and washing in the presence of an audience — and if the audience has already started crawling and can crawl as far as the bathroom, going to the toilet “under supervision” too. From the outside it looks awful, and it seems like you wouldn’t wish such a life on your enemy, but personally I don’t know anyone who has regretted becoming a parent. They must know something after all.

Right now our children are 3 years 4 months and 1 year 9 months old, and they both already go to daycare. Have we had problems that can arise specifically in a same-sex family? Apparently not. Our daughter has already asked about a dad, but the answer “but you have two moms” satisfied her completely. At the clinic the doctors don’t remember us, so either of us can go there with either child. At daycare they tried at first to break our daughter of calling me “mom,” but I said there was no need to do that — and they stopped. Yes, our children call both of us “mom.” When our daughter wants to address one of us specifically, she says “mama Katia” or “mama Natasha.” Neither the neighbors nor the building concierges ask us any unnecessary questions — well, and we don’t walk around with a sign on our chest saying that we’re a same-sex family. Not because we’re cowards, but because attitudes not only toward us but toward our children too can depend on it. And we, as mothers, wish them only the best and want to protect them from unnecessary stress.

The fly in the ointment is that legally we still don’t know of a way to secure our rights to each other’s children. If anyone does know — we’d be glad to draw on someone’s experience.

All the other difficulties, I think, are no different from the ones heterosexual families run into.

Whether to have children or not is something each person decides for themselves. If you do dare to take this step, it’s important to realize: this responsibility is beyond comparison, and it can be accepted only voluntarily. But having accepted this responsibility, you will be rewarded with joy — with seeing your child grow. With a joy and a happiness stronger and greater than anything I have ever felt in my life.