by Julie Greenberg

“You Don’t Have a Daddy, You Have a Donor”

My daughter was just turning three when she began to ask about a father. Sarah was no dummy; she had noticed for more than a year that other families tend to have one of each—a mommy and a daddy. In spite of my best efforts to normalize our single-parent, lesbian-headed household by pointing out to her all the other single-parent families we knew, I would hear her talking to herself as she played with her blocks, “This is the Mommy block, this is the Daddy block.” I took her to the Natural History Museum with her cousin Linden. As they peered into the huge exhibits of American mammals, she explained to Linden, “That’s the Daddy gorilla, that’s the Mommy gorilla; that’s the Daddy elk, that’s the Mommy elk. That’s the Daddy moose, that’s the Mommy moose.”

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