I’d always been very committed to becoming a mom someday; I’d created my own business and developed a flexible schedule based largely on that objective.So when I said goodbye to my fiancé at 30, I decided that if I hadn’t met somebody I wanted to have a family with by 37, I’d go for it another way. At the same time, my parents were having marital troubles, and I wanted to encourage my mom to create some distance from her marriage.
Amazingly, it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable—probably because we’d known each other so long.
And it didn’t hurt that Curt has a fabulous eye for decoration.
Not the traditional way—we did artificial insemination DIY-style, with help from a sterilized measuring cup, a homemade ovulation calendar, and a turkey baster.
After three months of trying, I got pregnant in August 2001.
If you want to be as happy as the folks below, we’d encourage you to see it for what it can be: a marvelous, occasionally messy collection of partners, parents, exes, siblings, babies, and best friends—all bonded by that most powerful glue..
I LIVE IN MANHATTAN with two men—neither is my husband. One is my best friend, Chris, whom I’ve known since we were 12, and the other is his partner, Curt; they’ve been together for three decades.So we started trying to explain: “She’s my daughter and they’re her fathers, and they’re a couple, and he’s adopted.” The guy just handed back our passports, shaking his head and laughing as he sent us through.He said, “You couldn’t make this up if you tried.”I WAS ENGAGED MORE than a decade ago, but broke it off after an important realization: I was staying with him only because I wanted kids.I made a proposal: She’d come live with me, I’d do IVF and have a baby, and she’d be my coparent. Then, while I was pregnant with my second daughter, Logan, we learned that my younger sister was seriously ill with pulmonary fibrosis, a rare disease that causes scarring and stiffening of the lung tissue—she’d need to be hooked up to an oxygen tank 24/7 and would be unable to work. We live in a five-bedroom colonial in a very traditional New Jersey suburb; nearly everyone on our street is a nuclear family or a retired couple.I call our place the sorority house because it really feels that way—I make eggs for all of us in the mornings, the three grown-ups watch on Monday nights, and we sing a lot of show tunes.Chris and Curt were driving back from Fire Island, where they were renting a summer house, and I called to say, “You won’t be able to take that house next summer because we’re going to have a baby.” Lily was born in April 2002; when I was in the delivery room, someone asked Chris who he was.He said, “I’m the father.” Then Curt said, “And I’m the other father.”Though we all lived in the same city, our apartments were 21 blocks apart, meaning Lily was shuttled back and forth constantly.When we were in our mid-30s, I was single and Chris was already with Curt.But we all wanted a child, which led to a plan: Chris and I would make a baby together.(He hates that I’ll make Luca a separate dinner if he doesn’t like what the rest of us are eating.) For the children, though, having three parents is phenomenal; they have two fathers who’ll toss around a baseball with them for hours on end and a mom who’ll let them stay up too late watching movies in bed with her.And I’m lucky, too—if the kids are driving me nuts, Curt will take them out for an hour to give me some peace, then come home with a bottle of red wine. We were coming back from a family vacation in Costa Rica in 2013, and the customs officer didn’t understand why each of the adults had a different last name; one kid had mine and the other had Chris’s.