The Stork Will Make Two Stops

We will sit at the kitchen table one night,
two mugs of tea going cold between us,
a quiet stack of clinic forms
we keep pretending not to read.

The room will feel smaller somehow—
like the future has stepped inside it.

You will trace the edge of the paper
with the same careful fingers
that already know how to hold my hand
when I’m nervous.

We will say the words slowly,
like they might break if we rush them.

Your eggs.
My body.

For a moment
we will just sit there with it — 
this strange, beautiful math
of making a life together.

And somewhere between the second sip of tea
and the way your knee touches mine
we will understand

This is how
we will begin you.

•

You will give the egg.
I will give the place it grows.

Doctors will take the beginning
you have been quietly carrying for years — 
a small, bright possibility
you have been carrying longer than either of us knew.

Under laboratory light
it will become something even smaller:
a cluster of cells
learning the first rules of living.

The doctor will lift that fragile beginning
from glass and microscope glow
and place it carefully
inside the life I will carry.

You will begin the story in your cells.
I will keep the story alive beneath my ribs.

And together
we will learn what it means
to make a child
by loving each other this deliberately.

•

I will carry you beneath my ribs
but she will carry you everywhere else.

She will count the weeks with me,
trace the slow geography of my changing body
like she is learning a new map
we both get to live inside.

She will build the crib herself
pieces spread across the living room floor,
Allen wrench between her teeth
while I sit nearby pretending to help
even though we both know
I can’t assemble furniture to save my life.

We will see you first
on a grainy ultrasound screen — 
a flicker small enough
to fit the tip of my finger.

Her hand will squeeze mine so hard
I will feel it in my bones
when the room fills with the sound
of your heartbeat.

After that
she will start singing to my stomach
without warning —

in the kitchen
in the car
half asleep beside me in the dark

like she already knows
you are listening.

Maybe you will learn her voice first,
the one that refuses to be quiet about loving you
through the walls of my body.

I will carry you beneath my heart

But she will carry the anticipation — 
every painted wall,
every pair of impossibly small shoes,
every possible name she whispers to you
like she is already
someone’s mother.

And that is the way
two women in love
will wait for you.

•

Labor will arrive like weather — 
slow at first,
then all at once.

She will stay beside me
through every hour of it,
counting breaths with me
like we are climbing something together.

Her hand will be the thing I reach for
every time the room tilts.

And when the moment finally comes,
the doctor will place scissors in her hands
and say
“whenever you’re ready”

She will cut the cord
with hands that have already been holding us
for months.

For the first time
our child will belong to open air.

A nurse will place you into a small carrier,
your whole future
curled into something that fits
between two careful hands.

For nine months,
I will have carried you beneath my ribs.

And when we leave the hospital
your other mother will lift the carrier —

like she has been waiting
her whole life
for her turn to carry you.

•

One day
you will ask how you began.

And we will tell you the truth.

You began in one mother’s body — 
a single, stubborn cell
she has been carrying quietly
for years.

Doctors helped us find it
helped it grow strong enough
to travel.

Then we placed that small beginning
inside me
and waited for it
to learn the rhythm of a heartbeat.

You grew beneath my heart
but you belonged to both of us
from the very first moment
we said your name out loud
in a room where you did not yet exist.

You will grow up knowing
that some children arrive by accident.

You didn’t.

You were built slowly — 
from her egg,
from my body,
from the fierce, stubborn, and extraordinary love
of two women
who kept choosing each other

until one day
we chose you.

•

AUTHOR’S NOTE & DEDICATION

This poem is about Reciprocal IVF (RIVF), sometimes called shared motherhood. 
In traditional IVF, one person provides the egg and also carries the pregnancy. 
In RIVF, two women share the process. One woman provides the egg. The embryo is created in a lab. Then the embryo is transferred to the other woman’s uterus, where the pregnancy grows. 
In simple terms: one mother provides the egg, the other mother carries the baby. Both mothers are biologically and emotionally involved in creating the child. For many lesbian couples, this process is powerful because it allows both partners to participate physically in bringing their child into the world. The poem you just read imagines that journey before it happens.
It’s a way of saying: when we choose to do this together, we will do it with love and intention.

For my future wife,
and for the child we will choose together.
This poem is a promise I am writing ahead of time — 
a love letter to the woman I will build a life with,
and to the child who will one day learn how intentionally
they were brought into this world.
You will never be an accident.
You will be a decision we made together.

To any queer couples going through fertility treatments right now: your families are real, your paths are valid, and the care you are taking to bring a child into the world is extraordinary.
There are many ways to make a family.
None of them are less beautiful than the others.

RESOURCES FOR QUEER FAMILY BUILDING

If you’re exploring Reciprocal IVF or other fertility options, these organizations can help:

Family Equality
https://familyequality.org
Advocacy, education, and resources for LGBTQ+ families.

Resolve: The National Infertility Association
https://resolve.org
Information about fertility treatments, support groups, and insurance advocacy.

Gay Parents To Be
https://www.gayparentstobe.com
A resource center specifically focused on LGBTQ fertility, surrogacy, IVF, and donor conception with guides and expert support.

FOLX Health
https://www.folxhealth.com/fertility
Offers LGBTQ-affirming fertility consultations and referrals to supportive providers for family planning.

GLMA (Health Professionals Advancing LGBTQ+ Equality)
https://www.glma.org
Directory for LGBTQ-affirming healthcare providers.

Many fertility clinics now offer programs specifically for reciprocal IVF and shared motherhood. A good clinic should be transparent about costs, success rates, and emotional support resources.