I studied every single word, every number that appeared on the screen, flashing up for mere seconds before being replaced by further data. I tried to translate the measurements in my head – what they meant, how they correlated into information about the health of the boys’ baby.
‘Nineteen weeks? Is that okay, only measuring nineteen weeks when I’m twenty weeks today?’ I asked, reading the estimation on the screen before turning my head to study Shaun’s face for any hint of concern.
‘The baby’s on the smallish side, but that’s fine – give or take a week either side is okay at this stage, so early on,’ Shaun affirmed, glancing at me and then the boys.
‘So everything looks okay?’ Justin asked.
‘I can’t see any dramas, but a report will be sent to Dr Wright again. I think I’m done now so let’s get onto finding out the sex.’ Shaun grinned as he pressed the transducer into my belly, sliding it over the gel. ‘I’m pretty sure I know what it is.’
Silence settled in the room as Shaun worked the transducer over my skin, hoping Baby JJ would cooperate and move into a position that made it easy to see the gender.
‘This baby likes to move. If it would just . . . move a little . . . to the right.’ Shaun paused and pushed the transducer down, prodding Baby JJ through my muscle. I winced, uncomfortable. ‘Ah, here we go. I can see now. Yep, it’s a girl.’
I drew a deep breath, held it, turning to the boys, a flash of heat warming my skin. Jon’s shoulders shuddered, his face pink, his chin crumpling as he faced Justin, their eyes meeting, welling with tears. They reached out for each other, linking hands and squeezing, their knuckles white.
‘A girl,’ I whispered. ‘You were right all along, Justin.’
‘I told you all. I knew it. I just knew it was a little girl. It’s what I hoped for.’
‘So you’re sure it’s a girl?’ Jon asked Shaun.
‘Well . . . see for yourself.’ Shaun pointed to the screen mounted on the wall. ‘Can you see those three lines there? There’s no indication of testes or a penis; I’m pretty sure it’s a girl.’
I grinned, wishing I could rub my belly. My little passenger was a girl. Knowing that changed my perception, made the baby more real, a picture forming. I knew something about the baby inside me even if she wasn’t mine, and I could hold on to the fact that I helped her into the world; maybe one day we would sit down and talk about how she came to be. For now, I could bond with her in my own way and offer thoughts of guidance and support, dream about her future.
‘I’m so happy for you both,’ I said, hopping off the bed.
‘My mum is going to be thrilled,’ Jon said. ‘It’s the first granddaughter in the family.’
‘So will mine, being the first grandchild on my side.’ Justin laughed.
It all seemed so perfect: Baby JJ appeared healthy – thriving and flourishing. I was doing well, my body performing the task the way it should be done. I was halfway to giving them the gift of a lifetime.
The next morning, before the boys left for home, I asked if we could take a few pictures on my back deck. I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote, It’s a Girl! I held it down near my belly as I stood in front of the weeping bamboo in the garden. Jon and Justin positioned themselves on either side.
‘Smile,’ Andrew said, clicking the button on the camera.
I needed no encouragement; a smile came naturally as I pondered the little girl who was my passenger. The photo captured my happiness and the joy in the eyes of Jon and Justin. It was one to keep and look back on – a snapshot in time on a journey to realise a dream.
20
A ‘good weekend’ away in Byron Bay
I wasn’t as sad this time when the boys left. I waved them off from the driveway, my sense of wellbeing remaining firmly intact. It’s hard to explain, but I didn’t feel as alone as I had previously. Of course, I knew the responsibility was still mine to carry, but somehow, knowing that a healthy baby girl grew inside me, I felt closer to that child than ever before. She was with me always, hearing the constant beat of my heart, feeling the heat of my body encompass her; soon she’d hear my family’s voices as life revolved around my belly, and she would continue to grow in the environment I provided for her. All those thoughts heartened me. I felt appreciated, loved, whole.
In any case, I would be seeing Jon and Justin again in Sydney in three weeks’ time, as I was attending a writers’ conference at Homebush with Jenn. After a chat with the boys, we decided that they’d come and pick me up from the hotel on the Saturday night and we’d go to dinner somewhere close by. I’d be almost twenty-four weeks by then, six months pregnant, my belly expanding.
The day after the boys left, Andrew and I dropped the kids at his mum and dad’s house and drove to Byron Bay for the weekend. After our fight a couple of months back, we’d decided to spend some much-needed time together, just relaxing and recharging, away from thoughts of surrogacy and babies. We booked a room in a heritage-style timber cottage a few minutes from town and spent the weekend lying on the beach, drenched in balmy winter sun, letting it warm our skin. I could still lie on my stomach, but I had to dig a hole in the sand that my belly slotted into, allowing me to relax and read without having to shift from side to side so frequently. We spotted a pod of dolphins catching the waves, fins slicing through the turquoise water, a calf playing, splashing on the surface. Later we took a walk along Byron’s main beach as wetsuit-clad surfers held waxed boards under their arms and ran into knee-high waves, taking up their spot on the crowded break known as The Pass.
We dined out at a popular Spanish restaurant called St Elmo and had a breakfast to die for at Bayleaf Café, where I was delighted to be able to order a decaf flat white on almond milk. Andrew and I love eating out, and no matter where we’re going, whether it’s overseas or local, I always look up restaurants on Google or TripAdvisor, reading reviews on the best places to eat.
That night at dinner we talked about our children. We never wanted to dictate to them what they should do with their lives; we hoped they would be strong enough to choose the right path. I wanted my children to know they could be or do anything they wanted in this life, they just had to remember – they had to do what made them happy.
We moved on to talk about Baby JJ, discussing the impending birth, how different it would be from our own children’s births. We considered what was required of us – Andrew and I both detached from the situation, yet fully immersed in it, my body feeling the full force of labour at the same time as my head told me the child wasn’t mine to keep.
‘So this pregnancy doesn’t make you wish we were having another child? I asked.
Andrew sipped his beer and lowered the glass to the table. ‘I’m done. I’m happy that we have two beautiful, healthy children. We don’t need another child. We’re blessed.’
We were blessed, very much so and our children were coming to an age where we could show them the world before they left us to discover it for themselves, in their own way. We wanted to take them to Disneyland and Grand Canyon in the US, to Piccadilly Circus in London, to the Colosseum in Rome and we wanted to show them the unique beauty of our own country and know how very lucky they are to live there.
‘I’m done with nappies and middle-of-the-night feeds. Our kids are past that now and I’m not going back,’ Andrew said, reaching over to take my hand in his.
I lowered my other hand to my belly, feeling its roundness, as if I held before me a miniature version of Planet Earth – but it wasn’t my world, it was Jon and Justin’s, and I was the custodian for nine months. A pang in my chest caught me by surprise when I thought about my children. I’d only spent forty-eight hours without them, but longing moved through me. This was something Jon and Justin had to look forward to, the pull of a child on your emotions. In twenty weeks, Jon and Justin’s lives would change forever and they would find out for themselves.
Back home, a week went by and I heard from Dawn about the article. She said that Good Weekend m
agazine had picked it up and it would be published sometime in September, in a month or so. I had never heard of Good Weekend magazine, so I was awash with relief that perhaps nobody I knew would see the article at all. Dawn then mentioned that I’d be contacted by someone who was driving all the way from Brisbane to take photos. As I reread the email a shot of nerves went through me. I wasn’t expecting photos, just words, tiny words on the page. In spite of my nerves, I assured Dawn that all was fine and put the thought into the furthest reaches of my mind.
A few days later I met up with Allie and Renee for lunch. Renee had given birth to her surrogate baby a couple of weeks earlier – a little boy for her brother and sister-in-law – and we planned on celebrating.
‘I can’t believe it’s all over for you,’ I said to Renee. ‘It went so fast.’
Only seeing Renee a few times throughout the pregnancy meant it passed quickly for me, but the look on Renee’s face told another story, one I could relate to. She filled us in on the birth, explaining that she had birthed all three of her own children naturally but this baby was larger, weighing in at around ten pounds (4.5 kilograms), and she’d had to have a C-section, which came as a surprise. A surprise I could do without.
Although she was still recovering from major surgery and unable to drive, Renee was aglow with happiness and pride. She had given her brother and sister-in-law a beautiful gift and took immense joy in knowing they were now a family unit, caring for their little boy, all because of her actions.
‘And how are you feeling?’ Allie asked me, reaching over her own bulging belly to lift her apple juice from the table.
‘I’m really good. Twenty-three weeks this week. I’m long past that horrible nausea.’
Throughout brunch I took fleeting glimpses of Renee, wondering how she had been affected by the birth. To my relief, she seemed calm and content. I don’t know what I was expecting. Was I waiting for her to burst into tears, confessing that she wanted the baby and that she wasn’t coping? After all the negative possibilities people had suggested to me and the bad stories I’d read, I wanted to know that she was all right. I wanted to know that she had handled the situation, the ‘giving up’ – the term people tended to use – of the child she had just birthed. I asked her numerous questions about the birth, the parents and how they handled everything, even about her milk coming in.
Allie, already experienced in surrogacy, had a relaxed air about her. She sat back, picking at her meal, her cheeks shiny and pink. The anticipation of the labour seemed to sit easily with her. She was a true ‘earth mother’, gentle, giving and constantly putting others’ needs before her own.
Afterwards the three of us stood on the pavement next to Allie’s car. Allie had only six weeks to go, and I probably wouldn’t see her again before then.
‘Good luck,’ I said, wrapping my arms around her, her belly pressing into mine.
‘Ooh, we bumped bumps.’ Allie laughed, tapping her belly into mine again.
I chuckled but it soon faded. ‘Really, good luck, I wish you all the best for the birth.’
‘Thank you. It’s my fifth time. I’m an old hand at it now.’ Allie waved at me as if to make light of the upcoming event.
‘Please let me know when you’ve had the baby – and Renee, you look after yourself, won’t you.’
Both the women wished me well, Allie commenting that I’d definitely see her before I was due. ‘We’ll catch up for coffee and I’ll fill you in on how things went at the hospital with my dads.’
‘That would be great,’ I said, waving as they got into the car.
As I walked to my own car I felt a sense of urgency arise, niggle at me. Renee was done, she’d given birth, her experience over. Allie was next. That would leave only me to go. My mind was in turmoil, I wasn’t quite ready. I wasn’t ready for it to be over and I wasn’t ready for the birth, but I took comfort in knowing that I had seventeen weeks to go, time to get my head around things and build up the courage to birth a baby in front of Jon and Justin. They would see the best of me and the worst of me all wrapped up in one moment – my tribulation and my triumph, that very raw part of me that I didn’t have control over. My body would be laid bare for everyone to see. I could swear, scream and lose my grip over the experience, the pain too intense. I could scare them. I could scare myself. It frightened me but also excited me in a weird way. In that moment you are truly alive, a baby forging through you and into the world. Intensity takes up inside you, adrenaline, and you feel powerful yet spent, weary but invincible.
I reached down and cupped my belly with both hands, my nerves eased by the knowledge that I had time. I had seventeen weeks of time.
21
A dream, the stars, and a baby
A few nights later I awoke from a dream, shaken, breathing quickly. I pulled myself up, gripping the side of the mattress. Still groggy, I tried to slow my breath, take in my surrounds. Images flashed through my mind of the dreamscape I’d been immersed in only moments earlier.
Usually my dreams are filled with many people, many faces. I never knew who they were but they were always around me, and I liked to think of them as my guiding angels. This time, though, I was alone. I couldn’t see more than a metre away all around; no matter which way I turned there was nothing. I spun in circles looking out into a black void, but at my feet was my lounge room floor, the scuffed honey-coloured timber cooling my soles. I felt a twist of pain inside and gripped my stomach, panicking. The baby was coming and I was alone. In labour, in the dark, naked and scared, I had no one to support me, not Andrew or the boys. I panted, pain constricting in waves over my belly. An echo as I bellowed. Then I was heaving and tensing, pushing as the skull forced its way through my dilated cervix. I stood there and reached down with my hand to cup the head as the body ploughed through, heavy and dropping. I caught the baby in my shaking hands. Blood spilled to the floor, splattering my feet, the baby covered in sticky white vernix, gurgling then screaming, the sound reverberating into the void. I lifted her to my bare chest, glancing around, desperately hoping someone would come, devastated that Jon and Justin had missed the birth of their child, something they’d never get back.
Now, fully awake, I sat up in the dark, analysing the dream. Did it mean I was scared of giving birth or was I just scared to be alone? Was the dream a premonition, a forewarning that Jon and Justin might not be there and I’d have to deal with the birth on my own? Babies come when they’re ready, whether that’s three weeks early or one week late, so if she came suddenly and they weren’t close by at the time, would I be responsible for her? What would Andrew think as I held her in the sanctuary of my arms while her fathers frantically made their way up the highway, north to their daughter? It would be a test of many of the comments others had made to me, questioning how I’d deal with the baby after the birth, how I’d give her up.
I stretched my back, asking myself the same question – if they weren’t there, would I be responsible for her in that moment? I closed my eyes, rubbed my belly and said to myself, ‘Of course I would be.’
I don’t usually pay much attention to the news. I prefer to live my life focusing on the good things, ignoring most of the negative items the media push out into the world each day, but the story of baby Gammy from Thailand was something I couldn’t ignore. I first noticed the headline on the internet on 3 August after I’d logged off from email, my attention snagged once again by the word ‘surrogacy’. I studied the picture of the little boy with Down syndrome who’d been allegedly abandoned by his Australian parents, left with the surrogate mother while his twin sister was taken back to Perth. I wondered how anyone could pick and choose a life, tear twins apart. I was also confused as to how such a situation could arise, how the parents could legally take one child but not the other. It left me with a horrible feeling, but I didn’t know enough about surrogacy in Thailand to understand the full picture. The news articles cast surrogacy in a bad light, focusing on and sensationalising one awful case and ignoring m
ost of the good ones but of course the focus was on one particular case not on surrogacy in general.
I made the mistake of reading the comments at the bottom of the articles. Every comment was a pin popping my bubble of wellbeing.
Surrogacy is disgusting.
It’s prostitution of a woman’s body.
It’s selfish, no one thinks about the child in a surrogacy agreement. What will these children think about how they came to be?
How can a woman give up a child that she grew inside her and bonded with?
Eventually, I forced myself to stop reading. The situation was distressing, and the comments chipped away at my sense of self-worth. I told myself not to focus on such news and instead centre my thoughts on Baby JJ.
Five days later, on 8 August, I arrived in Sydney for the Romance Writers of Australia conference at Homebush. I wasn’t a romance writer but the association offered great support and information for writers in general. I was surrounded by women chatting about writing, enjoying coffee and cake, some of them promoting their fourth or fifth novels that were soon to be published. As I waddled around the conference, several women approached me to offer congratulations. Depending on how comfortable I felt, I’d simply say ‘Thank you’ or I’d tell them about the surrogacy. One woman in particular was astounded and sang my praises each time I saw her. She’d shake her head, eyes teary, declaring, ‘It’s amazing. Just amazing. You’re a wonderful woman. Those men are very lucky!’ I’d smile graciously, embarrassed by the praise, and scurry along to my next workshop.
On Saturday night I busied myself in my room, getting ready, while my roommate and mentor, Jenn, was preparing for her own night out with some of the women from the conference. I had showered and pulled on the maternity jeans I’d bought from Target for only thirty dollars – Jon and Justin had paid for them and I couldn’t bring myself to spend any more than that, but they fitted me and were comfortable. I slipped on a black top and settled it over my belly. Large bands of sequins across the front showed off the main attraction, the bump. I groaned, lungs restricted – the baby inside me taking up more and more room each day – as I bent down to zip up my knee-high leather boots over my jeans.
Labour of Love Page 17
