My First Purchase
The first thing I bought for my daughters before they were born. A small thing. A real thing. The beginning of a life I was building toward.
I bought them pajamas. That was the first thing. Not a crib, not a stroller, not anything practical. Pajamas — tiny, soft, impossibly small. I held them in the store and tried to imagine the people who would wear them.
Why Pajamas
I don't know why pajamas. Maybe because they're the most intimate thing — the thing your child wears when they're most themselves, most vulnerable, most at rest. Maybe because buying them felt like an act of faith. Like saying: I believe they're coming.
After five embryo transfers, after years of uncertainty, buying those pajamas was the first time I let myself believe it was real.
What the Purchase Meant
It meant I was a father. Not yet in the practical sense — they weren't born yet. But in the sense that matters: I had claimed it. I had walked into a store and bought something for my children.
The receipt sat on my kitchen counter for weeks. I didn't throw it away. It was evidence.
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What Came After
More purchases. A crib. Two of everything. The slow accumulation of a life being built for people who didn't exist yet in the world but existed completely in my heart.
Each purchase was a small act of hope. Each one said: I'm ready. I'm waiting. I'm here.
Joseph Tito
Creator of The Dad Diaries. Gay dad of twins. Writing about fatherhood, surrogacy, and the beautiful mess of real life.