Surrogacy and Infertility, what it means to me as a surrogate

Kym, a surrogate and mother that dealt with infertility herself, posted some wonderful insights on how entering into surrogacy is a trip into infertility for the surrogate. Many of us become surrogates because we love pregnancy, love the idea of helping others have families. But we enter it in a wave of innocence. Most of us have little understanding of what infertility means, how it impacts women and their families, and how it can effect us.

I had theories about what it meant to be infertile. But the far reaching range of emotions was way bigger than I could ever have imagined.

Through surrogacy, I have experienced 11 cycles. Me, with my perfect uterus, my perfect pregnancy history, my simple homebirths. Even with modern science, I couldn't get pregnant 9 of those cycles. And each time, I wondered if it was my fault. It was humbling. I never thought it wouldn't work, until it didn't.

And that's me. That doesn't even begin to touch my Intended Parents that have gone through years of trying, repeated miscarriages, surgeries, invasive testing, poking, prodding, and each step their hope being whittled away to next to nothing. Except, they manage to keep it. Their hope, that is. It's slightly tarnished, and colored with some slightly off-kilter humor, and probably lots of counseling, but it's there.

These people look at the thing the want most in their lives and realize they can't make it happen for themselves, and then they hand it over to us. They hand it to a surrogate and say, Make my dream come true. The strength and belief that takes makes me cry. I don't know that I could give that much, trust that much, release that much. It is an enormous gift to be part of their dream.

Man to be

My 12 year old amazes me. He is this crazy blending of physical traits, motions, thinkings...some I recognize, some I see are completely his own.

Sometimes he gives me glimpses into the man he'll be and they leave me breathless. The other day I was laying on my bed, reading a book, and he comes into my room with a glass of water. He sets it on my bedside table.

12 yr old: Mom, are you thirsty?
ManyMom: no?
12 yr old: I brought you some water.

I thanked him, but he stood there waiting.

ManyMom: Sweetie, do you need something?
12 yr old: Mom, you should drink some water. Pregnant women need to drink lots of water.

Now, that in and of itself is amazing, but what is really amazing is that when I was pregnant with Tor two years ago, I offhandedly mentioned to him that he should remember that pregnant and nursing women need to drink lots of water, and that if he ever has children to not ask the mom if she wants it but to just bring it to her and remind her to drink.

He remembered.

I didn't go.

So, I didn't go. By the time I should have been leaving for the milonga, I was already in pajamas and it seemed like a lot of work to attempt to make myself look remotely cute in my now ill-fitting clothing. And I didn't go last week either, because a friend of mine's daughter turned 2 and they celebrated at Chuck E. Cheese's. I was done for after that. Whoever created those places has been so desensitized that they don't even know what the word over-stimulation means. I can't imagine working there.

But last night I did go to a smaller event. I didn't dance, but I went to see friends. It was lovely. And to my surprise, I found myself moved by the music. I haven't been able to even listen to tango. It's too all encompassing for me, and I get lost and then panic a little. I had to set it aside for music that doesn't dissolve me quite so much. But in a larger hall than my ipod earbuds provide, I was able to enjoy the music.

I think I'm ready. I'll give it another week or so, and dance just with people I'm really comfortable with, since tango is so intense and I'm still so easily overwhelmed, but it's nice to be ready. I was starting to get a little worried...

Easing back in

I think I could probably handle a tanda or two in a night, but I feel very out of (dance) practice, kinda shy, and very fragile. So, I'm a little hesitant to dance at my normal events. I'd really like to ease my way back in, dance with friends only (ones that would understand if I couldn't make it through a whole tanda), and go slow. But I'm hesitant to go to the normal events because there are lots of people I don't want to dance with and I can't figure out how to gracefully navigate the who I do want to dance with and who I don't want to dance with thing. Not because of those people, really, but because I feel so off my game and so physically unwell that I don't think I could handle a tanda with someone that I wasn't also completely socially comfortable with.

Any thoughts on this?

Long time no post

It's been a while since I've posted. I have been just too sick, too nauseous. In all reality, if I had felt this way before with my first child, he would have been an only. I spent a couple weeks being able to do nothing but sit on the couch and sleep, and moan. A lot. From misery. I was depressed and my kids were threatening mutiny.

I asked for some drugs. Which isn't a me thing to do, but it had gotten so bad I couldn't even answer the phone. So they set me up with Zofran, and I am starting to remember what it feels like to be a person.

I haven't danced in over 2 weeks. I don't want to be touched, I can't close my eyes, and the thought of a bad tanda makes me cringe. I can't even listen to tango right now because the music is so complex it makes my head spin, which makes my stomach spin. Which makes me cry.

So, we're all ok. The babies are growing, I am starting to almost feel like something besides a wet rag, and I'm trying to just lay low.

I'll let you all know when something changes.