A single father considers a second surrogacy journey for the sake of his daughter—
The moment I committed to becoming a father, I knew that from then on, my life would be less about me. From that point forward, it would be devoted entirely to the well-being of my only and deeply loved daughter, Sara.
As part of a parent’s responsibility, I feel obligated to do everything I reasonably can to secure my child’s future — not only financially. One fear, in particular, keeps me awake at night: Sara is an only child.
Beyond the fact that she will grow up without siblings who could offer her a built-in sense of family and stability, I can’t help but wonder what will happen to her when I’m gone. Will Sara’s fate be to face the world alone?
For a moment, let’s set aside another fear of mine — that Sara might see her father as a role model and choose a solitary life herself. Even if she grows up to have a family of her own, how will she manage without a brother or sister to look out for her interests and stand by her side unconditionally?
The Twins Who Were Never Born
Let me take a step back in time.
During the surrogacy process, the original plan was to bring twins into the world — precisely for this reason. Two siblings who would grow up together and serve as family for one another long after I am no longer around.
For reasons I won’t go into here, that plan never materialized. As a result, Sara is now my only child.
Still, I refuse to give up easily. My daughter’s future is far too important for that.
Now that Sara is four months old, I find myself seriously considering entering another surrogacy process, solely for her sake — to give her a sibling.
Money, Guilt, and Heavy Decisions
The downsides of such a move are obvious.
The cost of a surrogacy process starts at around $80,000–$90,000, not including additional expenses. To raise that kind of money, I would need to break into a savings fund I started specifically for Sara and somehow secure additional funds.
Just thinking about it fills me with a sense of betrayal. To me, that money belongs to her. It is meant to serve her future — and suddenly, without asking her, I would be taking it to “buy” another baby.
Beyond the cost of surrogacy itself, there’s the financial reality that follows. I’m a salaried employee with an average income. I believe I can support one child. But two? In a materialistic world like ours?
Every dollar I divert to a future sibling would inevitably come at Sara’s expense — experiences, opportunities, or comforts she could otherwise enjoy. In a single-parent household, the cost of raising two children is significantly higher, especially due to the increased reliance on infant caregivers and babysitters.
Does a Sibling Really Prevent Loneliness?
Recently, I even found myself consulting an unlikely source: an online friend — ChatGPT.
For someone as solitary and introverted as I am, talking to an external, rational, and nonjudgmental voice can help bring clarity. One of the points it raised was simple, yet deeply unsettling: having a brother or sister does not guarantee that Sara won’t be lonely in the future.
I’ve seen plenty of cases where siblings grow distant from one another — sometimes even cutting off contact entirely. Even if I treat mutual responsibility as a core educational value and do everything in my power to nurture it while I’m alive, there is no guarantee it will endure after I’m gone.
And then Sara would still be alone — only with far less money and a much deeper sense of loss.
Even in the present, harmony is far from guaranteed. Sibling relationships can be complex, even with guidance and supervision. Rivalry — especially over parental attention — can have lasting negative effects. A child who consistently feels overshadowed by a sibling may develop deep-seated feelings of inferiority that follow them for years.
Verstappen, Formula 1, and the Hypothetical Sibling
These thoughts often take me to the world of Formula 1.
Every driver must first defeat their teammate. Your primary rival is the person sitting right beside you. At Red Bull Racing, for example, none of Max Verstappen’s teammates have truly managed to compete with him. They burn out, step aside — or are quietly pushed out by management.
Which brings me back to Sara.
If she ever does have a sibling, I suspect the real challenge may belong to them. Even at four months old, Sara already seems to possess a remarkably dominant and uncompromising personality. Once she decides something, resistance quickly starts to feel symbolic rather than practical.
Sara is the Max Verstappen of all families. Anyone who goes up against her is likely to lose.
A Temporary Inclination, Not a Final Decision
For now, my inclination is not to pursue another surrogacy process.
Instead, I will give Sara as much guidance, attention, and self-confidence as possible — tools she will need to navigate the world as an only child.
I’m also fully aware of how fragile this decision is, and how easily it could change in an instant.
In the meantime, I’ll continue to enjoy every moment of raising my Sara Verstappen — without a doubt, the GOAT.
I’d love to hear what you would do if you were in my place.
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Read Next
If you’d like to read more about Sara and our life together, here are two more posts you might enjoy:
Beyond the Blog
Alongside this blog, I also give talks about late fatherhood, surrogacy, and the emotional journey of becoming a parent later in life.
Sara and Me 
This was a fascinating read—not just because of the subject itself, but because of the way it blurs the line between admiration and introspection. On the surface, it feels like a piece about greatness, about what it means to be “the GOAT.” But underneath, there’s something more personal unfolding.
What stood out to me is how the narrative doesn’t fully settle into one mode. It moves between almost analytical observations and something much more emotional, even vulnerable. That tension gives the piece its edge—it never becomes a simple tribute.
There’s also an interesting ambiguity in how the central figure is portrayed. At times, the admiration feels absolute; at others, there’s a subtle distance, as if the writer is questioning not just the subject, but the very idea of greatness itself.
If I had one critique, it’s that the piece occasionally leans on the concept of “greatness” without fully defining it—but maybe that’s intentional. It leaves the reader to grapple with their own interpretation.
Overall, it’s a thought-provoking piece that works on more than one level. Not just about someone exceptional—but about how we choose to see and define excellence in the first place.
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I found this piece surprisingly layered. What starts as a reflection on “the GOAT” quickly turns into something more nuanced—almost a meditation on how we project meaning onto figures we admire.
Lines like “the GOAT” aren’t just used as a label here—they’re questioned, stretched, and quietly destabilized as the text unfolds. It made me pause and think about how easily we use that term without really examining what we mean by it.
I also liked how certain moments feel intentionally unresolved. There’s a sense that even while celebrating greatness, the piece is aware of the distance between the idea and the reality. That tension comes through in lines that feel both admiring and slightly detached at the same time.
At points, the writing almost circles around its subject instead of pinning it down, which I actually think works in its favor—it keeps the reader engaged rather than giving a fixed conclusion.
If anything, I would have been curious to see one or two ideas pushed even further, made a bit more explicit. But overall, it’s a thoughtful and slightly unconventional take on a topic that could have easily felt predictable.
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I didn’t read this as just a piece about “the GOAT.” It felt more like a reflection on the need to define something—or someone—as the greatest, and what that says about us as readers.
Phrases like “the GOAT” repeat throughout the text, but instead of becoming clearer, they actually start to feel more ambiguous. At one point, it sounds almost definitive, and then later it reads differently—less certain, more like a question than an answer. That shift is what kept me hooked.
There’s also something compelling in the way the writing holds back from fully explaining itself. Lines that seem straightforward at first take on a different meaning when you sit with them a bit longer. It’s as if the text is inviting you to interpret rather than telling you what to think.
What I appreciated most is that it doesn’t feel like a typical tribute. Even when it leans into admiration, there’s an undercurrent that complicates it—something slightly unsettled beneath the surface.
If I had to point to one thing, I’d say I wanted just a bit more grounding at times—one moment where the idea of “greatness” is stated more directly. But maybe that openness is exactly the point.
Either way, it’s a piece that made me stop and think, not just about who is “the GOAT,” but about why that question matters so much in the first place.
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