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Right foot then left foot…

I hate talking about this kind of stuff.
I don’t want to scare people away from surrogacy, or see those pity eyes that silently say “I knew she wouldn’t be able to handle this.”
Oh and please don’t treat me like that girl that is always emotional about it.
I promise you, I’m fine. I just want to share. Stick with me.

There are transitions you face in this process.
I KNOW they are there, I’ve seen close friends go through them.
Knowing they are coming doesn’t make them easier.
Today I entered the next one.
it’s been hard.

Every 2 days for 10 weeks Ive met up with my new family to hand over milk for my little buddy.
I was SO happy that they wanted me to provide milk for him and SO happy my body cooperated.

But the time is coming to an end. He’s slowly being transitioned to formula and I’m in milk freezing mode so he can continue on his Auntie Ryley’s milk for at least another month part time.

This officially the longest I’ve gone without seeing someone in the family, IN MONTHS!

All the sudden my subconscious is screaming “HE DOESN’T NEED YOU ANYMORE.”
And my spirit is crushed.

As much as I know that isn’t true, it’s just another transition.
When I’m done pumping for him, my “job” will be officially over.

It’s a tough pill to swallow.
its just one more step in this journey.
One I know I can take with confidence, and one I know I look back on and laugh.

But now….. it’s a hard step to take.

Right foot out of this journey and left foot into the next..


1. …and one who reminds you of how far you’ve come.

From the twin bed in the spare bedroom, I hear the creaking of the front door and immediately shut my eyes so I can pretend I’m asleep when he walks up the stairs.
I just cant tonight.
It’s been too many nights of the same discussion.
I just can’t.
I want just one night to pretend this isn’t really ending. After 6 years. This way.

I don’t hear him round the landing, like always.

“I just…… I just don’t love her anymore.” The words steal the oxygen out of my lungs and suck it down the stairs, searching for him.

*His brother must still be up. *
*SHIT.. What am I going to do now?*
*This is all I know.*
*What about our house, our dog, our cars?*

It was one of those ‘life flashing before your eyes’ moments.
This is real now, isn’t it?


It started when I looked to my left and saw the man that held my whole heart sitting across the isle.
Our last names both start with F.
So as we sit alphabetically in our caps and gowns, he sits directly across from me.
All anyone else can think of is FREEDOM.
All I can think of is running to him.
There is an aerial view of the caps being thrown in the air, somewhere out there. There is 1 white gown in the sea of maroon.
That was me. With him. Where I belonged.


I turned 18 with him.
Then 19, 20, 21…. All the way to 24.
Between 2000 and 2006 we experienced a lifetime.
More jobs between us than I can even count.
Sicknesses, surgeries, hospitalizations.
Long distance dating.
Parenthood, as we raised a puppy from birth together.
We sat on the end of our bed at 7am as we watched 9/11 unfold.
That morning in shock would ultimately lead to his future career. Who knew.
Our first house.
Cars we loved. (the truck) Cars we (I) hated. (the station wagon)
Jobs. Jobs. More jobs.
Quitting college.
Temporary job transfer overseas.
infidelity. (from both of us. Surprise!)
Strange hobbies.
6 years of a lifetime.


I just need out of where I’m living right now.
We haven’t been separated long, he’s working late. I just want to go “home.”
I’ll just got there for the night, while he’s working.
The light turns green.
My mind is (honestly) a million miles away.
I blink and suddenly see a tire in front of my window.
Is that a tire?
I’m slammed to a stop.
I don’t know why but I look up.
The traffic light above me is green.
“they ran a red light!!” I shout out. There isn’t anyone to hear me.
The car fills up with smoke.
I test out my legs, my feet, my arms.
I’m ok I think, but I’ve gotta get out of here.
I stumble, feeling drunk, into the middle of a BUSY intersection.
I see a middle aged man stands by the edge of the overpass, watching the freeway traffic flow below him. A glowing cigarette hangs out of his mouth, his phone pressed to his ear. He looks at me, “bitch.”
Everything is coming at flashes around me. I’m turning in circles. I’m really not ok.
Someone grabs me, “the ambulance is on its way. Can we call someone for you?”
“um.. My uh… Boyfriend. I think he’s still my boyfriend. Can you call him? He’s at work. I need him. ”
I blink again and he’s there as I sit trying to focus and answer questions for the paramedics.
I don’t hear their questions but my mind thinks “maybe this is it. Maybe he’ll realize he almost really lost me. Maybe this will turn out to be a good thing. Maybe he’ll realize he can’t live without me.”
“So, uh… I guess you probably want to stay at my house tonight?” He asks and I can hear him hoping I’ll say no and let him take me back to where I’m staying.
“If I can, please.” I ignore the tone of his question because there is nowhere else I can be right now.
I stand and look at the burns on my face, the cuts, the scrapes, the marks that will turn to bruises.  He makes me a bed on the couch.
I guess this wasn’t “IT.”
My bruised, broken body sunk into the familiar cushions that we so often sunk into together.
I laughed just a little,  too much hurt, as I watched my tears roll easily off the fabric protected microfiber. Remembering he was the one that wanted to pay extra for that.
Blocks away they swept up my broken heart alongside the pieces of my broken car.


I slid my wedding ring back on to my finger and took a deep breath.
I can do this, just one night.
It’s too soon and too much to tell them right now. I can pretend for a night.
After dinner, he pulls me aside.
“Something’s wrong, I know something’s wrong. What is it?
DEEP BREATH….. “He left. Asked for a divorce.”
Without saying a word he hugs me in that way that held me for 6 years.
6 years later the hug feels the same. Comforting.
“Come to dinner. Please come to our house for dinner one night soon. My wife and I would love to have you over. Please?”
“Of course, I would love that.”


I became an adult with him.
Because of him?
I was a young girl graduating high school too early, before he came into my life.
When he left i was a home owner, a car owner, a pet owner, a woman.
Because of him, with him, I had come so far.
In the best way, he reminds me of that constantly.

This is a series I will be writing on each of the things outlined in the 30 by 30 list originally posted in Glamor magazine. And posted about (by me) here. They wont be in order. Probably.
Read them all here.




Join me today..

Will you join me today over at Today’s Mama??

This post means so much to me. Caught somewhere between two places that I didn’t (maybe even, don’t) know exist.

That fine balance between being family, or being a business transaction. Wanting more. And “what happens now.”

“I think it’s a pretty common surrogate feeling to want to know what the intended parents want from your relationship.
But as I try so desperately to put my feet in their shoes, I wonder; “Would I even know what I want?”
It’s a strange, crazy relationship.
I don’t know that I’ve ever stopped to ponder what kind of relationship I want to have with someone who will carry and ultimately birth my child.”

I am A Surrogate Mother.

1. One old boyfriend you can imagine going back to (part 1 of #1)

The cold rock was hard against my back but simultaneously felt like the softest place I had ever rested.
A few stars sparkled through the towering pine trees above us.
The air was cool and crisp, but I still couldn’t take a full breath.

I know EVERYTHING about him.
He told me the story of his lost virginity. It took my breath away because it was so unexpected and not at all loving.
I went to the mall to see who she was. I still remember the movie they were watching.
I knew every story of his childhood that meant anything to him.
His parents. They were something else. My parents had a few run in’s with them.
We watched “My Best Friends Wedding” together. A lot.
We made the cheesy promise that every male female best friend couple made in 1997.
I closed my eyes tight and wished for 2013. When we’d both be 30 and single.

The night had lead us, alone, up to this rock that we both loved.
The brown fake fur blanket was warm against our bodies as the sensation of the cold rock chilled our backs.

I don’t remember a single word of our conversation. My mind was a million miles away. Or frankly, inches away. With him.

I moved my hand under the blanket onto his stomach.
The literal sparks that flew from the blanket echoed the sparks in my heart.

He leaned up resting on one elbow and asked “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
I felt my lips tightening, my head falling back and I couldn’t hold back the laughter.
“Probably slap you,” I laughed.
Where did that come from?
Everything I always knew that I never really wanted with him was right in front of me, but…
“I cant lose my bestfriend. I don’t know what I’d do with out you. I cant risk that.” Was what I said instead.
“You’re right…” he mumbled as he sighed back onto the hard rock.
The stars still danced as my mind raced with WHATDIDYOUJUSTDO’s.
I was right.. right?

The conversation resume to “normal” as quickly as it had veered off that track.

It was late.
“We should get home.”

I will never forget the moment we drove down the winding canyon road when another car pulled behind us honking.
Then pulled beside us.
He knew her.
I didn’t.
WE didn’t end there.
But they began there.

6 years later my phone would ring while I was in the baking section at a WalMart in California
6 years later his voice would be shaky on the other end of the phone.
6 years later he would cry as he told me she was pregnant and he was going to marry her.
And could I come back for the wedding . Please.

6 years later my dreams of 1997 would be shattered.
But I’d still have my best friend.


This is the first installment of a series I will be writing on each of the things outlined in the 30 by 30 list originally posted in Glamor magazine. And posted about (by me) here. They wont be in order. Probably. Except for the first two.

Oh nothing, just birthing babies for other people.

Sometimes I get in my car and forget to turn the radio on.
Some days the brief silence is refreshing and renews my soul.

Lately, any moment of silence leads my thoughts to the same place.

I had another woman’s egg placed in my body.
I carried a baby that wasn’t mine.
I gave birth to someone else’s baby.
I handed them their baby and went home alone.

If you find me staring into space and can’t shake me out of my thoughts, that’s where I am.

I keep meaning to ask my other surrogate friends if they get stuck in these moments too.

I’ve said before that the whole things feels like a dream, and that still hasn’t changed. I can’t believe it actually happened.

I have that whole feeling of the world spinning around me while I’m standing still.

While I was pregnant, people would arbitrarily ask when I was due. It was my outlet to talk about being a surrogate and make surrogacy more mainstream. I loved that part.

Now 6 weeks postpartum no one has any clue what I just went through and did. (That sounds as if it has a negative connotation.. it doesn’t, I promise.) I see a newborn and ask one of the parents how old they are, when they say 6 weeks I want to shout “I HAD A BABY 6 WEEKS AGO, TOO.” But I don’t. I just smile.

One of my best surrogate friends was commenting, as we both inhaled bites of  froyo, how there are pregnant women and newborns EVERYWHERE. How the two of us were JUST pregnant, but no one knows that. In turn, I lamented how great I feel and feel like I look after just 6 weeks, but when you’re not carrying a baby no one comments how great you look for just being 6 weeks postpartum. No one has any idea.

Do you think a forehead tattoo is too radical?