Two dads and a dream

Hey there, sorry we haven’t posted for a fortnight – we’ve actually been overseas! 😀 But back to regular programming….

Little fact about us this week:

One of us has stored genetic material in a clinic freezer. The other has a folder named ‘embryo budget v4’.

Our photo:

Sam, holding our corgi like it’s a newborn and looking like he’s about to rock it gently to sleep. Dad-core unlocked.

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So, how do you even pick a sperm donor?

Continuing on the donor train (next stop: existential reflection), let’s talk about sperm. Specifically, the sperm donor. That’s the other half of the whole making-a-human situation, and unsurprisingly, another question we get asked a lot.

People often assume it’s this hyper-scientific process: white lab coats, microscopes, sterile hallways, and someone yelling “WE HAVE A VIABLE SPECIMEN!” as a choir sings in the background and a nurse faints from joy.

In reality? It was more of a lounge-room wine chat that went a bit like this:

Sam: “So… are we using your sperm or mine?”
Gary: “Well, definitely not mine. I’m not interested in raising devil spawn, thank you.”
Sam: “Perfect. Top up?”
Gary: “Yes please, heavy pour :D”

And technically, that’s where the decision was made. But emotionally? Logistically? Psychologically? That chat was just the beginning.

Because when you’re a same-sex couple, there is no default. No built-in roadmap. No “obvious” answer. Every step is intentional, and every choice carries meaning.

We knew early on that we were going to use one of our own gametes (that’s the medical term, darling) for this journey, rather than going down the path of dual anonymous donors or co-parenting with a third party. We wanted one of us to have a biological connection, but also to enter into that choice with both eyes open, not just as a practicality but as a shared commitment.

And while we made this decision easily, we’re under no illusion that more difficult topics need to be tackled, and well, every single or couple going through this process will eventually need to answer:

• What does it mean for one of us to be genetically connected and the other not?
• Will that ever feel unequal?
• Will people treat us differently?
• Will we feel different from each other?
• Will our future child ever wonder why we chose one over the other?
• What does lineage look like?

Eventually, we know that our chats are going to sound like this:

• “Do we think it matters genetically, or is this more about narrative?”
• “How will we explain this choice in a way that honours both of us equally?”
• “Will our families get it? Will strangers ask questions? Do we care?”
• “How do we ensure the non-bio dad never feels like the ‘extra’ one?”

Why Sam?

Well, this exchange looked a little like this:

Sam: “You just want them to look like me.”
Gary: “Well, yes, because it makes more sense”
Sam: “Ugh. Fine. But if the baby’s not as witty as you, I’m blaming genetics.”
Gary: “It’s fine, I can teach some form of intelligence, can’t teach looks!”

Let’s be honest, Sam was always a strong contender. He’s warm, gentle, creatively geared, and kids already flock to him like he’s a human marshmallow. If Gary is the spreadsheet parent, Sam is the soft toy parent. You need both.

But we didn’t just choose Sam because he has good hair and better baby photos. We chose him because we knew he’d carry the emotional weight of this role with thoughtfulness, humour, and intention.

Gary’s been the organiser of this whole journey; researching, scheduling, drafting legislation in his sleep. But Sam? He’s the one who leans into the feelings. Who imagines lullabies and bedtime chats. Who gets emotionally invested and keeps things real. (And trust us, things get messy and overwhelming.)

To be perfectly honest, I (Gary) also had zero interest in donating his sperm from the get-go. Like, none. Not out of insecurity or disinterest in the child, far from it. It was more a deep, gut-level clarity that biology didn’t define his sense of parenthood. The idea of creating life was beautiful, sure, but the specifics of DNA? Not something he felt attached to. In his own words: “I don’t need to share chromosomes to show up as a dad.” And frankly, I think that kind of emotional confidence deserves its own bumper sticker.

In our decision making, we came back to what we always do; What’s best for our family and what’s best for our future child? What would set them up in the future? What aligns with our values, our relationship, and our future kid? And Sam offering to be the donor felt right. Not just because of biology, but because of where we are in our lives, in our dynamic, in our vision of parenting.

Ultimately, this isn’t a solo gig. Whether Sam’s genes are in the mix or not, we’re both all in. We’ve always said that our child will be 100% Sam, 100% Gary, and 100% their own little weirdo. That’s the maths that works for us.

Choosing, supporting, or just curious

Here’s the thing: everyone doing this journey makes different choices. For solo parents, it might be: “Whose DNA do I want in the mix?” For couples, it could be: “Do we both want to try at some point?” “Will we alternate?” “Do we just go with the most practical option and never speak of it again except in therapy?”

The answers vary wildly and so they should. Because every family is built differently. What matters is the intention behind the choice, not what the choice looks like on paper.

For those going through it, here are a few real questions we found helpful:

• Are there medical reasons that might rule someone out?
• Who feels most emotionally ready for this kind of role?
• How will we explain this choice with honesty, without hierarchy?
• Are there cultural, genetic, or heritage links we want to honour or continue?
• Who’s most likely to panic and forget which day the sample was due?

And sometimes it’s not about choosing between partners. Sometimes there is no partner. Sometimes it’s a friend donating. Sometimes it’s anonymous. Sometimes it’s a future version of yourself you haven’t met yet. It’s still valid. It’s still family.

If you’re a friend, family member, or just someone lucky enough to be in a future IVF baby’s orbit – there is a helpful kind of curious:

• Ask if you can ask. “Would you be open to chatting about your donor process?” goes a long way.
• Respect that some details are private. No, you don’t get to see sperm stats or donor baby photos unless we offer.
• Don’t assume biology equals more parenting points. Honestly, there are no medals. (Except the emotional labour ones. Those are real.) Biology may maketh the child, but it doth not a parent maketh.
• Affirm both parents. Say things like, “They’re lucky to have you both,” or “This kid’s going to be so loved.” It matters.

In short? If you’re supportive, curious, and kind, you’re already doing great. Because whether someone chooses to use their own sperm, a donor, a friend, or a stranger, they’re making that decision with a hell of a lot of thought, emotion, and probably late-night wine-fuelled existential dread. Be gentle with them.

For our future child

Let’s tie this off, you now know (sorta in a nutshell), why we chose your ‘egg’ and your ‘sperm’ that made you.

We didn’t choose your dad’s sperm because it had the best stats or the straightest teeth in baby photos. We chose it because it made sense for us, for who we are as a couple, the kind of family we want to build, and ultimately to try and give you the best chances in life. Because this process isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. And you, little one, were never an accident. You were considered. Chosen. Waited for. Dreamed about.

We’ve made spreadsheets, booked 1am calls to America, debated the ethics of sperm and egg storage, arranged legal appointments, and yes, Googled “can babies inherit sarcasm?”

We’ve done all of it not to tick boxes, but to build a life with you in it. You’re already deeply loved. Not just by the one who shares your DNA, but by both of us, equally, endlessly, and without question.

(Also if you’re reading this and asking for a sibling if you don’t already have one… let us sleep for 3–5 business years.)

So here we are, egg donor confirmed, sperm provided, standing at the edge of something incredible. These choices, these stories, this whole chaotic, deliberate, love-soaked journey… it’s all been for you. Not to create the perfect family, but to create yours. One filled with honesty, intention, and enough dad jokes to last a lifetime.

Signing off this week….final stop on the donor train: one of us gave genes, the other gave Excel. Both gave their whole hearts.

Love,

Gary & Sam 🧬💻💖