I’ve been thinking about it more and more lately.

I’m 33 now, and it’s not just the idea of having kids that’s been on my mind—it’s the whole process of it. The connection, the intimacy, the vulnerability. I’ve been with a few women lately, and it’s hard not to let my mind wander when I’m with them. The way they look at me afterward, flushed and breathless, their legs still trembling as I stay inside them a little longer than I need to. I think about what it would be like if one of those moments became something more—if one of those times was the time. To feel her tighten around me, gasping as I finish deep inside her, both of us knowing what we’ve just done. The quiet, unspoken thrill that maybe, this time, it might take.

It’s not just about the physical part, though that’s intoxicating enough. It’s the idea of watching someone’s body change because of me. Knowing that I left a mark on her in the most profound way possible. I think about the softness of her belly starting to round, the weight of it under my hand when I pull her close at night. Her breasts swelling, her body growing fuller, more sensitive. I’d be there through it all—kissing her neck while she complains about back pain, running my hands over her curves as they change day by day. There’s something grounding about that, about knowing I helped create that change in her. That she’s carrying a piece of me.

Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to have more than one of them pregnant at the same time. To know that I’d planted my seed in more than one woman, that I’d left that mark on them both. The idea of being connected to them in such an intimate, irreversible way. Sitting with them, feeling both their bellies under my hands, knowing that I’ve made a lasting impact on more than just one life. Watching them share that bond, teasing each other about cravings or swollen feet while I sit back and feel that quiet satisfaction of knowing I did this.

It’s a selfish thought, maybe—but it’s hard not to crave that kind of permanence. To know that I’ve created something lasting, something real. That these women trusted me enough to give up a little piece of themselves to carry my child. And when the time comes, when I’m holding her hand—or maybe both their hands—as they bring our children into the world, I’ll know there’s no going back. We’ll have created something permanent. A quiet, living proof of the connection we shared in those moments.