WEE ONE
By: Lynn Flores, A Surrogate Mother
"Push, push!" I groaned as I blew out the last breath I had inhaled two ten counts earlier. "Relax now, just a minute, his head's coming, slowly, a little push now, there's his shoulder, you're doing great, he's almost here, okay, here he comes" "WWWAAAAAAAAA"
The father is crying as the nurse places the baby in the arms of his mother who is standing next to me. The mother begins murmuring whispers of joy and admiration to the child as I lay resting. After the birth, the father joined her next to where the baby - their baby - lay in the warmer, close by. The tears continue among the nurses and the doctor. I cry a little, too.
It was finally over. After all of the time they had invested. After all of the false alarms, and sonograms, doctor's appointments, and hands on the tummy waiting to be kicked, he was finally here! I lie thinking as the parents stand next to me admiring their baby with the looks of kids at Christmas. Their eyes are full of wonderment at his every movement and whimper.
"Why is he shaking?" they ask. They are deeply moved by the very thought of his presence in this sterile room with white walls. I am attended to by nurses and as I watch the parents whispering to each other I know they may be physically standing next to me but, in truth, they are a million miles away in the tiny universe of their own making. I see a glimmer of awe in her eyes, a tenderness I know comes directly from the immense love she is feeling at this moment. Then suddenly she glances at me and I feel as if I have intruded upon their most intimate moment. She manages a smile, and though it is weak, I can understand why.
I have seen fear on her face before. When we first met I could plainly see how cruel her infertility had been to her. I will never forget the look on her face as she told me all about the treatments, shots, pills, promises and all of the failures. Now I can almost read her thoughts; she is afraid to believe that this is real. She is waiting for the alarm clock to ring or for me to announce "the baby is mine". So in my best post-delivery way, I smile and in that smile as big as I can make it I assure her I will do what's right.
I turn to my husband and begin talking to him, leaving them once again in the sanctity and warmth of each other and their new baby. Later when I am in my recovery room, they come. Eyes full of joy and appreciation, they bring me gifts and flowers, kind words and attention. They are grateful, they say, for what I have given them. What more can they do? I tell them it is their happiness I seek and to see them with "their" child is all I have ever wanted for them. We all begin to cry and hold each other. In the moments that follow, they cannot contain their pride.
My room is filled with versions of how beautiful he is, how perfect and wonderful.
My heart soars when I hear how happy they are. This, I think, is the moment that - if it could be captured in a bottle and sold - would make a person rich. I feel like I am walking in the clouds. And I know they are!
Soon they notice my fatigue and gracefully exit the room. I rub my now nonexistent tummy and think about the whole experience. I feel remarkably peaceful concerning the experience I've just been through. Exhausted, I fall asleep.
When I awaken, I am surprised by the emptiness I feel. No one is kicking me inside and giving me heartburn or hiccups. I am saddened, but only for a moment. I recall the previous events and once again am filled with wonderment. Later that night, I ask to have the baby brought to me. The nurses are not sure if they should or not and their hesitancy speaks volumes. I go out of my way to reassure them that it's all right - I can handle it.
A few minutes later the night nurse brings him in to me. He has just been fed and is quite complacent. I consider picking him up, this child who has been so close to me for so long a time. He looks at me, and I at him. I know if I don't hold him I will regret it. So, gingerly, tenderly, I pick him up. He fusses and I sing to him, mostly out of instinct. Immediately, he quiets down and I am amazed that even though I am holding this child that I have given birth to, I feel more like a sitter than his mother. As this realization sets in, I know I can have a good time talking to him, holding him and singing to him because he isn't going home with me! What a strange thought. It isn't typical, of what most people would think. Well, since I am the one who must live with the thought I am not worried.
He falls asleep and I return him to his bassinet. I watch him for a few moments in this last opportunity of aloneness between us, for I know when his parents return in a few hours, I will no longer be responsible for him. It will be up to them to care for him and provide for his needs. I ring for the nurse and she returns to take him to the nursery. I watch him being wheeled away and fall asleep to the pleasant thoughts of the happy faces I saw earlier this day. Faces shining with joy that I had a part in putting there. And I am happy.
Copyright 1998. The American Surrogacy Center, Inc.(TASC), Kennesaw, GA
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