And how should parents—especially queer parents—manage their expectations around it?
My friend’s daughter Emma looks a lot like my daughter Alice (both pseudonyms): the same blue eyes, the same “I’m about to start some trouble” grin. At their house, the other day, Alice pointed to a framed picture of Emma and said her own name.
“It really could be the same person,” my friend said, laughing.
“They look so much alike,” I agreed. “Did your husband ever donate sperm?” And my heart stopped beating for a second as I silently pleaded, Don’t say yes.
We bought sperm from another state, so it’s quite unlikely that I’ve ever walked past my daughter’s donor without realizing it—or that I’ve befriended that donor’s family, unbeknownst to either of us. Still, sometimes I look at people I pass on the street and wonder: Is it you?
It’s strange to think that someone I’ve never met is indelibly tied to our family. I want to find out more about that person, but I hesitate to go looking for clues. I’m not sure I’m ready to...