Navigating uncharted waters, we would be forging ahead guided solely by instinct, but what prospective parents aren’t essentially doing that in most respects, right? There were no books on Amazon titled Gay Dad, Straight Mom or When Your Gay BFF Becomes Your Baby Daddy, and there were so many issues ― from the legal to the financial ― to iron out, but those were really just details to us. I felt that as a “couple,” we were at a distinct advantage, and I remember thinking, “Aren’t Heidi and I in a better position than many other people who get pregnant without having had the benefit of 20 years of friendship?” In our hearts we knew we were doing the right thing, and in our minds we had already become Daddy and Mommy. So with our plan concealed from family and friends, we set out to try to conceive.
The idea of having sex made us chuckle, so we decided on at-home insemination without any kind of medical intervention. Since Heidi is a nurse, we had the benefit of her medical background, and we obtained the sterile cups, syringes and the other paraphernalia needed to increase our odds of conception. We agreed that if Heidi didn’t get pregnant within three months, we would each go to a fertility doctor to determine if we were individually able to have children. If my boys were the reason that Heidi couldn’t get pregnant, I would have been disappointed but graciously bowed out of the process, wishing her well in her journey toward becoming pregnant without me. I gave it my best shot (literally!), and we inseminated whenever Heidi was ovulating.
We made the insemination process as lighthearted as we could because, while we were attempting to do something that, if successful, would alter our lives forever, there was a comical aspect to the process of doing this ourselves. Here we were actually doing what so many other gay men and their straight college girl friends had promised each other they would do, and the faint sound of their words ― “If I’m not married by 40 …” “You’re my gay BFF. We should have a baby!” ― echoed in our heads throughout our journey.
On insemination night there was no mood lighting, no chardonnay and no Barry White playing. Instead we told each other funny stories after the process was complete. Heidi remained lying on her bed, hips raised at an angle to increase the odds of sperm meeting egg, with Led Zeppelin playing (Heidi sings in a Led Zeppelin cover band, after all), a Seinfeld rerun on TV and cartons of our favorite Chinese takeout within reach. After our third attempt, Heidi became pregnant. Apparently steamed shrimp dumplings plus “Stairway to Heaven” plus some Jerry, Elaine, George and Kramer craziness equaled success ― at least for us.
Throughout the pregnancy, I remained awestruck that the sonogram images of the baby in Heidi’s belly were of my child, and I found myself marveling at the fact that the in-home insemination really worked. We worked out that Heidi would have primary custody during the week, I would have the baby at my place on the weekend, we would share finances and we would create a Family Day ― one day dedicated to our all being together ― that we would share each week.
In September 2010 our son, Nathaniel Chase, was born. We hadn’t attended one Lamaze class, since he arrived before they were scheduled to start, but Heidi was a confident champ, masterfully in tune with herself and what her body was naturally designed to do. I was steadfastly there by her side ― cheering her on and holding a knee when helpful but scurrying to move my daddy ass out of the way when the nurse screamed at me to do so. After Nate was born, we had an impromptu “circle of life” moment (cue The Lion King) to welcome him into the world and then had Chinese food delivered to the hospital room.
