I already knew I’d have to fight for my right to be recognised as a parent at all, that I’d need to legally “adopt” my child — the child my wife and I had planned for together, and for whom I had made so many intentional choices to bring into this world. It infuriated me, and reminded me of all the ways that as a queer person, I am othered and still don’t have full equality under the law. It was during the first week of tighter social distancing that I had to leave my safe home to get my fingerprints taken for one of three required background checks I needed to complete the adoption. I worried as I pressed each fingertip on the scanner — how many hands touched it that day , that week? By trying to protect my child, would I put them at risk?