Over on Autostraddle the other day I was reading a new series about a same-sex couple starting their family (she was 18 weeks pregnant when she wrote the first post; I would imagine she’s now closer to 22). It was cute, I thought, but whatever. Then I saw the comments. So, so many were about how queer families were not represented in media. So many knew no other same-sex couples having children. So many felt like they were all alone.
I mean, I knew I had white privilege. And class privilege. But I didn’t realize the extent to which I have – I don’t know what to call it. Location privilege, maybe?
When K and I first started trying to get pregnant, we were excited to be in the vanguard of our lady couple friends getting married and having children. In DC, we had a huge community of gay women around our age and in a similar stage of life. Before we got pregnant with Ander, K+A had a baby boy, and so did K+L (note: every couple I discuss is a lesbian same-sex couple). We were a little disappointed not to be the first in our cohort, but third still wasn’t bad! Then, of course, Ander died.
In the last year, K+B had a boy. E+S had a boy. S+J had twin boys. M+T had girl/boy twins. B+A had their second girl. K+L got pregnant with their second baby. Here in Chicago, D+A have a baby girl. And these are only the gay couples I can think of off the top of my head, right now. It doesn’t even include all the opposite-sex couples I know who had a baby in the last year, of whom there are many.
There are particular challenges in being the only ones in your community to be starting a same-sex family. But when you’re a babyloss parent, there are also challenges to being well, maybe not the last, but behind the curve. At least, it feels like that to us now. We had our baby third. But he died. He is not and never will be part of this growing cohort of children. We are not included in mommy playdates and conversations about starting solid foods.
I am so glad, sometimes, that we no longer live in DC.