My Surrogacy Story: Chapter 1, They are Born.

on November 3, 2012

This story has a happy ending.

In fact, it has two happy endings.  Meet Owen and Noah, my two sons.

Owen and Noah were born in Mumbai, India through surrogacy arranged by our agent Gaurav, and a very smart and efficient team of doctors and lawyers.

This is a long story, so I’m going to tell it one step at a time… and punctuate it with lots of photos.  I’m not always a great writer, but I’m pretty good with a camera when tasked.

But let’s start for the moment at the end…  These are my sons.  How odd it feels to say that!  I have sons.  Two of them.

Noah & Owen: Surrogate Babies

Noah & Owen: Surrogate Babies

Noah is loud and boisterous, and his cries are gutteral like marbles in a blender.  When he cries the walls shake – and he cries whenever he wants anything.  He is just like his father, never is shy about letting you know when something is not-quite-right.  He’s also heavy, and would be a great rugby player some day (if he were not already destined to be President).

Owen is stoic, if babies can be stoic.  He was expected late, but arrived early.  As a result he and his brother share a birthday.  On Owen’s strongest day his cry sounds like a small cat giving birth.  Not loud, but shrill and requiring great effort.  Fortunately he doesn’t cry often.  Our nanny in Mumbai predicted he would be an architect… do they offer Nobel Prizes in architecture?

Anyway, they are the two happy endings to my story.

I had spent most of my life in an office, wearing a tie, holding meetings, staring at computer monitors.  When I wasn’t working, I was playing – and I spent more than my share of nights drinking and dancing with friends around the world.  It never occurred to me that someday I might be a father.  I would have said it was impossible.

Now Noah and Owen are here and the reality is sinking in.  Only NOW is the reality sinking in.  The party that WAS my life is over, or at least has moved to a different venue.  There is still a rave happening, but it’s being held at Chucky Cheeses, not at the downtown disco.  My office has moved to the dining room table in our house in Barcelona.  No cubicles.  My only office mates are two gurgling babies, a Skype conference monitor, and a part-time nanny (who I could not live without).

I don’t wear a tie anymore.  Actually, on many days I’m lucky to be out of my pajamas before 10:00, when the boys have had their bottles and diaper changes and the nanny has them under control.

Anyway, no complaints.  Everything has changed, but somehow I don’t miss any of it.

After all, this was not something that happened over night.  Actually, we had been working on this for years.  Which is really where I should start telling the story.

To be continued


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