In 2009, I learned that there was no realistic way my best friend would ever be able to become a father -- his greatest desire in life. I decided then that I would offer to be a surrogate for him (which didn’t sound realistic at the time). A year later, I made that offer. He accepted, and in Nov. 2011 I got pregnant.

I’m writing this blog because I’m not the typical surrogate. For one, in the terms of the trade, I’m an altruistic traditional surrogate (I’m unpaid and the egg is mine) with a totally open arrangement with the dads. Most importantly, though, this is my first pregnancy (NO ONE thinks this is a good idea; most surrogates already have their own kids).

Also, we’re all gay, so this is going to be the gayest baby ever.*

- The Deputy

*Except for the children of those many, many other sets of three or more gays who decided to combine their powers to procreate...

February 9, 2012

“I hate to tell you this, but I think it’s peeing inside you now.”

Winchester always knows what to say to creep me the fuck out. My relationship to the fetus is obviously different from other expectant mothers. It’s really hard to tell how much of my attitude towards the creature is a result of the simple fact that I have no desire to raise it and how much of it is a carefully constructed defense mechanism. I like to think of it as a little, harmless parasite* growing inside me. Whenever Winchester attributes too much autonomy to it, though, I get uncomfortable. So when he turned to me while I was driving and said “it’s the size of a fig† and it’s flailing constantly, though you won’t be able to feel it for weeks. It’s a wiggling figgling” I almost drove off the road. Ok, not really, but I squealed and squirmed and flailed my arms a little. The thing is, I don’t FEEL pregnant - I haven’t had any ‘symptoms’ and my belly’s still flat -- I just haven’t had my period in a few months (AMAZING). So it’s really hard to conceive of a semi-autonomous fig dancing in my abdomen, and it’s really creepy.

That discomfort was only a small preview of what I would feel during the first sonogram. For an irrational 3 minutes beforehand I had convinced myself that my lack of symptoms corresponded to an equal lack of pregnancy, so the first images of the figgling brought a slight sense of relief. Once that passed I was relatively unaffected for a bit. It looked exactly like every other sonogram image of a fetus you’ve ever seen, and I happily didn’t experience any maternal joy or excitement. Winchester’s face, however, was priceless. For him it was obviously love at first sight, and that made me feel really damn good and a little mushy inside. 

Next came the heartbeat. Again, I was unfazed, and Winchester elated. Finally, though, they held the ‘camera’ still for a while over my uterus. We watched it move. And kick. And jump. And wave. THIS was the moment I got uncomfortable. It was moving inside me! At that very moment! Kicking and squiggling and I couldn’t even feel it! It significantly increased my impression that I was a parasite host.

And let’s not get trapped into thinking this is a cute parasite. I think being a surrogate brings a little objectivity to the process of pregnancy. I’m going through it, but as the means to an end, not the beginning of a new stage of life. So I can honestly and clearly say that there is nothing cute about an 11 week old fetus. Winchester tried to agree, “yeah, you’re right. Pretty gross really. But… look: there’s a little eye socket. And see? There’s a hand! I think this one’s kinda cute…”

He’s falling into the trap of parenthood :)

* Fetuses actually fit into the broadest definition of parasite: an organism that lives in or on another organism (its host) and benefits by deriving nutrients at the host's expense (Oxford American Dictionaries 2012)
† It seems that fruits and vegetables are the metaphors of choice for describing fetus size to mothers. It offends me a little, because it’s incredibly imprecise and gives me the impression that these baby-book and blog authors think I don’t know how long an inch is. 

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