Labour of Love

by Shannon Garner

  Jon and Justin pointed at the screen, laughing, sighing and cooing. Something so small brought so much joy, not only to the boys but also to me. I recognised that it wasn’t the same elation I’d experienced with my own babies – the feeling that my life was about to change, become whole – but it was still there, in the form of jubilation for them. In six months, all going to plan, their dreams would materialise.

  In pregnancy terms, that time frame would stretch out like a desert, the horizon wobbling far off in the distance. It was around 180 days until the birth, when all eyes would be on me and I had to bring Baby JJ into the world through my body. I took a deep breath, scared and exhilarated all at once by the thought.

  Shaun handed the boys a disc of all the images from the ultrasound. ‘We’re all done here, Shannon. You can go to the toilet now,’ he said, offering an arm for assistance.

  ‘Thank you.’ I settled my t-shirt around my hips and slid down off the bed.

  Emerging from the fluorescent light of radiology, we squinted against the bright sunny day, smiling and relaxed. As I reached into my bag for my sunglasses, the boys began to dial home on their phones.

  ‘Everything looks good,’ Jon rejoiced, speaking to his mother. ‘The baby’s heartbeat was strong and consistent.’

  Justin chatted to his mother too, waving his hand in the air as if she stood in front of him. ‘Yes, the technician said everything seemed fine. We have a disc of pictures to bring home.’

  As we walked to the car, the boys ended their calls and began texting other family and friends. Mere seconds ticked by before beeps rang out from their phones, one after the other. Everyone knew they were here for the scan, everyone waiting for news. I caressed my tummy, noticing the slightest bulge, like a large bubble under my skin and muscle. Cradling the baby, I felt powerful – I carried what everyone wanted, the thing that everyone spoke so highly of. It was strange, my previous pregnancies had been so intimate, just Andrew and me and the frenzy of love and anticipation between us, but this time it encompassed everyone in my own life and everyone in the world surrounding Jon and Justin too. There was a mass of love for Baby JJ, already summoned. Waiting.

  After the scan we met my mother and Andrew for lunch at a restaurant down by the ocean, offering a view out to the north over the breakwall and up the beach with its collection of apartment buildings running along the coastline. Mum worked for Andrew as compliance manager in his financial planning business, so they arrived at the same time. It was the first time Mum would meet the boys, and I wanted her to approve, be at peace with what I was doing.

  ‘So, how’d it go?’ Andrew asked, brimming with enthusiasm as he shook the boys’ hands.

  ‘Very well, all looks great,’ Jon replied, pulling out his seat from under the table.

  ‘Jon, Justin, this is my mum, Robyn.’ I placed my hand on Mum’s back as if to offer her a nudge.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Robyn,’ Justin said, smiling and giving her a kiss on the cheek. Jon did the same before we all sat down.

  ‘So it all went well. That’s good news,’ Mum said, placing her purple handbag in her lap. ‘I bet you’re glad that’s over.’

  ‘Mmm, not really, I could stare at the baby all day long.’ Justin laughed. I smiled, familiar with the feeling.

  ‘So what do your parents think?’ Mum asked, delving straight into the questions.

  After picking up the kids, I prepared dinner while laughter and squealing came from the lounge room where the boys entertained them. Chopping potatoes, I chuckled at the thought of them wrestling on the ground in a game Jaxon liked to call ‘Russell Cole’. To this day no one knows where the name came from – probably him struggling to say ‘wrestle’ – but that was the name he yelled as he flexed his minuscule biceps and attempted to tackle the first person in front of him. Ever since the transfer I’d had to sit out the game, so the boys were taking the brunt of his pent-up wrestling antics. When Andrew arrived home from work, I served dinner. Jon and Justin sat around the dining table chatting with my husband, interrupted at times by Keira asking for a story or for someone to play with her and the collection of My Little Ponies she’d acquired.

  After dinner we migrated to the timber deck out the back of our house, Andrew carrying a lighter and a packet of sparklers. The kids flitted about barefoot on the grass, sporting their pyjamas. The air was cool, winter’s breath growing stronger with each day, and I pulled my cardigan tighter around me.

  ‘You should be wearing your slippers or some shoes,’ I chastised the kids playfully as we sat on the back step, four adults lined up side by side. My children took our position as an opportunity – an audience to entertain – and danced around the backyard like gleeful garden sprites, giggling, excited. Andrew passed out the lit sparklers, sparks flying, fizzing. Keira cautiously took hold of the thin metal handle, noted the absence of pain, and pranced around the yard, bright orange lines cutting through the darkness in swirling patterns before our eyes. Jaxon followed hesitating, always careful.

  Before us, magic abounded. I revelled in the children’s laughter, the freedom and innocence of their youth. I glanced at Jon and Justin, wedged between me and Andrew, and smiled. One day they too would sit back in awe of their offspring, content in the knowledge that their child had the world at its bare feet and the possibilities were endless.

  After breakfast the next morning, the boys left for Sydney. Jon had transferred the pictures from the ultrasound onto my computer and we had marked on the calendar a rough estimate of when they’d be back, for the twenty-week scan in seven weeks. By then I’d look quite different, halfway through gestation: my breasts would be heavier, body plumper, tummy ripe; a tangible, round belly they could rub – evidence of the blooming child within.

  The past two days had been fun, and as the boys drove away I realised I felt well, my energy levels stable. I was days away from hitting fourteen weeks, the point where I seemed to turn a corner, feel myself again. I could get my life back, to some degree.

  My next appointment with Dr Wright went ahead without any issues. I’d gained weight, my blood pressure was perfect and the foetal heart activity was as it should be. I happily informed him that the nausea was completely gone. Dr Wright noted down the information on my yellow pregnancy card, and we went through the recent blood tests I’d had along with the report from the twelve-week scan, all of which were indicative of a healthy foetus and a healthy surrogate.

  Again I was lucky enough to have a quick glimpse of Baby JJ on the screen as Dr Wright performed his routine examination via ultrasound. It was hard to believe that a human being was kicking around inside me, its eyes moving closer together, a face taking shape, the liver making bile, synapses forming, fingerprints developing.

  A life growing inside another life – a miracle.

  19

  Om Shanti, baby

  The month of June ran me ragged, hopping from one social event to another. Five birthday parties for five of Jaxon’s friends in a matter of three weeks saw me frequenting the shops to purchase Lego kits and racing cars, our weekends filled with party bags, jumping castles, cake, and children jacked up on sugar. My calendar, scrawled with pen, outlined each day filled with something to do with my children or for the surrogacy – play dates with friends and visits with my sister, along with chiropractic appointments and a few sessions of prenatal Pilates, which I paid for myself, considering that they were extras I chose to do.

  I continued to visit my mentor, Jenn, discussing the craft of writing and how I could improve my manuscript, all the while not actually working on it. I attended a book launch for a writer friend, Greg Barron, and maintained my regular weekly sessions with Kim for acupuncture. The month vanished before I could settle into the days and weeks. My belly grew steadily, my cheeks plumped, pink with health – the pregnancy glow. My breasts ballooned from a C-cup to a DD-cup and I borrowed a couple of maternity bras from Tenille.

  After a few weeks I changed from prenatal Pilates to prenatal
yoga, hoping for some relaxation and a good stretch for my back. On my first evening session, surrounded by flickering beeswax candles and the scent of honey and frankincense, I positioned myself at the rear of the room as other mums-to-be sat straight-backed, cross-legged, hands in the prayer position, chanting, ‘om, shanti, shanti, shanti.’ In her soft voice the instructor, Greta, told us to rub our bellies, close our eyes and talk internally to our babies. I sat there, my inner voice chatting to Baby JJ as if speaking to a friend who just happened to be a baby. How’re you going in there, little one? Is everything to your satisfaction?

  A fraud, that’s how I felt among those women. Unlike them, I was there only for the benefits to my body, not for the motherly connection with the child that grew inside me. I shifted on my yoga mat, opening one eye and checking to see if Greta was staring at me, if she’d noticed that something wasn’t quite right, could somehow tell that the baby I carried wasn’t mine. As it was my first class, I didn’t feel comfortable blurting out my situation. I didn’t know how they’d react, all these women before me, floating in pregnancy euphoria and anticipating the arrival of their babies. It appeared that those other women were there to forge a deeper connection with their child, a primordial motherly bond that society believes is engrained in any pregnant woman.

  I wanted the benefits of yoga but I held back from bonding with the baby inside me. Was I scared of unexpected feelings that might arise? I had to work out how to bond with Baby JJ on a level that wasn’t likened to an over the top, abnormal devotion, an unhealthy affection for the child as if I would claim it as my own. That’s what others told me, they expected my connection to be stronger than I bargained for, and of course I told them it wouldn’t be, that I could remain sufficiently detached.

  In the soft lighting, my body pressed into my yoga mat, limbs heavy, I realised that part of my journey would be understanding how I felt about the child I grew, what the child meant to me and how I’d process those feelings of attachment if they developed.

  A couple of weeks later, scrolling through posts on Facebook, I noticed that Jenn had shared a post about a new novel by an author named Dawn Barker. The book was titled Let Her Go and the word ‘surrogacy’ in Jenn’s post piqued my interest. I read the blurb for the book: a gripping and emotionally charged story of family, secrets and the complications of love. Noticing that Jenn was friends with the author, I decided to send Dawn a message and congratulate her on her latest novel. Dawn responded and we struck up a friendship and I filled her in on my own surrogacy journey. Dawn replied, I wish I knew you when I was writing the book. I’d like to get into the head of a surrogate.

  A week later I received another message from Dawn, asking if I’d like to be interviewed for an article about surrogacy she wanted to write. She hoped the article would be a positive and uplifting read about surrogacy and what goes on in the mind of a surrogate during pregnancy and birth. I pondered the offer, weighing up the possible complications that could arise. Eventually I agreed to participate, after checking with Jon and Justin. I hoped my input into the article would help others in Australia contemplating the path of altruistic surrogacy. Dawn began emailing me questions about my experience. I replied as soon as I could, delving deep into the emotions that came with the process. I didn’t feel it necessary to mention anything about Jon and Justin, as the article would be from the point of view of the surrogate, what the experience is like for them, and I wanted to respect their privacy.

  Over time, Dawn asked me further questions to clarify my responses. She was also talking with two other Australian surrogates. Once the article was finished, she pitched the idea to several magazines. A week later, she contacted me: she was still pitching as some of the magazines weren’t interested. I thanked Dawn for her time and enthusiasm on the topic of surrogacy and put the article out of my mind, perhaps hoping that it would never see the light of day or would be published in an obscure magazine that no one read, the print so small that no one would see my name.

  July brought wintry winds and shorter days, the kids wrapped up in woollen cardigans and beanies knitted by Nanny. My backyard was littered with dead bamboo leaves, shrivelled like discarded snakeskin, the trees shedding, renewing, readying for spring.

  Jon and Justin were due back soon for another glimpse of their growing baby. They’d see the obvious changes in me, how a woman’s belly rounds out, breasts become larger, ankles thicker, skin radiant, glowing. There were subtle changes too, ones only I knew, like the darkening of my veins, the rush of blood through them, the heaviness of my legs and automatic arch in my back, accommodating baby and the placenta.

  Interactions with people in the street were interesting. They’d ask when I was due, rub my belly, exclaim over how exciting another child would be. If I felt like it, I’d explain the situation. Caught off guard, some people were fascinated and enthusiastic, hugging me, while others quickly changed the subject. I could see their eyes glaze over, stunned, unsure what to say, some still believing that surrogacy was illegal in Australia.

  I giggled to myself at the looks on people’s faces – confronted by a woman in a blooming pregnancy but growing a child for a gay male couple. At times I was taken aback by people’s comments. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, I quickly realised. I just had to make sure those opinions didn’t affect my sense of wellbeing, and every now and then I had to reconfirm to myself the goodness and rightness of the surrogacy, how worthwhile it was for Jon and Justin and their families.

  On 15 July, Jon and Justin arrived, bearing gifts for Jaxon and Keira. The kids jumped ecstatically around the lounge room as the boys bumbled inside with their luggage and the presents, glancing at my belly to check the progress. Skittish with excitement, Jaxon and Keira were soon ripping the paper off their gifts.

  ‘We thought we’d buy them a present since we just missed Jaxon’s birthday, and we knew we’d have to get something for Miss Keira too.’ Justin grinned as he sat down on the floor next to Jaxon, scrunching up the ripped paper.

  ‘Oh, wow! Say thank you to Jon and Justin,’ I said as Jaxon picked up a Trash Pack toy set and Keira a giant colouring-in book with felt pens.

  ‘Thanks,’ Jaxon said hurriedly, tearing at the box.

  For a moment there was silence. ‘Keira . . .’ I cautioned.

  ‘Thanks,’ she squeaked, looking up at Jon with a polite smile, her shoulder gravitating towards her chin.

  It was nice to have them in my home again; Jon and Justin’s presence always filled us with a sense of fun and anticipation. As they played with the kids, I noticed their gazes wander to my bump. I realised I’d been thoughtless, not even offering.

  ‘I’m sorry. Do you want to touch my tummy?’ I said, arching my back and pushing it out, making it appear bigger than it was. It felt comforting to have large warm hands caressing my belly with such intent. I sensed their wonder, hope and impatience emanating from their fingers towards the tiny soul that grew inside me.

  A cold afternoon, clusters of grey clouds hung over the town, shutting out the blue, a breeze whipping along the streets. We ventured to the park anyway, chatting as the kids moved from the swings to the slippery slide then on to the sandpit, dizzy with choice.

  ‘Push me, Justin, push me,’ Keira yelled, running back to the swings after noticing that one was free.

  Jon and I stood by, observing Keira as she gripped the chains on the swing, head dipping back, mouth open with laughter, eyes wild with freedom. ‘Higher . . . higher!’ she bellowed, Justin laughing at her demands.

  I turned to check on Jaxon. Crouched in the sandpit, he had struck up a conversation with another boy his age. It amazed me how accepting children were, open, honest and direct – judgement and discrimination were something they learned. Young for their years, my children still taught me something every single day, not only about life but about myself.

  ‘So, when do you think we need to book the hospital?’ Jon asked, zipping up his jumper to shut out the chill.

&nb
sp; ‘I’m not sure, but I can ring them and ask. I guess we’ve still got twenty weeks to go, so that’s plenty of time,’ I said. ‘Can you believe you find out the baby’s sex tomorrow?’ I mused, cheeks tight with the force of my smile.

  Jon beamed, his eyes alight. ‘I know. I can’t wait. Justin still thinks it’s a girl, he’s adamant.’

  Justin stepped closer, his hand held out, braced to push Keira on the swing again. ‘It’s a girl. I know it.’ His left eyebrow arched for emphasis.

  ‘What do you think it is?’ Jon asked me, laughing, shaking his head at his partner.

  ‘I really don’t know. They say some mothers know, but I didn’t with either of mine. I was sure Jaxon was a girl and Keira was a boy. I was shocked when they told me at her twenty-week scan that Keira was a girl, I was so sure. But if I compare the morning sickness with my previous pregnancies, I’d say it’s a girl because I was quite sick with Keira, more so than with Jaxon.’

  ‘Maybe it is a girl then.’ Jon pondered the thought, his gaze locking onto the horizon.

  ‘Only time will tell,’ I said, patting my belly. ‘We’ll find out tomorrow.’

  ‘Can you tell us the sex?’ Jon asked, standing up eagerly from his swivel chair in the radiology ultrasound room. We were lucky enough to have the same technician doing the morphology scan (which looks for abnormalities in the baby’s structural development and growth, also checking the position of the placenta) for us, and his familiarity instantly put us all at ease.

  Shaun laughed. ‘I was nearly done and you hadn’t said anything so I thought you didn’t want to know – it can be an awkward situation for me,’ he said, typing figures into the computer. ‘Let me just finalise these measurements and then I’ll have a look.’

  I glanced over at Jon and Justin from my vantage point on the bed, their eyes locked on the images of their child on the screen – a leg, a foot, an arm, a hand. We all laughed as Baby JJ moved its fist and opened its mouth, appearing to suck a thumb.