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
I understand this perfectly.
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