Monday, August 20

Failure


I’ve written here before of the fact that I always ‘knew’ I would have a baby for someone else. I planned to be a surrogate for someone I loved dearly. I have not written of why, of how I feel now about it.
A pair of my dearest friends are a couple, a gay male couple. They, obviously, will need a womb and egg donor when it comes time for them to have children – unless VA changes its feelings on homosexual couples adopting. For years, there was no doubt in my mind that I would be that person. Then Monkey came along.
Now don’t get me wrong, I know some people are surrogates for completely altruistic reasons. For me, it was a bit of a selfish thing. Yes, I would be giving them an irreplaceable gift. I would be the ‘hero’ in the situation. I don’t want to be a ‘hero’. I loathe the term, even when referring to my birthmom status. Being a gestational carrier would be no different, in terms of how I feel about myself. I would do anything to bring a smile to those that I love, and for me that is the selfish part. I would not so much be doing it for them, moreso to prove to myself that I could do it, that I was strong enough. It would be because I am selfish. I wanted to be special enough to be the person they chose.
Now I am fairly certain I will never be able to go down that path, and it hurts. I want, more than anything, to help them be parents, to help someone carry on their genetic line. The boys have not decided to carry on their lines yet, but I have had my opportunities to do it. I even went so far as to contact a doctor that deals with such things.
I know I cannot do it. I know that I cannot put my mother through the loving a grandchild that is not ‘her’ grandchild again. She still grieves Monkey. She grieves Sugarbutt. She wants to be a grandmother badly. I did not even tell her of my pregnancy until after I knew I was placing Monkey with H & T, yet she fell in love with that baby across the country. Living with her now, I cannot see putting her through that again. It may be the last straw to push her over the bridge to suicide.
Don’t get me wrong, I could use the money. I could spend it all in one day and still have things I need to spend it on. There is no doubt in that. I just don’t know that the hearts that would break would be worth it. As bonded as I am to children I have never met (my friends’ placed children, for example), there is no way I could go through a pregnancy and not bond with another child.
Mr. Right couldn’t handle it either, I don’t think. Watching someone else’s child grow in me, watching me swell with the beauty of pregnancy, I don’t know that he deserves that sort of pain. I resent adoption, myself, my emotions, for taking away the chance to help friends and family build their families.
I am sorry. It feels like a weakness. I give blood, I am an organ donor, I donate to charity when I can because of the understanding that we are all human. We are all lucky to have what we do and if I have a resource that you do not, why shouldn’t I share?
Yet I cannot. I feel like a failure.
With Love Always,
Me

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