While the children settle in by strewing around the house handfuls of 1970’s/80’s toys, revived from a third-of-a-century hibernation in the loft, I unpack the case and leaf through the dozen or so newspaper cuttings my mum has left for me on the bedside table.
An advertisement for chewable toothbrushes for babies, a piece from the local paper about a girl I went to school with…and an article from The Telegraph earlier this year entitled: ‘Is it time to question the ethics of donor conception’. (Of course for some this would be a fairly clear message about their parents’ feelings on donor conception – I, though, simply saw this as a matter of my mum seeing the phrase ‘donor conception’ and automatically reaching for her scissors).
Well, I’ll be honest, it wasn’t an encouraging read, especially since the negative views stressed were those of donor-conceived children of the past forty years or so. And it made me realise that no matter how hard we try to provide opportunities, role models, how hard we try to get it right, there may still come a day when, for example, we need to listen with love and acknowledgement and acceptance to the remonstrances of a furious or miserable adolescent who wants a dad.
But if any part of me starts to question the ethics of our decision to use donor conception, I just need to look at these two beautiful children – beautiful people and remember that outside of donor conception, they couldn’t exist. They are, as we all are, part of that tiny number, those lucky few, that one in a million and something chance of a particular egg and sperm meeting because chance just happened to mean that both were in a certain place at a certain time while some number stretching to infinity tells of the sperm/egg combinations that did never, can never, will never occur. And as the even more unlikely combination of a lesbian woman’s egg and a heterosexual man’s sperm, a lesbian woman and heterosexual man whose lives in no way overlapped until Pride Angel, chance must surely be on their side...