For Dustin and I, it’s a bit more complicated. Since he couldn’t be the biological father, it became important to me that Dustin was the legal father. It was originally his dreams that led to the birth of these children, so I wanted him to have a connection to the kids that was more substantial than just “He’s dad because we say so.”
Here’s where it gets a little convoluted.
After the birth, my name was placed on the birth certificate and I filled out a Declaration of Paternity, a document in California that men sign to acknowledge that, yes, they are and want to be the legal father. Then I later signed over my legal rights as father to Dustin so he could adopt the girls, but with a rider on the paperwork that I was guaranteed visitation rights in a worst-case scenario. So Dustin is the legal father via adoption, while my name remains on the birth certificate and declaration of paternity, with the added protections of the adoption rider.
These multiple steps serve more practical purposes than just my sentimental motivations mentioned above. They also clearly establish that Dustin and I are both committed to these children. So in a worst-case scenario, a family court will take everything into consideration and not just turn one or both of us away as never having been a true active parent.
All of this paperwork could also come in handy should there ever be trouble while travelling. We bring along the adoption forms so no one ever questions Dustin’s rights, as well as the birth certificates and declaration of paternity so I’m not questioned, either. Granted, my forms are legally moot due to the adoption, but Joe Average doesn’t necessarily know that. A birth certificate is a universally-recognized document and the paternity form adds some extra weight. Fingers crossed, it should all be enough to minimize challenges in emergency situations.
In 2013, California passed a law that permits family courts to approve full parenting rights for three or more adults where previously there could only be two. This law doesn’t mean a committee of people can just decide to have a kid together and all be equally recognized from day one. But it does give judges the leeway to approve legal recognition of a third parent or more if it is in the best interest of the child. An example of how this is a good thing is a case where a child has an absentee parent and a step-parent is willing to become a full, legal parent. On a case-by-case basis, a judge could approve it. This way, if the legal parent with custody becomes incapacitated or dies, the child doesn’t end up in legal limbo due to the absence of the other legal parent. But that’s just one scenario. There is also the possibility that with our seven-plus years of established involvement as parents, Daisy’s partner and I might be able to petition to be recognized under the law. It’s an exciting thought and one we intend to research.
On the more mundane side, our daily routine involves a lot of driving back and forth between the homes, which are about twenty minutes apart. This is the one definite inconvenience about our situation and one we had hoped to rectify by buying a two-unit home together. Unfortunately, the housing market just isn’t cooperating. First there was the 2008 crash, which made selling our current homes impossible. And now we’re experiencing a real estate boom so insane that, while we can sell our homes, we can’t afford to buy a decent new one. And leaving the city isn’t an option. We love it here too much.
So, for the time being, the commute is the worst thing we have to deal with. By this point, our cars could probably drive the route on autopilot. And while the child counselor we consulted had assured us that the two-home model wasn’t detrimental to the girls, it still gives us a twinge of guilt when they sometimes say they wish we all lived together.
I don’t mean to make co-parenting sound like all rainbows and unicorns and guaranteed success. There are various factors that need to be present in order for such an unorthodox arrangement to work. The right personalities are probably the most important thing, even above any legal or biological concerns. Selfishness, inability to communicate, lack of self-awareness, the need to control and other negative traits are all potential dangers. But when the right personalities come together—as they have in our case—it can be pretty darn awesome.
Some advantages to co-parenting that are sprinkled throughout our story should be expanded a bit. I’d mentioned the joint bank account we created for the girls’ finances. Living in one of the most expensive cities in the country, the financial burden is pretty high, even for those who are child-free. It’s a no-brainer that four incomes are better than two. There was a period right as the Great Recession kicked in when both moms lost their jobs. Fortunately, they both found work again within a year, but Teresa and Frances’s welfare was never a concern in the meantime.
None of us have any family nearby. They’re all back East or in the Midwest. That makes our local support network pretty limited. We know of couples who had children in San Jose and then had to move to where their extended families lived so their parents or siblings could help out. By co-parenting, we have created a support network for ourselves and our children.
All of the above, plus the scheduled nights off from childcare duty to relax and focus on other areas of our lives, removes a lot of the stress that accompanies parenting. That means when the girls are with us we’re usually well-rested and able to focus completely on them. However, the key word here is “usually.” There are times when life just doesn’t care about schedules.
We’re not the only ones successfully raising children as intentional co-parents, either. We personally know several others and each family has its own configuration. In our case, it’s two couples (two moms and two dads) living in different homes with the kids spending half their time in each. Another family is a mom and a dad, both gay and living in the same house. Another is a straight woman and a gay man living in different homes and yet another is a single gay man and a single lesbian in different homes. There are others out there as well, couples and individuals, all successfully co-parenting.
The concept has even been flirted with on TV. Grey’s Anatomy and the soap opera Days of Our Lives have both had plotlines involving co-parented families, although not necessarily defined as such. The co-parenting in those storylines wasn’t by choice, but at least it was instituted from the moment of the child’s birth, so it was never presented as anything other than a non-traditional family from the outset. The shows’ writers were exposing their audiences to the concept that loving, committed parents don’t need to be in love and committed to each other in order to be dedicated and successful parents.
So now, with seven years of being a parent under my belt, have all my past fears been completely put to rest? Well, I’ll say that co-parenting was 100 percent the correct decision for us and one I would not change. Our amazing girls have four parents all caring for them, loving them and each sharing the best they have to offer.
For Dustin and I, co-parenting has been an unequivocal success and our daughters are thriving because of it.
George Tennant
BELFAST, IRELAND
I have always wanted to be a parent. Always. And I kind of always knew that I was going to be one, but paradoxically couldn’t imagine how it might happen. The beginning of my journey came in a strange way: My ex-partner told me that his friend Dawn and her partner, Helen, were researching IVF treatment and had been to a clinic, where they realized the cost was too prohibitive, ending their hopes for a child.
I can clearly remember saying, in a very throwaway manner, “Well I have loads of the stuff if they want it.” But then after hearing the words aloud and thinking of them, I told my ex-partner to call Dawn and Helen. If they wanted a donor, I was willing to do it. Simple as that. They were both very taken aback. We had met a few times before, but made no real impression on each other. After a few days of consideration, they called me and asked if we could meet.
The first chat was awkward. I can be slow to speak openly and the girls were the opposite—they knew exactly what they wanted. They asked if I wanted to simply donate or have a part in the child’s upbringing. I said I was
happy to do either. Their preference was for me to have no involvement, but I think they knew I hadn’t given the idea the appropriate amount of thought, so I left with a few things to mull over and we planned to meet again.
It was a tough couple of days. I wanted to help Dawn and Helen first and foremost; that was why I hadn’t given it much thought in the first place. It just seemed like the good thing to do. I didn’t want payment; money was never something I considered. But I also struggled with the idea that my future child was going to live ten minutes away and I wouldn’t be able to have any part in her life. Dawn’s preference was clear: donate and go. Helen, a few years older, was more open to me being involved. Eventually, I told them what I wanted, which was to be seen as the child’s father and to be involved in his or her life.
Dawn was hesitant, but Helen was much happier to consider my wishes. Between the two of them they agreed, so we decided to start straightaway. First they fairly requested that I have an HIV test done. Once that showed clear, it was a short wait until Dawn’s fertile time.
I went to their home and deposited into a small jar. Looking back, conceiving was kind of comical at times. They waited in the bedroom with the TV on loud, presumably stifling giggles, while I did my thing in the living room. One time I got carried away and missed the jar. I freaked out and my heart started racing as I frantically tried to clean up my mess and hide the fact my jeans had large wet spots in the crotch and down the leg. I left the jar on the table and ran out the door, hoping to avoid all human contact until I was able to get home so no one would see the evidence of my poor aim.
On days when my aim wasn’t an issue, fulfilling my solo duties with Helen and Dawn in the other room still felt awkward. I normally left the jar in the kitchen and rushed out of the house as soon as I was done.
The first cycle didn’t work. Neither did the second or third.
This went on for about eight months until one day I finally got the call. Dawn was pregnant, maybe four or five weeks along; several tests said yes. Now things were very, very real! I had to let my parents know. My parents were in their early sixties and had supported me in everything I ever did. Honestly, I couldn’t ask for better, but I was still terrified to tell them. There were no gay parents anywhere to be seen in my parents’ circle or even the media. This was going to come as a shock.
I was shaking, but it had to be done. I sat them both down and said I had some news I wanted to discuss. I was going to be a dad with two lesbians. They thought I was joking. I eventually got it through to them, but they were still bewildered. I said I was going to let the news sink in and drop by in the next couple of days so we could discuss it again.
However, the next day I got a call from Helen. Dawn had lost the baby that night. I was devastated, as were they. So I called my parents back, this time with the bad news. They were saddened. They had come around to the idea a lot quicker than I thought.
Dawn, Helen and I took a month off and then got back to trying the following month. However, things began to change between us. To be honest, the miscarriage shook me more than I expected and I lost some of my enthusiasm. It went on like this for several months, but one time I made an excuse not to go over. Another time, they did. Then they said they wanted to rethink the whole thing. We met a couple of months later and they said they’d changed their minds.
At that stage, I had become fed up with the monthly chore of depositing and I’m sure they picked up on that, which may have made me look like a less attractive option as a father. Our friendship was also waning. But I could see the pain in their faces, so the pleaser in me offered to just be a donor again and nothing more if that’s what they wanted. They did, so we all agreed to start again, with me prepared to bow out when the pregnancy occurred. So again, months of trying ensued. I had a sperm count check and was ridiculously proud to hear I had an above-average count. Dawn had some tests too, all of which were fine.
Next, we went to a clinic to see if they could help. But they didn’t treat single women and especially not people of our persuasion. So Dawn and I pretended to be in a relationship. We held hands and tried to act like a committed, happy couple while Helen hid outside in the car. It worked. We convinced them. The doctor gave Dawn a pack of tablets and off we went. The second month in, I got the call: Dawn was pregnant again.
Instead of being elated, I was upset. I wasn’t going to be a father, but they were going to be mothers. The call was them giving me their news, not telling me mine. They invited me over for dinner to say thanks. I went, but couldn’t hide my feelings. During dinner, Helen asked if I wanted involvement or if I wanted to stick to my previous plan. It was time to be honest and nothing less. So I was. I told them I wanted this child the same as they did. It was awkward and unpleasant, so I left shortly after.
At our next meeting, it was evident that Dawn wasn’t happy with my change of plans, although Helen seemed accepting at best. We decided to put my name on the child’s birth certificate and let Dawn and Helen choose a first name. Dawn had changed her family name to Helen’s, so the baby’s last name was already determined. They agreed to go over future decisions with me, but they ultimately had the final say on everything. Contact frequency was promised not to be an issue. Only Helen was allowed to be present during birth, but I could visit the hospital.
I thought all of these were fair decisions. But as the pregnancy progressed, I began to feel excluded, unwanted and uncomfortable. I told my family and friends about the impending birth and they were all pleased and supportive, excited even. I went through a whole range of emotions during that time. I found it difficult to tell my straight friends, who had trouble conceiving that I was going to be a parent. They were obviously happy for me, but who could blame them for any other feelings they might have had? One friend even wanted to know if my child was more likely to be gay.
The girls and I arranged to meet for coffee one day about five months into the pregnancy. We had exchanged texts and e-mails, but the need for constant contact was no longer there. They informed me their plans had changed. I was no longer going to be included on the birth certificate. This ensured that whatever limited rights I may have had were eliminated completely. I wasn’t going to be welcomed at the hospital and any contact for the first year was restricted to me visiting the child in their home. I felt angry and pushed out. They had gotten what they wanted and now they wanted me gone.
It made me think of how I’d changed my own mind for them. I reminded them that the baby was only here because of my help and said I couldn’t go along with this reduced role. They told me this was how it was going to be—take it or leave it. Ultimately, I left it. I felt forced into a corner and I believed that if I had accepted this new arrangement, there was going to be another list of changes later on designed to move me even further out of my child’s life. It broke my heart and I went home that night and cried myself to sleep. But it had happened and now I had to deal with it.
We met again by accident when Dawn was seven or eight months along. At that point, we had no choice but to go for coffee and tie up loose ends. Old ground was gone over; nothing had changed and neither had anyone’s stance. I wished them the best and they promised to let me know when the baby was born and send me a photograph.
True to their word, once my daughter was born in early 2005, they sent me some photos. They named her Alison. I told my family, who didn’t really know how to react. In truth, I was elated. But the following nine months were to be the most stressful and difficult of all my thirty-eight years. I ended up ruining the job I had and was unable to look at babies who were my child’s age. Also, as the girls and I lived near each other, I was apprehensive about going anywhere local in case I ran into them.
Christmas approached and that’s when I made a decision. While I may not have had any contact with Alison then, I fully expected that to change when she was old enough to ask questions. I wanted the chance to show her that she was in my thoughts, so I got a decent-sized sum of money together and
a card wishing them a happy Christmas and apologizing for anything I had done. On December 22nd, I dropped it into their postbox. The money was to provide Alison with some Christmas presents from me, but I assured Dawn and Helen that they didn’t have to let her know where the presents came from. I planned to do this each birthday and Christmas with no expectations. The next day, I found a card dropped into my postbox with a photo, a thank you note and the following invitation: “Do you want to come over on Christmas Eve to meet Alison?”
I was overwhelmed with joy and shock. Sure enough, on December 24th, I was there. The girls were friendly and a little nervous. At nine months, Alison was a happy, smiley little baby. I remember her climbing onto my knee and Helen taking a photo, which I still cherish. Then Helen asked if I wanted to come back again after Christmas. Easy question! I said, “Yes, of course I would.”
Then the next question: “George, do you want to be involved in her life?”
I can still feel that moment. The next day was Christmas. As always, I had dinner with my folks. After the meal, I took out the photo that Dawn and Helen had given me and told my parents about the previous day, how I was now going to have contact with my daughter and they with their grandchild. Wow, the happiness we all felt that day!
A few practicalities had to be discussed. It was clear that Helen was happier to have me involved than Dawn was, but arrangements for finances, contact and such were agreed upon by all. Then I became Alison’s dad. Since then, Christmas Eve has always been extra special for me, almost like her unofficial birthday.
Alison and I bonded straightaway. She was a joyful child—clever enough to cry when I took her from her mothers and to stop as soon as they were out of earshot. Dawn called or texted me incessantly to check up on her. Often she checked in at least once an hour. Usually, the first call came within five minutes to see how things were going. It was a little irritating, but I had to accept it and anything else that was asked of me, because in truth I was very grateful and also knew who the boss was in this whole arrangement.
Journey to Same-Sex Parenthood Page 21
