Andrew’s eyes widened. ‘Well, sometimes I wonder if that’s what you want,’ he whispered.
Our perfect world, our paradise, was under threat. My throat closed in and I could barely speak. ‘I . . . I’m trying to do something good for Jon and Justin, but I don’t want it to cause tension between us. I never wanted that.’
We had always been rock solid, Andrew and I, and I had never dreamed that the surrogacy would cause such discord between us. When I’d imagined how things would be, my positive nature only allowed me to see pregnancy bliss and a happy home life, me coping and loving every minute.
‘And of course I don’t want a divorce,’ I said. ‘I love you more than you obviously know, but I just need you to be there for me through this. Do you know how hard this is for me? Do you think I like feeling this way every day, trying to get through each day just to wake up the next morning in the same state I was in the day before? On the verge of vomiting all the time, having to look after the kids, make dinner, do the washing, pack lunches, clean the house, take them to the park, to swimming lessons, plus everything else I have to do.’
I couldn’t help but think, What if this was our child, our third baby? Would we be having this argument or would the discomfort be diluted by the fact that we were working towards a shared goal, something for ourselves?
At the same time, I could see where Andrew was coming from, I knew I’d pushed him away. In the back of my mind, the thought of being intimate with him actually scared me. The bleed had left me deeply worried about Baby JJ’s safety. I didn’t want to jeopardise the pregnancy in any way, and that, coupled with the way I felt physically, meant sex was off the agenda for me. With that, of course, came guilt – all-consuming guilt that resided in me like a virus. I loved Andrew and it broke my heart to see him standing before me crying and questioning our relationship, his pain caused by the repercussions of something I had chosen to do. Would we be where we were if I hadn’t ventured into surrogacy? It was hard for both of us: we’d temporarily put our own relationship aside for the sake of helping others. We had lost that connection and solidarity between us; I had cut myself off from him, hoping that he would understand and give me the time I needed to feel normal again.
The silence between us stung my ears. In the other room the kids were laughing, but as I stood in front of Andrew all I could hear was the buzz of our unease at the new place that we found ourselves in, a strange, awkward place we’d never been forced to examine.
I gritted my teeth, wiping my eyes. ‘So what do we do now?’
Andrew drew a breath, glancing up at the ceiling, blinking, before looking back at me, tears tumbling down his cheeks. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, I don’t want a divorce. That’s ridiculous.’
‘You brought it up,’ Andrew said, incredulous.
‘In the heat of the moment, yes, I did.’ I wanted to wipe the slate clean, start over. I grabbed his hand, the first contact I’d initiated in weeks.
Andrew closed his eyes and stepped closer, nestling his head into my neck, and there we stood in our kitchen, broken yet whole, only Baby JJ between us, in a way I hadn’t considered. We sobbed, squeezing our arms tight around one another, holding on for a long time.
Finally I pulled back, blinking away tears, swallowing to clear my throat. ‘I guess . . . I guess we both just have to be more aware of each other’s needs. We need to be compassionate and sensitive to how the other may be feeling. We need to talk more.’
Andrew nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for being so distant. You know I love you and I’m not acting this way on purpose.’
‘Of course, it’s just hard to think that maybe you don’t love me the way you used to. That maybe you don’t want me.’
‘Please, never think that,’ I said, grabbing his shoulders. ‘Never think that I feel any different about you now than I did on the day I married you. You and I are in this for the long haul, for life, and in six months or so our lives will be back to normal.’
We embraced again, both of us comforted. We’d moved to a new place of understanding; neither of us was wrong or right, we each had a different perspective, different wants and needs. In that moment it wasn’t about Baby JJ, Jon and Justin or the surrogacy. It wasn’t about responsibility, morning sickness or the busyness and pressures of our lives. It was about us. Just us.
18
Nice to meet you, Baby JJ
Andrew and I were united again, more receptive and aware of each other’s needs. We confided in each other often, sitting down after the kids went to bed, honest about our feelings and thoughts that played on our minds. We met for lunch and enjoyed time together, moving to a place of understanding and compassion. Soon, too, the milestone of thirteen weeks arrived; my nausea and tiredness petered off, only striking sporadically, and I started to feel like my old vibrant, life-loving self again, functioning as normal throughout the day, with only one or two morning dashes to the bathroom basin over the last week.
A little late, due to the boys’ work commitments, the twelve-week scan (the nuchal translucency test which screened for abnormalities such as Down syndrome) was booked for 28 May. A tickle of delight ran down my spine at the prospect of seeing Baby JJ wriggling on a screen with the fathers present for the first time – I’d daydreamed about that moment often.
My journey seemed to be taking on the likeness of a rollercoaster ride, a ‘down’ followed by an ‘up’. As a fiction writer, I had learned about the three-act structure of highs and lows and the ultimate ‘black moment’ that precedes the ‘happily ever after’ ending. I just wanted to skip to the ‘happy ever after’ bit. I was resolved to focus on a positive outcome for the scan.
Jon and Justin arrived the afternoon before the day of the scan, staying at our house. Our three-bedroom cottage didn’t have the luxury of a guest room, so Jon occupied Jaxon’s single bed and Justin took up Keira’s pink princess room, much to her bemusement. Jaxon slept between Andrew and me, while Keira snuggled up in a portacot beside our bed. Far too big for the portacot, Keira was excited by the prospect of being a ‘baby’ again, happily playing in the cot while we tried to drift off that night. She continued to giggle as she thrashed around under her blankets, the excitement of a sleepover in Mum and Dad’s room too much.
With my eyes closed, faking sleep, the comforting heat of Jaxon’s tiny body next to mine, my thoughts turned to the scan to be performed the following day – the first time I’d see Jon and Justin in complete awe of their baby. I too wanted to see Baby JJ, note the growth, see the movements, and hear the reassuring sound of a healthy heartbeat, and an indication from the technician that all was as it should be.
Keira finally dozed off, her breathing heavy, rhythmic. My family slept under one roof with our adopted, extended family, and a sense of wellbeing cascaded through me. The child I now carried and cared for had hopeful parents close by, mere metres away. Maybe the fact that the responsibility was somehow shared – I wasn’t alone – made me rest easier. I knew it was strange, but sometimes I felt as though I was the only person in the baby’s life, a maternal instinct from deep within, protective and primal. Baby JJ relied on me, my body, for nourishment, warmth, regulation, support – for life. At that stage, Jon and Justin weren’t even a thought or an impulse to the baby, only me – my body giving life and Baby JJ taking it. I was the caretaker, her parents waiting in the wings.
The next morning I woke and glanced down into the portacot to see Keira’s chubby cheeks squashed against her pillow, full lips slightly parted, eyelids fluttering in a dream state. Such innocence and beauty stunned me, a deluge of love inundating my heart. That was my daughter. Then thoughts of the busy day ahead tugged at me, and I got out of bed, raced to the shower. I wanted to make sure that everything ran smoothly and that Jon and Justin felt part of our family, cared for and loved.
Hot water trickled over my body, and then a wave of nausea returned, my stomach muscles constricting
, heaving. Gagging, spitting, I propped myself up against the tiles with my arm locked straight. A violent act, it always felt as though my own body had violated itself somehow – one part forcing another part to do something it didn’t want to do. I gasped for air, eyes watering, begging it to stop. Why this morning, of all mornings? I thought, looking down at my feet set square on either side of the drain. The water spiralled down, washing away the yellow bile.
The sensation abated and I pulled myself together, finished showering, dried and dressed, then brushed my teeth, allowing the redness in my face to subside. Walking to the kitchen, I noticed that both the kids’ bedroom doors were open – Jon and Justin were awake.
‘Morning,’ Justin said, chirpy, his blue eyes smiling as he emerged from the bedroom.
‘Good morning. How’d you sleep?’ I cleared my throat, still hot and raw.
‘Like a dream,’ he effused. ‘Keira’s bed’s so comfortable.’
I laughed, hearing the shower running in the kids’ bathroom. ‘Right.’ I rubbed my hands together. ‘So Jon’s in the shower, will he have tea or coffee?’
‘No, he doesn’t drink either.’
‘But you’ll have a coffee, won’t you?’ Justin was partial to a good coffee in the morning, I’d learned that from my visit to their home for the transfer.
‘You know I can’t function without it,’ Justin said, sitting down at the dining table while I set about making the coffee.
Andrew entered the room. ‘Good morning,’ he said to Justin, and then sidled up beside me. ‘I’ll have a coffee too.’
‘I’m on to it, my love.’ I dropped another pod into the machine, pulling down the lever and pressing the button.
Andrew and I worked in the kitchen together, the smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the house, offering only slight irritation to my senses. We chatted with Justin and Jon as our children became familiar with them all over again. Keira jumped on Justin’s lap, asking to play the games on his phone, and Jaxon ran to get books on bugs and sharks to show Jon.
After breakfast our combined efforts got the kids ready for day care and preschool. I stuffed lunchboxes into backpacks while Andrew ironed his work shirt and Jon crouched over, working Keira’s sandals onto her plump feet as she sat at the dining table. Justin prompted Jaxon to brush his teeth for more than five seconds, and we rushed around in chaotic madness for a few minutes before piling out the door. Then I ran back inside, realising I’d forgotten to grab my ultrasound referral form and the litre of water I needed to consume.
Andrew drove off with Keira to day care, while Jon, Justin, Jaxon and I climbed into my car, on our way to drop off Jaxon.
‘Do you wanna come into my preschool?’ Jaxon asked the boys as I started the engine.
‘That would be great,’ Jon enthused.
‘Okay then.’ Jaxon nestled back into his booster seat, gazing out the window, lips pressed together in satisfaction.
As we walked into the weatherboard cottage that was the preschool, Jaxon led the way, striding proudly.
‘Good morning, Jaxon,’ Lisa, his preschool teacher, greeted him.
‘Morning.’ Jaxon fell quiet, working over the thoughts in his head. ‘This is Jon and Justin,’ he blurted out, his little index finger pointing up at the boys.
‘Ah, good morning. It’s nice to meet you.’ Lisa’s eyes lit up at the opportunity to put faces to the names she’d heard many times.
From the start, I’d been honest with the staff at the preschool, not only because Jaxon’s aunty Melissa worked there but also because the children who saw me three days a week, dropping off and picking up Jaxon, would see my body changing as time went on and would certainly ask questions. I wanted to know how the teachers felt I could address those questions, how appropriate it was to touch on the topic of gay couples having children. I’d never had a problem explaining sexual orientation to my two kids, but I worried that other parents might not like the idea of me explaining the concept to their children. However, it just so happened that a little boy named Riley had started that year and he had two mums. The children were very accepting, and Riley fitted into his new preschool without any trouble. I hoped for the same ease in the conversations that might arise with the children about the baby I carried for the boys.
‘Hello,’ Jon and Justin said in unison, greeting Lisa.
‘It’s very exciting, isn’t it? You’re up for a scan?’ She beamed.
‘Yes, we have the twelve-week scan today,’ said Justin. ‘We can’t wait.’
‘Jon, look, this is where I put my bag,’ Jaxon said, pulling Jon by the hand over to the lockers.
After the boys’ grand tour of Jaxon’s preschool, I knelt down to cuddle my son. ‘You have a wonderful day today, won’t you, my boy.’
‘I will,’ he said, pulling his wide-brimmed hat down on his head before letting me kiss his cheek. I stood up, turning to walk away.
‘Oh, Mum?’ Jaxon said.
‘Yes?’
‘Will Jon and Justin be there when I get home?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Yes, we will be,’ Jon said over my shoulder. ‘We’ll pick you up this afternoon. Is that okay with you?’
Jaxon grinned, furiously nodding before pivoting on one foot and racing over to the sandpit.
I pushed open the door to radiology, directing the boys to the waiting area before I registered at reception. Then I sat down with them in a room decorated with plastic plants and whitewash paintings of Tuscany and the Amalfi coast. Opposite us was an elderly woman with swollen, blistered, purple ankles and a walking cane; she rested her head against the wall, her eyes closed. Next to her sat a bald man with his arm in a sling, gripping his elbow in pain as he stared at the floor.
I had to suppress my excitement, my nervousness, show common courtesy for the other people in the room. I sat back in my chair and started to rub the small rise of my belly that only showed itself when I was sitting down and relaxing my stomach muscles. I crossed my legs, once again trying to repress the urge for the toilet, and glanced at the boys. Justin gazed at the inner workings of the clinic, his eyes content, as if daydreaming of what lay ahead. Jon smiled, fidgeting in his seat.
Twenty minutes later, in a position I found myself in a lot, I lay on a bed, Jon and Justin sitting on the swivel chairs that Andrew and Jaxon had sat on six weeks earlier. The black and white image morphed on the screen from blobs to limbs, from empty spaces to snippets of a tiny body, as the technician, Shaun, moved the transducer over my stomach.
I braced myself, held my breath.
‘Here it is,’ Shaun announced, holding the transducer still as my heart pounded. ‘Here’s your baby.’
Jon gasped. I turned my head on the pillow, no longer marvelling at bits of Baby JJ but at the fathers. Tears stung my eyes. Justin bit his lip, eyes fixed on the screen. Jon’s cheeks flushed pink as he smiled, before reaching for Justin’s hand without tearing his gaze from his child. As they clutched each other’s hands, shaking, happiness and love filled me, overflowing, boundless. I had waited for exactly that, the look on their faces, the wonder in their eyes. Memories of the sickness, the tiredness I’d felt over the last couple of months dissolved at the sight of their joy. I’d go through all of that again and more, just to experience someone else’s happiness, to know that I had helped create something special in a person’s life, changing the outcome of their existence.
‘Oh my goodness,’ Justin said, his voice breaking, trembling. ‘That’s . . . our baby.’
The foetus moved, kicking off the sides of my uterine wall with its clumsy feet, arms twitching back and forth, a dance in amniotic fluid. Languid. The three of us laughed.
Shaun cleared his throat. ‘I just need to take a measurement of the sac of fluid at the back of bub’s neck. Along with the other measurements, its thickness will give us an indication if bub has a risk of being born with any abnormalities.’
‘Okay, but does everything look good . . . normal?’ Jon asked, shifting t
o sit on the edge of his seat.
‘Everything looks pretty good to me, but if there’s an issue . . .’ Shaun paused to glance down at the referral form I’d brought in, ‘Dr Wright will be the one to go through that with you. I just do the measurements.’
He fell silent as he continued to monitor Baby JJ, checking the length of every limb, the size of the skull and the width of the abdomen, and concentrating on each beat of the heart. He observed the blood flow through the umbilical cord and the circulation through the four chambers of the heart, indicated in flashes of bright red and deep blue on the monitor. Was it normal? Jon and Justin squinted at the screen, leaning closer.
My head resting on the pillow, I held my shirt above my belly. I wriggled my toes to be present but I couldn’t fight the feeling that I was floating above the room, not part of the situation but watching over it – observing the smiles on the boys’ faces, taking in Jon’s delighted twitch or the wonder in Justin’s eyes. Maybe that helped me to detach from the sight of the baby on the screen, a baby that was growing in my uterus but wasn’t mine to be truly or fully excited about. Such an intimate moment, seeing your child for the first time, I wanted Jon and Justin to share that special moment in privacy and even though I was there, needed, I mentally checked out for a while, giving them time alone. As I quietly soaked up the scene, it was clear to me that I was actually a vessel, not only for their baby but for my own children as well. Yes, this time it was different – the dynamics, the reasons for my involvement – but I was still a vessel. I understood that I didn’t have full control over how my body reacted throughout the pregnancy, yet through diet, rest, acupuncture and exercise I could maintain good health and give Baby JJ the optimal environment. That was why we were there, to see how the baby took to the environment I provided.
I chuckled to myself as Shaun took a series of pictures of Baby JJ, one of a wide yawning mouth and another after the baby rolled over, facing away and lifting its arm with all five fingers stretched out as if to wave.
Labour of Love Page 15