Elation washed over me and I could hardly contain my excitement as I read through the profile. The surrogacy agency matched me with a family and I had to decide […]
Elation washed over me and I could hardly contain my excitement as I read through the profile. The surrogacy agency matched me with a family and I had to decide if I wanted to meet them. YES! A resounding yes! Their photos showed two dads and a son close to Tad’s age enjoying outdoor adventures and world travels. They were well educated, held impressive jobs, were each fluent in 4 languages, including English whew!, were recently married and wanted to expand their family through surrogacy in the US. They had kind eyes and sweet smiles.
This is the family, these are the people I will help have a baby. I felt a pulling… an instant connection to this Swedish family. I’d never met them and only knew what their profile told me, but something was there, and it felt right.
I dialed Sandy at the agency to share my decision. In my excitement, I accidentally called her Amy, and then referenced a conversation I thought I’d had with her, but actually had been with Heidi. She was thoroughly confused and probably regretting working with me at this point. Agh, idiot! You just called the founder of the agency by the wrong name.
She gracefully brushed my numerous mishaps aside and we discussed the Swedes in depth. They were using an egg donor through Oregon Reproductive Medicine and were in town for just the next few days. She mentioned their concern that I was 33 — Hey, THAT’S NOT OLD! — but that she’d reassured them 33 was a perfectly healthy age for surrogacy. They liked my profile because it showed we shared a love of outdoor activities, along with sons who were close in age. We decided I would drive to Portland on Friday to meet them and begin the conversation of a potential relationship.
That night, I was glued to their profile. Embarrassment from earlier in the day motivated me to memorize every fact about them. Johan the mathematics professor and Anders the cardiac surgeon.
The son is the biological child of Johan. They’re both 40 and Johan likes skiing and hopes to write a novel soon while Anders prefers mountain biking and volunteers with children’s charities. Their photos showed skiing, traveling and petting reindeer. They looked like people I would even just love to be friends with.
I was nervous on Thursday evening as I planned for the meeting. What should I wear to meet my potential intended parents? It had to be the perfect combination of responsible but not boring, stylish but not too trendy, and preferably something without coffee stains on. This last piece disqualifies 50% of my wardrobe, unfortunately. Harnessing my empathetic side, I tried to imagine: If I was meeting a woman who might carry my baby, how would I want her to look?
It took hours of debate but I was happy with my final decision of dark jeans, boots and a white top. The next part was even harder – what would we talk about? How should I act? I tend to ramble when I’m nervous and need to keep that in check. Again, what would I want to see and hear from a potential surrogate? Well-spoken, level headed and funny, with plenty of eye contact and intelligent conversation. What about any cultural differences, or language barriers?
This was like a first date for my uterus. Don’t fail me, girl!