Reciprocal IVF is a fertility treatment that allows both partners to have a physical role in bringing a baby into the world. One partner provides the eggs while the other carries the pregnancy, so both are biologically and emotionally part of the process. For lesbian couples, there are other paths to parenthood too, like intrauterine insemination (IUI), traditional IVF (where one person provides the egg and carries), or adoption. But for us, reciprocal IVF just made sense. Katie wanted to carry my egg so we could both be involved — two moms, one shared motherhood journey.

The first round: When Christmas morning turned into heartbreak

We met in 2012 — girl meets girl on a dating site. My first workday ended with me bringing a milkshake to the park for our date, totally unsure of the chemistry. Then Katie showed up with flowers on my doorstep, and I knew this was forever. A year later we were married, and in 2015 we bought our first house. It felt like the right time to start our family.

Katie said she wanted to carry my egg so we could both be part of the conception and pregnancy. That’s the essence of shared motherhood. And so began our reciprocal IVF for lesbian couples journey.

Our plan was to transfer two embryos. We hoped for twins and wanted to improve our chances that at least one would take.

When the medications arrived, it felt like Christmas morning. I mapped out who had which injection and when. I (Christina) did most of the stimulation shots to get my body ready for retrieval, while Katie did the uterine prep shots to get ready to carry. Meanwhile, we searched online for a sperm donor — someone who looked like Katie, shared her interests, someone who felt “right.” Harder than we thought.

Retrieval day was brutal. The pain — intense cramping, sharp and unrelenting — was more than I expected. Still, my mind was singularly focused on “Did we get eggs? Did they fertilize?” Later that day, Katie got a call from the embryologist. They were opening the second vial of donor sperm because the first wasn’t fertilizing well. My heart sank.

The next morning, we heard the news: out of 13 eggs retrieved, only 2 had survived. They’d done rescue ICSI (intracytoplasmic sperm injection) on the 2 remaining ones. The odds were low. We held on anyway. Then one embryo died. Then the last one. The phone calls came, and we broke down crying in each other’s arms.

We started researching embryo adoption online — another path. But the costs and emotional toll were overwhelming. We sat in the clinic waiting room surrounded by other couples who were smiling and hopeful. We weren’t. When the nurse who knew us walked in, we both burst into tears. That morning, we decided: no embryo adoption. We’d try IVF again.

How much does reciprocal IVF cost? The hardest decision

We hovered between options, torn between logic and longing. The path of shared motherhood still felt right in our bones, but the numbers were impossible to ignore. Because we were a same-sex couple, we didn’t qualify as “infertile” under traditional insurance definitions, which usually mean twelve months of unprotected heterosexual intercourse. That meant almost everything had to come out of pocket.

According to U.S. estimates, one IVF cycle costs around $15,000 to $20,000, and it can climb above $30,000 once donor sperm, medications, or embryo freezing are added in. Prices vary widely by region and clinic, with add-ons like ICSI, preimplantation testing, or extra monitoring quickly multiplying the bill.

For lesbian couples like us, there are often extra expenses — donor sperm, legal paperwork, and sometimes more frequent appointments. By the time we added up medications, retrieval, lab work, embryo culture, transfer, and storage, the financial pressure was suffocating. But the emotional cost still outweighed them all.

That day in the clinic waiting room, surrounded by couples laughing and holding hands, we sat in silence. Our nurse, the same one who had guided us through our first failed round, walked in and saw our faces. We both broke down. Through tears, we made our choice: we’d try again. One more round of reciprocal IVF — for us, and for the family we still believed we could have.

Reciprocal IVF success rates: What Christina learned

Before round two, we buried ourselves in blogs, forums, and every fertility story we could find. We wanted to understand what the odds really were because shared motherhood means both partners are emotionally invested, but you still want realistic expectations.

From what we learned, the success rates for reciprocal IVF for lesbian couples are generally comparable to traditional IVF when the main factors — age, egg quality, uterine health, and sperm quality — are all favorable.

According to data from U.S. fertility centres, live birth rates per transfer sit around:

  • 41–43% for patients under 35
  • 33–36% for ages 35–37
  • 23–27% for ages 38–40
  • 13–18% for those over 40

Studies looking at donor-egg or recipient cycles, which closely mirror the reciprocal IVF process, suggest cumulative live birth rates can reach 46% per transfer and up to 73% per cycle in well-selected cases. Of course, the data can be murky. Many clinics combine statistics from all IVF types, and lesbian couples often start treatment without an infertility diagnosis, meaning their outcomes may look slightly better overall.

Still, there are no guarantees. The egg provider’s age plays a huge role, the carrier’s uterine health matters, and sperm quality can make or break a cycle. Even when everything looks perfect on paper, IVF can still throw curveballs.

For us, we knew the first round hadn’t gone well. So for round two, we tweaked everything we could — our donor choice, timing, and mindset. We couldn’t control the science, but we could control how we showed up for it.

The second attempt: 18 eggs and new hope

Round two felt different, with more cautious excitement. We refined our plans and revisited our sperm donor information. From three finalists, we dug deep — success rates from the bank, donor age at donation, how many offspring already existed, any complaints or red flags. Better donor, better odds.

We repeated the injection protocols. I (Christina) took the stim shots; Katie did the uterine prep shots. Retrieval day came. Yes, the pain returned, but this time there was less uncertainty. We held our breath while waiting.

The next morning, the embryologist’s voice was the best we’d heard. 18 eggs retrieved, 9 fertilized via ICSI the same day, 9 left for regular fertilization. In the end, 11 embryos were successfully created, and 2 were grade A. Huge relief.

Transfer day arrived — 2 little embryos. We carried our “embryo photo.” The flutter of the ultrasound catheter, the monitor flicker, the feeling: this is happening. Our shared motherhood dream held two flickers of light inside Katie.

Reciprocal IVF twins: The dream and the loss

In the world of shared motherhood, many couples opt to transfer two embryos, sometimes aiming for twins or simply to improve their odds. Medical guidelines often recommend single-embryo transfer (especially under age 35) to reduce twin risks, but couples weigh their own values, costs, and hopes.

We did two, and we felt the hope of twins. But then came the morning panic — Katie in the bathroom bleeding, me cleaning the floor. The drive to the clinic felt eternal. The ultrasound showed one heartbeat. Relief. But a massive blood clot sitting next to the baby brought fear. We stayed on edge.

Eventually, we graduated from the fertility clinic to standard OB care. But the constant worry never disappeared. We tiptoed through the pregnancy, avoiding big celebrations, still holding our breath. The clot stayed stable, and our baby kept growing.

Then our daughter, Kennedy, arrived via C-section — she’d stayed breech. I’ll never forget seeing her for the first time: tiny, perfect, ours. The embryo in the dish had become real life. Suddenly, the needles, the dashed hopes, the money, the heartbreak — they all melted into gratitude. Kennedy was everything.

Feeling Kennedy kick: A moment Christina will never forget

There were small moments that became profound. I can still feel the first time I watched Katie’s belly roll and a tiny kick ripple beneath her skin. My eyes filled with tears. A baby we both created through science was in there, alive and real.

When Kennedy was born, time stopped. I looked at her fingers, her weight, her perfect face. The clinic bills and sleepless nights became distant memories. She was here because we dared, because we believed in shared motherhood, because two women said “yes” and “we’ll try again.”

Parenthood hit fast. We worried about her sleep, her car seat, her weight gain. But we also laughed at her first smile, her curiosity, the way Katie sang lullabies. Being two moms doubled the love and the logistics. Worry became permanent, but so did wonder. Kennedy turned three, and we’re still in awe.

Life as two moms

The shift from patient to mom was life-changing. We went from tracking meds and cycles to tracking diaper counts and milestones. We spent nights whispering, “Did she breathe? Did she grow enough? Does she need more books?” Because you never stop wondering as a parent.

We also celebrated the little wins — her first steps, her first word (“Mama” from both of us). We marveled at the fact that two women could build a family together, each of us having played such different but vital roles. No two stories are the same, but ours feels uniquely ours.

Round three: Charlotte's complicated journey

We decided we wanted more than one child. Our second journey, this time for Charlotte (now one year old), was different because we started with a frozen embryo from the eleven we’d created. Easier, we thought.

Transfer day came. Katie arrived with a full bladder, the clinic was running behind, and nerves were high. The embryo was implanted, and soon after we got the “You’re pregnant” call. We screamed, we hugged. Then another call: the beta hCG number didn’t double. Risk of miscarriage or ectopic. Terrified, heartbroken, waiting.

Then came the ultrasound. A flicker. A heartbeat. “This little one’s a fighter,” the doctor said. Weeks passed. Katie was sicker this time — morning sickness all day. We assumed boy. The gender reveal: pink smoke bombs. Another girl.

Now our girls share clothes, a room, and toys — two little souls born from one journey of shared motherhood, one path of reciprocal IVF for lesbian couples. We know the next chapter will have its own twists, but we’d do it all again.

What getting pregnant taught them

Fertility treatment taught us that the journey is an emotional roller coaster — high peaks of hope, deep lows of fear — but worth every moment. I (Christina) found comfort in telling myself, “One day it will happen.” I imagined our kids’ faces, their laughter, our family photos. That vision kept me going.

We spent thousands of dollars, dozens of needles, countless tears, but once the girls were in our arms, the money became just a number. Not the story. The story was them.

If you’re reading this as a lesbian couple exploring your options — whether it’s IUI, adoption, traditional IVF, or reciprocal IVF — know this: there’s no one right way. Shared motherhood through reciprocal IVF offers something unique. Both partners get to contribute, to feel part of the creation. But it also demands patience, strength, and teamwork.

Advice for other lesbian couples considering reciprocal IVF

To other lesbian couples eyeing reciprocal IVF for lesbian couples or shared motherhood: this is for you.

  • Choose a clinic that welcomes you: Inclusive, affirming, experienced.
  • Decide roles early: Who’ll provide eggs, who’ll carry? Do age and egg-reserve checks.
  • Examine costs realistically: Ask for full breakdown.
  • Research your sperm donor: This impacts your genetic edge.
  • Know success rates: But remember each journey is unique.
  • Support each other: Shared motherhood means two women grieving, hoping, growing together.
  • Manage expectations: Two embryos may raise twin-dreams but also twin-risks.
  • Celebrate every milestone: The injections, the retrievals, the transfer sessions — it’s all part of your story.

If we hadn’t tried again, if we had given up after round 1, Kennedy and Charlotte wouldn’t be here. I’m so grateful for science, for each other, for the decision to lean into this untraditional path.

Reciprocal IVF made our dreams a reality. And if you’re reading this, maybe it can for you too.

Want to understand the technical and medical details of how reciprocal IVF works? Read our complete guide to the reciprocal IVF process.

Christina Bailey and her wife, Katie, are a girl-meets-girl love story! They have two daughters, Kennedy and Charlotte. To sum up their life together so far: they fell in love, got married, and now have two children via reciprocal IVF. Their family is still growing, but for now, they are enjoying their time as a family of four.