Over the years, I’ve occasionally wondered whether parenting is in my future. It’s been discussed with the odd girlfriend, debated with one or two gay boyfriends, and always tossed aside relatively easily, because it always seemed just too hard. I never wanted a child so much that I would consider having it on my own; and to be honest, in a relationship, I would never be the biological mother anyway, as the idea of me pregnant is a source of great personal amusement (just ask my friends).

However, not so long ago a close friend suggested that if my girlfriend and I wanted to reproduce (with my girlfriend as the biological mother) her husband would be the perfect sperm donor because he looks like me. It’s true. The first time we met, both my friend’s husband and I gasped and took a step backwards before he said, “Gee, Sarah wasn’t exaggerating.”

So now we have the perfect scenario, because it seems that once a lesbian couple decides to procreate, the next concern is where the sperm should come from.

High on the list is the notion that the sperm donor should look like the non-biological parent, often followed by the obligatory traits of intelligence and a sense of humour. But what if a guy comes along who possesses genius and enviable wit, but who is the physical antithesis of you? Do you hesitate? Could it be that you would choose the sperm of an idiot if only his eyes and hair matched your own? Would you overlook the fact that the guy was a little on the dull side if his colouring was right?

For many people it seems a physical resemblance to their future offspring is of significant importance. Some say it makes for easier bonding. Maybe it’s also about how look appear to the outside world. Maybe we want to create the illusion of some kind of shared biology between the child and non-biological parent when in reality it’s just not there. Or maybe it just comes down to basic ego.

We like things that look like us. Just take a stroll down to your local park and you’ll see that we like to have dogs that look like us too. In fact, on a recent visit to the Lost Dogs Home, I found myself gravitating towards the dark-haired dogs; dogs who looked more like me. Now what possible illusion could I be trying to create there?

Now, I doubt that we’ll take up my friend’s offer; not because her husband has an inferior IQ or is a bore; but because we’re simply not that enamored of children. I have a small idea that in my old age I’ll adopt some young struggling artistic type who’ll perform menial tasks in exchange for food and shelter; but dreams aside, what if we’d wanted to have children and my friend’s husband was not available? Where would we have drawn the line?

Would we settle for a child who may never be able to string two words together but whose nose strikingly resembled my own? Would we have risked producing a child who bored the hell out of all within earshot, but who at least convinced passers-by that we share some common genealogy?

It’s hard to know, and possibly best for all concerned that we never find out.

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