A huge part of what makes my life happy and satisfying is my marriage — to a straight, cisgendered man I’d unquestioningly describe as a feminist — and a marriage isn’t very happy if the people in it aren’t willing to compromise. Either we’d give our son a hyphenated last name, which forces our child to compromise over our disagreement, or he’d just take one of our names. I ultimately chose to compromise on this and give him my husband’s name for two simple reasons: One, I don’t need to use my child to make a political statement. If we raise him to the best of our feminist abilities, he’ll make plenty of political statements of his own. He'll go to the Women's March, donate to Planned Parenthood, and always treat women as well as his dad does. And two, I love my husband, and am willing to make compromises for him because he makes big and little ones for me all the time. We got married in my location of choice, we live in the city and home of my choosing, and he pretends like he loves our cat, who I know he can’t stand. He gets out of bed 20 minutes after we’ve lied down to get me a glass of water, and picks up my prescriptions from the pharmacy because I ask him to, even though he’s just as tired as I am.