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Back The Surrogate
Chapters (65)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Part One
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Part Two
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Thirty-Five
  41. Thirty-Six
  42. Thirty-Seven
  43. Thirty-Eight
  44. Thirty-Nine
  45. Forty
  46. Forty-One
  47. Forty-Two
  48. Forty-Three
  49. Forty-Four
  50. Forty-Five
  51. Forty-Six
  52. Forty-Seven
  53. Forty-Eight
  54. Forty-Nine
  55. Fifty
  56. Fifty-One
  57. Part Three
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Fifty-Four
  61. Fifty-Five
  62. Fifty-Six
  63. Acknowledgments
  64. About the Author
  65. About the Publisher

“And it can take a while, even after her water’s broken, okay?” I had so many memories flashing up from when the boys were born. But I knew better than to go into detail about it with Ruth. I’d learned that the hard way. A few times when Ruth had come home all aglow after attending Cally’s doctor’s appointments, she’d report on Cally’s progress, and I’d tried to explain false contractions, medication for inducing labor, and the whole centimeters thing. Well, let’s just say Ruth hadn’t been receptive to my knowledge. I only wanted to caution her. Soften the blow just in case things didn’t go perfectly. I knew lots could happen outside Ruth’s carefully prepared birth plan. “Try not to get your hopes up,” I said. Outside my window, an airplane left a contrail behind, high in the sky. “We could be there for hours, into the night, who knows?”

“Please don’t lecture me,” said Ruth. “Just get there as soon as you can.”

“I will.” And suddenly, I remembered another thing I’d learned from taking Audrey to the hospital. “Watch out for potholes!” I said, but the line was dead. Ruth was long gone.

RUTH

For months I’d been keeping a journal. I wrote on and off during the time we signed up with Cally, before and after the insemination, and regularly during the pregnancy. I’d made notes of Cally’s progress and concerns during doctor visits, lists of things to do, and summaries of our conversations. My journal was stuffed with various drafts of our birth plan and included ideas for the transfer (adoption) ceremony that was to occur at the hospital two to three days after the birth, if the baby was healthy and all was well.

But my journaling ceased when Cally went into labor. After she’d called me, I couldn’t think. I didn’t know who to call. Nothing was ready. I wasn’t ready.

I marched into the cold garage and slammed the door behind me. Examining the stacked boxes of baby equipment and supplies, I moved and repositioned boxes until I had access to the important one. Using only my frozen hands and hardened determination, I ripped open the box with the car seat inside. Lifting the thing out with a whoosh, I got a whiff of chemical packaging and felt a sense of superpower. I pulled off the plastic wrapping, yanked at the tags and gathered the warnings and government safety certification cards. I feverishly flipped through the owner’s manual, looking for English. I saw my breath as I exhaled. Why hadn’t we assembled this behemoth before today?