How We Got Pregnant – Part 1: How Did You Choose Who Would Carry?

One of the most noticeable differences about getting pregnant as a lesbian couple is the sheer number of questions we get about the process. Strangers, acquaintances, family, friends — everyone seems to feel a little more comfortable asking very intimate questions. If you’ve ever asked one, don’t worry — it doesn’t bother us. Honestly, we’re happy to share (most of the time). So, in hopes of answering it all in one go — here’s the story.

We’ve been talking about starting a family for years - I’ve had intense  baby fever for about two and a half of those years, and Morgan has always dreamed of having children.

Originally, the plan was for me to carry. We talked about using a donor — either someone from Morgan’s side of the family or an anonymous one.

We started the process with a fertility clinic, and right away we realized: this might not be financially possible. The quote we received was $16,000 for IUI and upwards of $32,000 for IVF — not including all the additional bills that began rolling in. We weren’t shocked — we know people who’ve paid three times that to build their families — but we had expected at least some coverage from insurance. 

The more appointments we went to, the more it started to feel like we weren’t in a loving, supportive medical space — but a profit-driven machine. We found ourselves emotionally drained, financially stressed, and second-guessing everything.

Then one day, Morgan looked at me and said, “What if I carry — and we use your brother as our donor?”

Something in me snapped.

I felt a surge of rage and jealousy rise in my chest. Not at her — at the situation. I’m not an angry person by nature; I’m a cry-into-a-pillow, emotionally cracked-open kind of gal.

But in that moment, I was heartbroken. I’d spent years dreaming of carrying. I wanted that experience so deeply — I was ready to give everything I had to it.

I told her I needed time.

We gave each other space, and a few days later, we came back together to talk. Me, still tender and emotional. Her, navigating the conversation with care, gently but honestly. We didn’t come to a conclusion that night — or the next — but eventually, after many long conversations, we found our way.

Morgan would carry. I would be her fiercest supporter.

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From quitting dip a year in advance (Marines, IYKYK) to accepting that peak physical fitness might have to take a backseat for a while, Morgan has done the work to create the best possible environment for our baby. She often refers to her body as a “temple” — something that used to drive me absolutely insane early in our relationship. But after eight years of watching her, I can admit it’s true. Morgan treats her body like sacred ground: nourishing it with the best food, staying active, and showing up for herself every single day. Running? That’s her church. And now, this pregnancy is just the newest form of worship.

Of course, that raised a whole new set of questions.

How would this work with her career? She works 50+ hours a week — physically, mentally, and emotionally demanding work. Could she carry and still thrive in that role? What if something came up mid-pregnancy?

And then there was the military.

Would her chain of command be supportive? Or would she face judgment or isolation for making this choice?

There were no roadmaps. No pamphlets. No “what to expect” for two queer women navigating pregnancy and the military. But we knew one thing: this path was ours, and we were walking it together.

So how did it all go over?

In a word? Incredible.

Morgan’s command responded with nothing but support. She was met with congratulations, genuine concern for her well-being, and a consistent, compassionate refrain: What do you need? How can we help? They immediately started planning for adjustments — making sure the upcoming PCS to Japan would be as smooth as possible, especially with a baby on the way.

All the anxiety I had about her being the one to carry — the “what ifs,” the fear of judgment or dismissal — started to melt away.

Every step of this journey with the Marine Corps and her pregnancy has been handled with care, compassion, and respect. From her coworkers to hospital staff, and everyone in between — we’ve been overwhelmed by the amount of kindness and support.

We feel lucky. We know that not every queer military family has this experience — but it’s one we’ll never take for granted.

At the start of this journey, we had a lot of questions — and honestly, a lot of fear. But what we’ve found, time and again, is that when you move forward with love, clarity, and intention, the world tends to meet you with grace. Our path to parenthood may not resemble others — and that’s exactly what makes it ours. We’re still learning, expanding and defining what family means as we go, but one thing is for sure: we’re not doing it alone. We’ve got each other, we’ve got our village, and now — we’ve got you following along too.