I have always wanted children. As a child, I wanted my parents to have some more, because I didn’t like being an only child. I remember telling them that I planned to have four or five children. “Just wait until you have the first one,” my father said. “You’ll want to put that one back in.”

I have never thought of being gay as an obstacle to parenthood. Well, obviously it’s an obstacle. I guess I should say I never thought it represented the end of my parental ambition. I have heard a lot of gay men say that they wish they weren’t gay because they want to have a family. I’ve never thought of the two as mutually exclusive. From the moment I started looking for a nice, young man to settle down with, I knew that one of my most important criteria for choosing a mate was what he would be like as a father (and I wouldn’t even consider anyone who didn’t want to have children).

I think the first time I heard Alberto say, “I thought I would be a father by now,” we were 23 and had been dating two years. I know he has ached over how long it has taken for us to reach this part of our lives as much as I have, but I won’t presume to enter his head and write about what the experience has been like for him. Over the course of our twelve years together we have constantly discussed how we are going to have children.

I have been an advocate for surrogacy since these conversations started. I won’t get into the Nature vs. Nurture debate (although I reserve the right to bring it up later). In any case, as much as I’d like to believe that I have biological reasons for wanting to have a child that is biologically my own, I should probably admit to myself that the decision is at least equally emotional. I want a child that looks like me and sounds like me. I want him or her to have at least a 50/50 shot of having my inborn talents, and if he or she has my innate deficiencies, at least I already know how to deal with those problems. I also want a child that looks like a tiny Alberto. I want him to have Alberto’s smile and thick hair and big head. Unfortunately, technology has not progressed to the point that we can combine our DNA into one little Philberto. (But don’t think for a second that if science came up with a method to do so tomorrow that I’d give weight to any of the Faustian arguments against it.) So, we’ll just have to have two kids.

Alberto has wavered back and forth between adoption and surrogacy. He believes (correctly) that adoption is a noble pursuit, a way to give children in need of a home the support and love they need. As a teacher he has seen the effects of bad parenting on children and believes that offering a more supportive environment to a child is a great way to improve the world. But he can also understand the desire to pass on your DNA to a new generation. I think he is even more concerned than I am that if I don’t have biological children, my family line will stop (I’m not only an only child but an only grandchild on both sides).

But again, I don’t want to dig too deep into his reasons. He can write a blog himself if he wants to share those. So I’ll tell you another reason why I want to have a biological child, even though it’s not quite as dignified. I don’t want to have to give anything up to be gay. Well, you know, except women.

That’s one of the reasons why I believe so strongly in the right to marry. Alberto is my husband (thank-you-very-much Supreme Judicial Court of Massachusetts). We have a nice house and good careers and a mischievous, affectionate cat. We have the acceptance of our peers. We can hold hands in public if we so choose.

And we can have children. They can look and sound like us. They can be good at basketball (if they take after Alberto) or suck at basketball (if they take after me) and dammit that’s because of our genes.

I know that’s not a good enough reason to choose surrogacy so please refer back a few paragraphs to where I was being more sympathetic.