It's a brave new world when it comes to conceiving and raising children. And in many cases, the potential parents and providers of genetic material haven't thought all the details through before deciding to proceed.
As a couple moves into not months but often years of expensive, intrusive treatments, a spectrum of severe emotional pitfalls typically emerges. Sadly, my observations pertain almost exclusively to those fortunate enough to have access to quality medical assistance.
The arguments the archdiocese made in its attempt to keep the case out of court are a distressing example of the larger trend in "religious freedom" claims being made to deprive employees of the protections of the law.
Let's say that a child is born to a same-sex married couple (or registered domestic partnership or civil union). What do you think happens if that same couple later moved to a jurisdiction that fails to recognize their relationship?
It is at the core of me and my generally sardonic outlook that the first moment of my creation happened by way of a stranger masturbating into a cup, and the second involved my mother and a glorified turkey baster.
Recently my wife and I realized that while our older son could recite the egg/sperm/donor story at age 2, we're not sure what our younger son knows about his beginnings. We decided to wait for a teachable moment to arrive, which happened one morning last week.
The technologies available to people who want to have a baby but struggle to conceive naturally are many and growing, raising many vexing questions for people who want to make decisions in line with their religious faith.
One day I looked up from the jaded wreckage of my umpteenth breakup and was deafened by the horror of my ticking biological clock. I was 35 and living a solitary life in a one-bedroom apartment in New York City.