It’s always interesting to look back and notice the little signs along the way—moments that, in hindsight, seem like glimpses of what was to come. At the time, though, they were mysteries. Many experiences in my life have come to me in unexpected ways, and that’s the best way I can explain how I became a gestational carrier—not once, but twice.
I grew up in a fairly average family, one of four sisters, though there were several years between us. By the time I was preparing to leave for college, my youngest sister had just been born. I left for a neighboring state to attend school, and shortly after, I met the love of my life. At the time, I couldn’t have imagined the life we would build together. My husband and I have now been together sixteen years, married in 2009, growing into adulthood side by side. We have two amazing children and have navigated life’s hurdles hand in hand—college, major home renovations, fertility struggles, family circumstances, and even a thousand-mile move away from everyone we knew and loved. Communication has always been our anchor; starting as young adults, it helped us lay a solid foundation.
After our traditional wedding, we returned to our newly purchased home, which needed a full renovation. It was a real test for us as a couple, navigating differences in opinion and learning to compromise. But when it was finished, the home was stunning—a perfect balance of early 1920s charm, wooden trim and archways, and a newly updated kitchen and second bathroom. This was the home where we brought our puppy and, later, our two children. We made countless memories there, experiencing both immense joy and moments of heartbreak, yet it was ours, a space we called home.
Before the birth of our second child, the idea of moving began to surface. Not just moving locally, but somewhere completely new. We discussed our children’s young ages and how our home was starting to feel too small. In those private conversations, we agreed to let life unfold as it was meant to. Weeks later, my husband’s employer approved a transfer, and we prepared to relocate. I was working as an insurance broker in New York and started exploring options for work in our new city. Curiously, surrogacy kept appearing in my online searches—again and again. It wasn’t a one-time fluke; it was persistent. The seed was planted.
I brought the idea to my husband one evening, sitting on our bed while holding our newborn. I asked him if it would feel strange for me to be pregnant with someone else’s child, if he thought this was something I could do. After several days of reflection, we decided to walk this path together, trusting that if something stopped us, it simply wasn’t meant to be. I found an agency to guide me, learning that our new state was more favorable for gestational carriers, as New York had prohibitions.
The process was long and meticulous. Medical records were reviewed, blood tests taken, a home visit conducted, paperwork completed, and a psychological evaluation performed. Slowly, I crossed each milestone. Eventually, the agency found a couple whose values and preferences aligned with ours, and we arranged a video call. That day remains etched in my memory—I was nervous, excited, hopeful. It felt like a blind date with so much at stake. By the end of the call, we knew it was a match. The intended parents were kind, loving, and passionate about starting their family, which resonated deeply with me.
With our match confirmed, I flew to the fertility clinic the parents had chosen. Exams, consultations, and coordination across time zones followed. Soon, the clinic called: we were ready, and I would begin the medication schedule. The first injections were intimidating—two-inch needles for intermuscular shots—but with careful preparation, deep breaths, and the support of my husband and children in the room, I took that first jab. Over time, it became routine, part of the protocol alongside patches and pills.
Our first embryo transfer required precise timing with a fresh egg donor, but things didn’t align initially. The embryo had to be frozen briefly, awaiting the perfect moment. When the time came, I flew to the West Coast, leaving my one- and three-year-old behind, resting in a hotel for five days, and hoping for the best. The transfer was on a Wednesday, and by Monday, a positive home pregnancy test confirmed the miracle. With prior experience of miscarriage, my heart was full of hope but tempered by caution. Blood tests and ultrasounds followed, all indicating a growing, healthy baby. The intended parents arrived in the U.S. days before my scheduled repeat C-section, and I will never forget their joy at seeing my nine-month pregnant belly.
Delivery day was a blur of excitement and nerves. Although this was not my first surgery, a C-section is always major. My husband was steadfast by my side, holding my hand. The intended parents waited just outside the operating room. I requested a brief moment to see the baby before she was handed to them. Moments later, her first cries filled the room. She was perfect—swaddled, cleaned, and ready to meet the world. I kissed her cheek, whispered my welcome, and sent her to meet her daddies.
Watching the parents care for her—changing diapers, holding her together, gazing at their newborn—erased every difficult moment of pregnancy. These are the moments surrogates treasure. Already, conversations about a sibling journey began, with the doctor affirming my health and ability to carry again. The experience forged a bond with this family that will last a lifetime.
Years later, after my parents’ divorce and my children starting school, the timing for a second journey didn’t align. The intended parents found another wonderful carrier, and I had the joy of visiting the new baby and seeing the little girl I had carried so grown up. Though the pandemic forced them to return home immediately, that evening remains etched in my heart.
By November 2019, the desire to carry again returned, persistent and undeniable. This time, I wanted a family closer to home, to share the pregnancy fully and personally. Social media led me to a perfect match, and after a phone conversation that lasted hours, I knew I had found them. Visits, medical exams, and paperwork followed, but then the pandemic paused everything. Fertility treatments halted, and uncertainty loomed.
Finally, clinics reopened, and I began the medication protocol once more. Appointments were masked and restricted, but the pregnancy has been smooth. It hasn’t been what I envisioned—balancing pregnancy, work, and homeschooling during a pandemic is no small feat—but the journey is as extraordinary as ever.
Surrogacy is a road with hills and valleys, smooth stretches and rough patches, yet it leads to something magical. For me, this will be my last journey, and I am grateful beyond words. I am honored to have carried these babies and watched their families blossom. No matter how families are made, love remains the most important part.
