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I'm a soon-to-be non-gestational, non-biological, non-adoptive mother. In short, I'm a lesbian and my wife is pregnant... this is my blog following documenting our journey.


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The beginning...

I’m about to become a mother. A specific type of mother. To use the correct terminology, I’m about to become a non-gestational, non-biological mum. Catchy, isn’t it? In reality, what this means is I am not related to the baby that my wife is carrying. But the situation differs from adoption a little, insofar as I will be on my child’s birth certificate from day one, I have been there since conception (well technically neither of us were  there , but more on that later), and I have known that this was on the cards since way back when my wife and I sat in the clinic for our first consultation.   For a while, at least, it didn’t look like things would pan out this way. Inseminations, IVF, adoption evenings – we’ve done it all and have a selection of branded items to prove it. But it worked, even though I feel quite nervous about writing this. Things can go wrong. Things don’t work out. That small person might not be okay… I guess this is the drop in the tide before the tsunami of par
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Amanda Palmer's insights always help...

Last night we celebrated the 1 st  birthday of a friend's child. They were pretty happy about the fact that they have managed to keep their kid alive for 12 months. And then fast forward to this morning, when I’m in the office listening to music whilst working through my morning tasks. I’ve got the Amanda Palmer mix up on YouTube and her song A Mother’s Confession comes on. This largely is a song about keeping going, making mistakes and just trying to keep a small person alive.    I’m pretty sure that’s going to be me… but, then, I’m pretty sure that’s everyone with kids.
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"Why don't you have a baby too?"

A few people that we have told about the impending small person have been quick to ask why I don't fancy the prospect of pregnancy. This is written to address that specific question. Firstly, me and my ovaries are not on first name terms. Don't get me wrong, my vagina and I are the best of pals, but anything beyond my cervix is a conversation I don't want to take part in. I'm worse than useless at getting a regular PAP smear, and I am bloody terrible (no pun intended) on my period. A mix of PCOS and possible endometriosis makes each month's (or sometimes my bi-annual) bloodfest an agony induces swamp of hormones and hysteria.  I don't like my womb. It can fuck right off, so the last thing I want to do is make it bigger, fill it with more things that one day will plunged forth into a living hell of episiotomies and afterbirth. And, added to that, I like the way my vagina looks at the moment - it really isn't in need of a remodel.  But before any p
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