Yes I get a beautiful little baby, but by the time you’ve been to antenatal classes, breastfeeding class – ‘you have to feed them on demand, day and night, for the first six weeks or you won’t make enough milk’ - said cheerfully as though those six weeks of sleep deprivation won’t be hell on earth, baby first aid, pregnancy yoga at week 37 when getting on and off the floor is a workout in itself and had your partner try massaging your perineum (don’t even ask), you begin to realise perhaps it isn’t going to be one long nursery rhyme. That and this afternoon’s trip to my friend’s daughter’s nursery school where, like a scene from ‘Secret Life of 4 yr olds’, kiddies vie for supremacy and we find ourselves explaining why the dodgy berry picked off the floor is not a ‘nice juicy grape.’
Don’t get me wrong I’m very excited to be meeting the little person whose been kicking me in the tummy and poking her bum out when we tickle her; she’ll be ready to meet the world but will her mamas be up to it? Nothing less than being the very best parents we can be will do I’m afraid. The point now is, how does it compare to whatever thoughts and feelings we had two years ago when we began our journey towards parenthood? Part of me thought it just wouldn’t happen. Either we wouldn’t meet the right guys or perhaps I’d have trouble conceiving. Would it have been less responsibility somehow if we’d adopted? Certainly, getting a cat would have been halfway stage but worryingly, that felt like too much responsibility! And a cat couldn’t do in a flat without a garden, no, but somehow a baby can? The phrase ‘a dog is for life not just for Christmas’ is chiming in my ears. Tenfold for a kid!
Where did it all go so right? We knew it could take years to find someone to father our child – the right kind of co-parent doesn’t grow on trees. Our Pride Angel match couldn’t have been more perfect and we’ve established a great sociability that still revolves around dining, outings and theatre – all of which we’ll integrate the baby into. We’ll have known each other two years this week! And baby arrives any time now. I feel convinced she’ll look like her daddy as so many first babies do; knowing who he is was important to me for that among umpteen other reasons. I received great help from my GP referring me for a fertility check-up and AMH test (paid for of course) for peace of mind. And, by monitoring my ovulation and getting to know my cycle, by the time we did the conception correctly for the first time (at attempt three), it worked! Whilst people I know are getting on planes and re-mortgaging their flats for donor insemination in Denmark we’ve achieved the unachievable with a small syringe. I didn’t even have to stand on my head.
Eight and a half months of pregnancy certainly puts surrogacy into context – who could give up a baby they’ve carried for so long? I really don’t know how anyone can do it. The ruling in the High Court earlier this month that gave custody of a baby conceived as a surrogate to its father(s) sets a whole new precedent: www.bbc.co.uk. I like to think the ruling is not just because the mother was clearly obnoxious and homophobic.
I suspect my next blog will be entitled ‘Tired’, ‘Help’ or ‘Baby for sale’… But to anyone who feels the compulsion to parent: do whatever it takes and do it your way. Be brave, be bold. Have belief that you can make it work. And for goodness’ sake, write something down somewhere so as not to put your child through a lengthy court case. There’s good times and bad ahead and I’ll be taken to the brink, but not once for a single second will I regret achieving my goal of motherhood. And to my 16-yr old self – yes, lesbians can and should be mothers!