The fundamental right here is to be allowed to raise a child. Jayson and I are perfect role models in society: financially secure, successful, moral people who can be just as good, if not better parents, than most.
Why is this so hard to understand?
Altruistic surrogacy is allowed in Australia but those arrangements are made behind closed doors. In a few months we are to see the first gay couple have their baby in Australia through an altruistic surrogacy with a friend. After the birth, they are granted full custody and recognition of their child. After years of campaigning by many advocates, agencies and individuals, including Rachel Kunde and Sam Everingham, the government looks into changing the structure, thereby taking the first steps towards change and reform in surrogacy laws.
Finally, after weeks of hard work by the Australian government, Sam rings to say the Australian Embassy in Thailand successfully negotiated a pact which will allow us to bring our baby home without any court order. It’s a breakthrough after months of agonising worry.
“Apparently the Australian families who have been stuck in Thailand left without any fuss yesterday. This couldn’t be better news,” he confirms.
It is clear now to all that Thailand condemns the free-for-all practice of commercial surrogacy. In their own backyard it took place, and its exposure to the world became an international embarrassment for their people. They want no part in it ever again.
“The Australian Embassy will continue to process citizenship and passport applications for those who intend to leave Thailand with their surrogate baby, but only for the next twelve months, ceasing in June next year,” Sam tells us.
We breathe a huge sigh of relief.
“You can leave without any fuss, but after this the doors will be locked for good. You must be relieved?” he asks me.
“Yes, we are. We are out by February. Good news? It’s wonderful news, for a change.”
“In the interim, don’t engage with media and don’t even post any stories on social media channels, especially not on Facebook. Thais love Facebook.”
“Why so? You know how private we are anyway,” I ask, wanting to know the reasons.
“Well, the junta have compromised on the troubled issue. They don’t want further bad press on their government, to be seen as monsters by the world. If you don’t cooperate in a courteous manner, especially with the authorities, you will have more problems for yourself.”
I note his advice.
Later I read the Department of Foreign Affairs’ updated travel advice for Thailand. It cautions that commercial surrogacy laws are unclear and urge interested Australians to seek independent legal advice.
For us to be able to exit with our child, we will need to provide our child’s birth certificate and passport, our passports, DNA test results of our child and Jayson, confirmation of the baby’s citizenship and, in lieu of the court order, a letter from the Amphoe office of the Thai district.
My understanding is that the Amphoe office is where you go if you intend to get a marriage certificate or divorce decrees. The Amphoe office’s duties in the next twelve months will include issuing our child’s exit permit. The legal document grants permission to the biological parents from the surrogate to exit Thailand with their child.
A big weight off our shoulders! Finally we can relax and enjoy what every parent should be doing in the third trimester, preparing for the arrival of our baby. To think, we have been through hell and back in the last three months. It’s been beyond a joke! No one should ever have to go through this – the fear, the constant injuries and scares we faced daily during the second trimester. I am glad it’s over. Now I want to have some fun doing the things I have been waiting to do – like decorating the nursery, shopping, and more shopping for his royal highness, my son.
24
Last Trimester
Now that the dramas have settled a bit, like with all expecting parents in the last trimester, the jitters are creeping in as our son’s birth approaches. We have eleven weeks to go; according to today’s report he will be born on 4 January 2015 by caesarean section. A pictured Porn looks massive in size, she has ballooned. I remember hearing my female friends moan and moan about the last trimester’s weight. “I can’t wait to get it out.”
With elective caesareans, it is common for babies to be delivered a week earlier than they would normally be expected, to limit the surrogate’s chance of entering labour. Kay tells me most surrogates choose a caesarean over a natural birth, the statistic in Asia being around 90 per cent. The main reason for this, I believe, is to reduce their emotional attachment to the child. They want to ensure necessary detachment. The definitive date allows us to be present in Thailand for the planned procedure.
“We must be the first people he sees when he is born,” I tell Jayson. “Porn has opted not to see the baby, preferring him to be handed to us straight after the birth.” She told Kay she wants to avoid any emotional attachment. I reiterate this to Jayson.
“How hard would this be?” says Jayson. “To hand over the child you carried for nine months to someone else. Weird, because it is not your child in theory and on paper, but you are still the birth mother.”
We don’t know what to expect at the hospital. Kay tells us she will find out about the new hospital’s procedures and let us know. She assumes one or both of us will be allowed to attend the actual birth.
The third trimester is a much better time for us. A time to reflect, learn and understand what this blessed role entails. It is a self-learning journey. We are steadfast in our commitment to the path ahead.
I decide to become a “Brunsdon”. One glance at me and there is no chance anyone would think I am of Scottish descent. My appearance shows no white blood in me. I am commonly mistaken for Brazilian, Spanish, Arab and sometimes Indian. But with a name like Aaron Elias, there is little chance to doubt the origins of my ethnicity are the Middle East, possibly Lebanon, like the Australian footballer Benny Elias, or perhaps, as most people later guess, Jewish.
During many conversations, Jayson and I discuss adopting a hyphenated surname, becoming Elias-Brunsdon for our baby to follow suit when born. The main reason for this is to avoid problems which could arise later, especially when he goes to school, when we do not share the same name. If we opt for him to bear only one of our original surnames, then the other one of us won’t be legally recognised as his parent. If that parent decides to take him overseas without the other parent, this will cause problems at customs – the nature of that parent’s relationship with the child and the reasons for taking the child out of the country will come under question. Imagine being stopped at customs, trying to explain that he is my son but we don’t share the same surname. A friend told me he wasn’t allowed to write an absentee note for school on his son’s behalf because they didn’t share the same surname.
There are ways to fix this problem. One is by legal adoption. The Adoption Act and the Family Law Reform Act enable parents like myself to be legally recognised through the concept of shared parental responsibility. Through adoption, I will have full custody of our child in case anything (God forbid) should happen to Jayson, which we think is important for our peace of mind and our child’s security – but it may take a while to orchestrate. Apparently less than five per cent of intended parents of surrogate babies take up the order. The easiest thing for the time being is to share the same surname. But the question remains, which surname is best? We toyed with a few ideas, trying not to exclude either of us. The hyphenated surname Elias-Brunsdon held most appeal. It would allow him to share both our surnames, a common practice in same-sex couples.
But after months of playing with the hyphenated surname, we have a change of heart. It would affect Jayson’s work to adopt the name Elias, because our label carries the surname Brunsdon alone. It is trademarked, and the entire business relies on the name. Jayson needs our son to share his surname because he is easily recognised and doesn’t need the added drama or complications at airports th
at may otherwise arise.
A name change isn’t an easy task. It means going through the whole bureaucratic process of changing your birth certificate, driver’s licence, passport, bank cards, tax file number, name on bills, banks, business registers, and the list goes on and on. The point being, why is there a need for us both to go down this road when only one must? After much deliberation, I change my name to Brunsdon, with the Elias surname now becoming my middle name.
Jayson can keep his surname, and our son will have both names: my surname as his middle name – a win–win outcome. But I dread telling my parents about the name change. “Nice good Jewish boy with a gentile name.” I can already sense the drama.
I fill out the necessary documents to send to the birth registry and receive a change of name certificate back.
The first thing I do is change my name for my email and my Facebook page. I become “Aaron Elias Brunsdon”.
“What religion is our son going to have?” I ask Jayson throughout our pregnancy. With me and his biological mother being Jewish, I tend to assume he would also be Jewish. But I am unsure so I ask my aunt to make an appointment with a Rabbi, a respected man of my community. Rabbi Isaac (as I have chosen to name him) is a kind man – orthodox but with moderate views on homosexuality from what I have been told. I went to meet him at a shul in Bondi, a well-known Jewish area in Sydney.
He is an older man, in his mid-sixties. He has the full payot (dreadlocks or side curls), ginormous hat and black trench coat which is right on trend. There is just something ultra chic about the Lubavitch attire. Jean Paul Gaultier once sent models down the runway dressed in the Hasidic group’s orthodox apparel.
“My son,” he tells me, “according to the Halakhah [Judaic law], the laws of our forefathers, maternity belongs to the legitimate parent. It is beyond our power to rearrange that parental relationship.”
Surrogate babies in Jewish law have become a hugely controversial topic. Books are written, with various cases debated heavily by rabbinical institutions. There is no set rule, from what I have gleaned.
“What does that mean, Rabbi?”
“It means all biblical mandated duties of motherhood belong uniquely to the woman who brought you into the world. You see, my son, the egg is removed from your cousin, the genetic mother, and this is when conception occurred, before it is implanted into the gentile surrogate mother. This woman, this non-Jew, she will carry your cousin’s child to term and give birth to him. Right? The answer is relatively simple in the Torah – your child conceived in this method makes the legal custodianship fall on her.”
“But Rabbi, she is not the mother, she has no blood in him. She is the oven, the method is a modern-day conception.”
He delivers the answer: “Conception has no legal importance because it occurred in no woman’s body. Your surrogate had no relevant conversion before the birth; your child is not classified as Jewish in the Torah.
“You see, Judaism follows the mother that we know. If your mother is Jewish, then Hashem forbid, shouldn’t you be considered one? The Jewish scriptures define the birth mother as the reason for the child’s religion,” he tells me.
“But Rabbi, we are talking about law incorporated in the scriptures during a time that surrogacy was non-existent. My family will want to know why my child will not be accepted as a Jew in your congregation if he chooses to be. We are respectable people of the community.”
“I know your family, they are good people, what ‘nachas’ for them. Let the child grow up in a family where both the parents are practising Jews. You must respect the sanctity of Judaism and all it stands for, then your child can and will be classified as a Jew.”
“Are you saying if my child grew up with a mother and father that are both Jews, the religion would make allowances for him to be recognised as Jewish himself, despite the fact his birth mother isn’t one?”
“I am saying your child will have tougher battles to fight if there is no room to adopt the religion. He will be alienated from Judaism.”
It seems irrelevant he came from the egg of a Jewish mother. In other words, he can’t just waltz into the synagogue and expect to be bar mitzvah if he proclaims his donor mum is a Jewess. It’s ridiculous to isolate someone from a religion by referencing scriptures written some 5700 years ago. Besides, artificial insemination is permitted in Jewish law and the scriptures state no Jew should be denied the opportunity to have children. But I have learnt that in my community if the surrogate mother is not Jewish, the child requires conversion.
Rabbi Heinemann, a leading Orthodox American rabbi, was asked by a Jewish couple whether their child would be Jewish if they used a surrogate mother who wasn’t. He decreed that the host mother would merely be an “incubator” and the child would be therefore be Jewish. Rabbi Heinemann went on to develop an Orthodox method whereby an Orthodox Jew collects the sperm and egg and seals the test tube.
“I am Jewish, I practise Judaism to this day. I was brought up Jewish and did my bar mitzvah, I attended Jewish Sunday schools and later went to yeshiva. I am a God-fearing person, and observe my religion, abiding by certain rules like not eating pork. If I want my child to share my religion, especially if the main ingredient is kosher, why should he be stopped just because you think otherwise?” I fume.
Jayson is a Church of England Anglican and his family is far from religious. We all love Easter and Christmas and look forward to celebrating the Christian holidays. It is hard to say we are moderately religious. I want my son to grow up with those customs too, to be able to explore both of our religions and then decide what he wants to be – Christian or Jewish, or both for that matter. It wouldn’t matter to either of us if he opted to have none.
I will be just as happy if he chooses Buddhism, a peaceful religion and one that sees no reason to bog you down with roles and titles. It is a religion that teaches basic humanity, good deeds and peace as fundamentals.
I guess if he can’t be Jewish, that means he won’t have to be circumcised. We discuss for days and weeks whether or not to circumcise him. For starters, both of us were circumcised. Me for religious reasons, getting the snip when I was eight days old, in front of a rabbi and among 100 family members – my mother and the women celebrating their now kosher eldest born son as a fully fledged Jew while the men along with the rabbi or “mohel” conducted the circumcision, a brutal and barbaric act, with no medical professional present. The Torah states until the boy is eight days old and the circumcision is performed on him, he is not Jewish by law. He is Jewish only after the snip.
Jayson was born in the ’60s, a time when most Australian parents, for hygiene reasons, had their baby boys snipped. Times have changed; circumcision is hardly performed anymore in Australia. In fact, only a limited few surgeons practise the medical procedure. For Jewish offspring it is commonly performed by a rabbi of the community.
The surgeon does the circumcision under a knife in the hospital where the child is older than eight days. But the rabbi, on the other hand, performs the “bris” by pulling the baby’s foreskin so hard he wails and without warning, just a murmur of prayer, with his scalpel knife he cuts deep into the skin like a butcher to a fowl. The baby screams, while onlookers rejoice in the child becoming a Jew.
If we choose a doctor to perform the surgery on our baby in Bangkok, it’s a procedure not commonly practised in Thailand and my fear is he could have a botched circumcision.
I wonder how thirteen-year-old Muslim boys undergo circumcision. It must kill the poor kid’s member. After lengthy discussions, we decide on no circumcision for our son. It’s his decision to make and if he wants one later, it’s his choice. We, as parents, don’t have the right to take anything away from him, especially something this private on his body.
25
Nursery
This is the best time of a pregnancy, the time to decorate the nursery. At first we ask our best friend, supreme decorator and interior decorator by profession Alex Zabotto Bentley, to do the job. He
has not only won many accolades and awards for interiors but he is truly one of the most creative interior designers in the country. We have already asked him to be godfather and no doubt he will put his heart and soul into our son’s nursery as well. Alex is a kind and generous friend. He will go out of his way, no expense spared, to build our baby’s room from scratch. Between the three of us, what extraordinary theme will we come up with?
We are in the midst of kitchen and bathroom renovations at home, the apartment in a state of disarray. I hate not having a toilet for nearly six weeks. As soon as we finish the renovations, we dive straight into designing our son’s room.
We all have similar ideas from the start.
“Nothing cheap or tacky, no Made in China toys – the colourful plastic ones, if you know what I mean. We are going ‘vintage chic’. Think old toys, collectibles and objets d’art, classic old books, airplanes, sailboats floating from the ceiling, divine,” Alex says.
For weeks, we search for toys from all over the world, buying, collecting and sourcing unreal things from the States, England and Paris. Jayson loves animals and I have a fascination for giraffes.
“I want a giraffe somewhere in the room, I want one,” I tell them. “I love the strong towering figure that sets it apart at zoos and how peaceful the animal looks. It possesses a strength that sparks me.”
Designer Baby Page 21