Becoming an LGBTQ+ parent – The other mother, or just “Mum”, is fine

Michelle Daltry shares her journey to becoming an LGBTQ+ parent, the unique challenges she experienced and ideas on how employers and organisations can be more inclusive to LGBTQ+ parents.

In February 2022, our lives changed dramatically, and for the better, with the arrival of our baby boy Osian.

Like all new parents, we didn’t (and still don’t) really know what we were doing, and like all new parents, we mainly were sleep deprived.

But unlike some “traditional” new parents, to us, family means; myself, my partner Terri our little boy Osian and our mischievous beagle Dexter. This means that Osian has 2 mums; not that unusual in 2023, you would like to think.

And for the most part, that would be true.  Most people have been happy for us as a couple (unfortunately not all – including the random person on Instagram who told me our child would need therapy after a blog post on fertility treatment and the NHS), have wanted the customary hug with the new arrival and have showered us with love and support.

One of the main challenges of being an I&D consultant is that you are primed to spot inequalities in systems and structures, but we had hoped that on this occasion, I would be proved wrong and that all families, including ones like ours, would be treated the same. Unfortunately, this proved not to be the case. This blog has been written to provide a whistle-stop tour of our personal pregnancy journey and to make a plea for all those who intersect with anyone’s potential route to parenthood to review and reframe definitions of what a family could look like.

Becoming an LGBTQ+ parent

Being in a same-sex relationship meant that in order for us to realise our dream of being parents, we needed to pursue fertility treatment through a private clinic. Of course, there are other ways same-sex couples can conceive, but for us, this was the most sensible route.

And so started our journey to parenthood (interrupted by a global pandemic for good measure). Terri did the hard work of being pregnant, and I …. Well, I just did my best and got any food demanded of me!

After months of research and subsequent financial saving (fertility treatment for same-sex couples in England and Wales is often not funded as was the case for us) we took the first step of booking an appointment with our GP.

Whilst I didn’t expect rose petals and gifts on arrival, I had hoped that our GP would have some idea of how this process would work. After all, same-sex couples are not the only people who may require fertility treatment. Instead, we were met with a bemused and awkward GP who asked, “Why were we not able to get pregnant” (my partner had already prewarned me not to make any jokes) and, even more worryingly, asked if we knew what she needed to do.

Eventually, and after much chasing from our end, we were eventually signposted to a private fertility clinic where our journey in earnest began.

Representation for LGBTQ+ parents

Whilst the staff at the clinic and at subsequent NHS appointments (once we were fortunate enough to get pregnant) could not have been more welcoming, thoughtful, and inclusive, we were faced with the little things that make a big difference:

• Forms which expected there to be 1 female and 1 male partner or just 1 female but no recognition of 2 women.
• Imagery that never reflected our experiences as a same-sex couple.
• Literature that talked about “mum and dad” CONSTANTLY. One app we downloaded stated that “at this stage of the pregnancy journey baby will be able to hear dads voice as it is deeper than that of the mother” …
• Even scrubs in pink (for Terri) and blue (for the male, I can only assume), which I was given.

The need to follow a medical route to pregnancy also meant a significant number of appointments.