I’ve always
been curious
about the
athletic feat
of pregnancy
and birth,
as well as
whether
I’d find it
MARCUS OHLSSON/TRUNK ARCHIVE ‘spiritual’It took three years of light daydreaming and serious
discussions to cement our plan, and last fall we began trying.
Over that time, our lives grew and diverged: Jake and Nick
are now embedded in Houston, Texas, and are successful
visual artists there. My Jake and I are thriving in our lives in
New York, too, and so the initial idea that we might co-parent
was let go, but the core project remained.
It took several attempts by both IUI and DIY turkey baster
for me to get pregnant, including some hilarious ferrying ofsperm-filled syringes around my flat
while I was directing Hadestown at
the National Theatre in London. But
overall we were lucky, and I’ve been
lucky in the pregnancy, too. (I even won
the Tony in June.)
When I went in for my 12-week
check-up, the midwives couldn’t hear a
heartbeat. They told me not to worry
yet and sent me to an obstetrician. He
saw me immediately, squeezed goo on
to my belly, and before I was really
prepared for it, there on a large-screen
television was the foetus – looking so
much like a little human alien. The
doctor flipped a switch and a heartbeat
rang loudly through the room.
Instantaneously I knew that, if this was
a film, I would well up with tears and
think, “That’s my baby,” and the whole
surrogacy endeavour would get more
complicated. But life is not a movie, and
most movies have been directed by men.
Instead, my immediate thought was,
“Oh! That’s so cool,” followed quickly
by, “I’m so glad I’m giving up this child.”
That said, as the pregnancy has
developed, I’ve also felt more in love with
my husband than ever before. He’s been
so dear through it all – getting our
apartment ready for a home birth, happily
tolerating subzero temperatures in the
bedroom while I tried to stay comfortable
through the intense NYC summer – and
in turn, I’ve caught glimpses of how
I would feel carrying our child.
I make clear to Jake and Nick that
everything still feels on track, while also
not hiding the fact that I have felt
sentimental for this parallel pregnancy.
Our social worker, recommended by our
lawyer to help with any counselling I/we
might need, has suggested that after the
birth she help me and My Jake weigh up
the decision about whether to pursue a
child of our own. She also cautioned that
I was likely to feel “full” at the birth, her
word for an inundation of emotions that
some might be quick to categorise as
regret or sorrow. I felt reassured in a sense,
having been quietly concerned that I was
proving too good at compartmentalising.
I want to love this child, while still being
OK with handing it over.
The social worker encouraged us to
propose names for what the child might
call me; right now, “mommy auntie” feels
best. Someday I’ll visit them all in Houston, but for now Jake
and Nick have temporarily relocated to NYC, just down the
street. The four of us are in the final fever of home-birth
classes, moving between nervous questions about breast pumps
and joyous delirium nominating all the television shows we
want to watch in the days post-birth as we figure out the next
stretch. It’s a boy, by the way. We think we’ll call him Whit,
inspired in part by Walt Whitman. He punches me a lot, and
I think he’ll be funny. I hope he’ll be a wanderer. n113VIEWPOINT11-19-FOB-Viewpoint-Surrogacy.indd 113 12/09/2019 08:52