The Surrogate

She carries a pregnancy that isn't hers. She manages the physical demands, the discomfort, the appointments, the changes to her body — for a child she will hand to someone else. For a family she is building for a stranger.

In gestational surrogacy, she has no genetic connection to the baby. But she has every physical connection. She is the one who carries them. Who protects them. Who brings them into the world.

My clinic explained that most intended parents in Kenya don't meet their surrogate. The process is more clinical, more distant than in North America. But I needed to meet her. I needed to look her in the eyes.

She was warm. Calm. She placed my hand on her belly and let me feel my daughters kick. I cried. She smiled. That moment is one of the most important of my life.

There is no adequate way to thank a surrogate. No gift, no amount of money, no words in any language. She was carrying the most important thing in my life inside her body — and she was doing it with grace.

I left that meeting changed. Not just as a future father, but as a human being. The generosity of what she was doing humbled me in a way I still feel today.

My daughters. My life as a father. The thing I had been working toward for three years and five embryo transfers and more uncertainty than I knew how to hold.

She gave me that. And I will carry that gratitude for the rest of my life.