My own parenthood story begins with my mom and dad. My parents and I are incredibly close. We live less than a mile apart, we see each other multiple times per week, and we talk constantly. And our bond has become even deeper since I became a mom and they became grandparents.
I’m also adopted. I’ve known I was adopted for as long as I can remember. My parents told me when I was really little and they were always open about it.
Growing up adopted profoundly shaped how I view family. I’ve always known that there are so many different ways to create a loving household. Some people, like me, are adopted. Some grow up with one parent, some are raised by grandparents, some have two moms, some have two dads, some kids grow up in foster care—and so on. There are so many different types of families out there, and I’ve always known biology doesn’t have to be part of the equation.
So, when my spouse and I, as a queer couple, decided to grow our family, we obviously knew it wouldn’t be the “traditional” way. We decided my spouse would carry our child, and we were both really happy and confident with that decision. Growing up adopted, I always understood that biology didn’t define family for me. My parents loved and raised me, and that bond wasn’t based on shared DNA. Because of that, I never felt a strong desire to be pregnant. And again, I knew biology wasn’t critical. What mattered was that our child would be born out of love and our deep commitment to creating a family together.
The Journey to Parenthood
Once we made the decision to grow our family, the first step was finding a sperm donor. What we thought would be a straightforward process ended up taking a couple of months—much longer than we expected. We were specifically looking for a Middle Eastern donor because I’m Middle Eastern—and we wanted our kiddo to share the cultural roots of both me and my spouse, Cat. But the reality quickly set in: there were very few Middle Eastern donors available. We looked through multiple cryo banks, which is where you can buy and store sperm, but only found a handful of Middle Eastern donors—much less than we had hoped.
Each cryo bank allowed us to learn more about the donors beyond just basic information. We could dive into their medical history, read personal details about their hobbies, favorite foods, academic background and more. Some had both baby and adult photos, while others only had baby pictures. In our case, the donor we were drawn to had a few baby photos, which made it a little harder but also kind of mysterious and exciting when imagining our future child.
After what felt like an endless search, we finally found the right donor—someone who felt like the perfect fit. We were so relieved and excited to move forward to the next step of our journey. It was a moment of joy and anticipation, knowing that after all the searching, we were finally one step closer to growing our family.
Then we started intrauterine insemination (IUI). If you’re not familiar with IUI, it’s similar to what you see in the movies: that awkward turkey baster scene where they shoot sperm inside someone to try to get them pregnant. Except for us, it was much more clinical—performed by a doctor under fluorescent lights. The timing also made things complicated because it was right in the middle of COVID. Our fertility clinic was running at capacity with fewer nurses and doctors available, and more people were trying to get pregnant… so we could only go in every other month. It felt like the odds were stacked against us, but we were hopeful.
But then, after three rounds of IUI, we were pregnant! We felt incredibly grateful because IUI and IVF journeys can be long, expensive—and emotionally draining. We knew how lucky we were to get pregnant so quickly (especially now that we’re trying again, which hasn’t been easy—but more on that later).
Every part of this experience, from the moment my spouse and I decided to start a family, was a team effort. We made every decision together and attended almost every doctor’s appointment together, although sometimes I had to wait in the car because of pandemic restrictions. We chose our child’s name together, set up the nursery together— everything.
Once Cat was in labor at the hospital, things didn’t go as planned. Cat’s labor was moving incredibly slow, so our midwife gave them Pitocin, a medication used to stimulate contractions and help move things along. Unfortunately, our baby didn’t respond well to the medication, so we had to stop using it. Then, 48 hours into labor, our midwife realized Cat’s blood pressure had spiked to a dangerously high level—around 180—which could cause a stroke or worse. That’s when Cat was diagnosed with preeclampsia, a really scary condition that a lot of people didn’t survive a century ago.
The midwife gave Cat medication to bring down their blood pressure, which thankfully worked, but then Cat’s kidneys started showing signs of distress. Cat’s urine became thick and dark like maple syrup, which was terrifying. Our midwife told us that if our baby wasn’t born within the next few hours, the doctor on staff would need to perform a C-section. At this point, Cat was on so many drugs they didn’t really know what was going on, and I was absolutely terrified. I remember stepping into the bathroom to call my mom, crying and telling her how scared I was.
At that point, our midwife told us that Cat was at seven centimeters and needed to reach eight centimeters within the next hour, or they would go ahead with the C-section. After what felt like the longest hour of my life, there were no changes. They prepped Cat for surgery and took them into the ER while I waited outside, texting my mom and feeling completely helpless. Finally, they called me in, and within 10 minutes, our baby was out, healthy and perfect. Despite the chaos and fear, we were so relieved and grateful in that moment.
The Non-Biological Parent Experience
Becoming a mom has been the most incredible, exhausting, emotional and rewarding experience of my life. Those first few months after our son was born were a blur. He would wake up every hour or so for milk, and we got through that time half asleep, half in a daze, but completely happy. There’s nothing that can prepare you for the combination of overwhelming love and sheer exhaustion that comes with a newborn.
But as the non-biological parent, there have been some challenges that I didn’t see coming. Society still prioritizes “traditional family structures” which can be frustrating and sometimes even a little scary.
One of the biggest things I worried about from the start was legal protection. There are a lot of countries—and even some states—that don’t recognize the non-birthing parent. Even though we live in California, where LGBTQ+ families are generally well protected, I wanted to make sure I had every possible safeguard in place for our family.
Laws change, and I didn’t want to take any risks, especially when traveling out of state. So as soon as our baby was born, I started the adoption paperwork. Even though I know he’s always been my baby, I wanted that additional security. After a few months, I was able to legally adopt him. It was such a relief, but it also made me angry that I even had to go through that process.
There are still moments when I’m reminded that the system doesn’t fully recognize my role—like when I have to fill out forms that ask if I’m the “biological parent, foster parent or step-parent.” I don’t fit into any of those boxes—and I’d prefer not to be put in one in the first place. It’s frustrating and exhausting. I’m fighting this invisible battle just to be seen, to be acknowledged as my child’s parent, even though I’ve been there every single day of his life.
Another challenge is when my spouse and I get asked, “Who gave birth?” Sometimes it’s from other queer parents who want to share their experiences, which I love, because it feels like a way to connect and find common ground. But when the question comes from people outside the LGBTQ+ community, or from those who aren’t going through their own challenging trying-to-conceive journey, it can feel intrusive and uncomfortable. Why do they need to know? What assumptions are they making about us, about me? Are they questioning my role as a parent? It just feels a little icky, like they may be devaluing my role as a parent.
Then there’s the assumption that because my spouse carried our first child, I’ll automatically carry the second. That assumption doesn’t really bother me—it’s what comes next that does. It’s usually cisgender, straight moms saying things like:
“OMG, Marianna, it’s your turn to have a baby!”
“There’s nothing more magical than being pregnant.”
“You’ll never experience a stronger bond with your child than when you give birth.”
And then I want to yell, “I already have a baby. He’s right here! You know him!” These comments always feel really dismissive of my relationship with my kiddo, like we can’t have as strong as a bond because I didn’t birth him, which is untrue.
An Unexpected Change of Heart
For the longest time, I didn’t want to get pregnant. I was really happy being the non-biological parent. But one day, when our son was still a baby, I was rocking him to sleep, and I just felt this overwhelming love for him. As I looked at his tiny face, a thought crept in — maybe I do want to become pregnant.
We always knew we wanted two kids, and we had thought about adoption. But for the first time, I was considering pregnancy. I imagined my kiddo watching my belly grow, asking questions about the baby, and being there when his sibling was born. Don’t get me wrong—if we chose adoption, it would be incredible to have him involved in that process, too. But my heart was pulling me toward carrying our second child. So after 35 years of not wanting to become pregnant, I suddenly found myself wanting this experience.
That said, I was terrified. The idea of giving birth intrigued me (I’ve watched more birthing videos than I can count), but it also frightened me. Even though I had made up my mind, it still took me a full year to actually start the process.
When I finally went in for an evaluation, I found out that my egg count was really low. It felt like everything shifted in that moment. Knowing time was running out made me realize just how much I wanted to experience pregnancy. So we found a really amazing fertility doctor (shout out to Dr. Aimee Eyvazzadeh)—and we quickly began moving forward with this new chapter. I decided to try IUI along with fertility medication, and now I’m on cycle number four.
Once we got started, I told myself to be patient. I knew the IUI journey could take time and that it might not happen right away. But now that we’re in it, I feel much more impatient than I expected. It’s an emotional rollercoaster every month—testing, hoping and then not being pregnant. Plus, IUI is expensive. For us, it’s thousands of dollars each try. And with each cycle, we’re using up more of our limited supply of donor sperm. So for now, we’re pushing through, crossing our fingers, and hoping we’ll get pregnant soon.
Embracing the Unexpected
Parenthood has surprised me in more ways than I ever expected. I didn’t fully anticipate the overwhelming love, the challenges that come with being a non-biological parent, or the change of heart that made me want to carry a child myself. But that’s the beauty of creating a family—nothing goes exactly how you plan, and yet it turns out to be everything you needed.
The truth is, family isn’t something you build once and then it’s done. It grows, evolves and surprises you. It has constantly challenged me to stretch my heart in ways I never knew were possible. Our journey to parenthood—my spouse and I—has shown me that love is at the core of everything we do. It’s the love we give that defines us as parents, not the roles society expects us to fill.
