Tuesday, September 23, 2014

At least strangers aren't touching me.

One thing I don't think I'll ever understand is the strong desire for strangers to go up to pregnant women and touch their stomachs.

What the hell?

When we saw our surrogate at 20 weeks, it was amazing to see her belly. Our baby was inside of that belly! So surreal!

And even though it was MY little one inside of her stomach, I asked for permission to touch her belly. I mean, if someone was going to touch me, I'd like a little warning.

In what universe does it feel normal to walk up to someone YOU'VE NEVER MET BEFORE and rub your grubby hands on their baby bumps? I’m not sure how or when it became acceptable to just walk up to a stranger and touch them; in fact, I’m pretty sure if someone came up to me and touched me – ANYWHERE – I would not be cool.

Obviously not being pregnant, I haven’t had to deal with stranger touching.

What I have encountered is just plain curiosity…in the form of comments and questions regarding our “situation”.

Some are worth sharing...


"Did your husband and your surrogate…you know.." (insert creepy wink-wink)

Um, no.


Doctor: "You know, I just don't know how a woman can carry a child all that time and just give it up like that."

Said to our surrogate by her doctor RIGHT IN FRONT OF US.

Hey kook pot, I can hear you!

Can they take medical licenses away for asinine comments?

(I swear, our surrogate is not keeping our baby. We're kind of holding her to that :)


“So…do you know what you’re having? Did you get to pick the gender?”

It wasn’t like selecting a piece of candy out of the bin ("Let's get the blue one!"). 

It was science and random, just like everyone else who had babies.


This conversation was had with my lovable 93-year old Grandmother who – God love her – is just trying to understand how this whole situation works. Because back in her day, well, you might not have known you were pregnant until a baby just popped right out of you. You could have been in the grocery store when it happened.

Gram: "So I have a question. Did they take Rob's…um…his…"

Oh man, tell me this conversation isn't happening. Duckies and rainbows! Duckies and rainbows!

Gram: "…did they take his…um, his genes…" (PHEW!) "…and then mix it with yours?"

Yep. Just like making a cake.


The setting for this one was the IVF clinic as I filled out paperwork before a procedure that was filled with a zillion questions.

KK: “They want to know if I’ve had sex with monkeys.”

MR. KK: “There’s no way they're asking you that.”

KK: “Well, not in those exact words, no. But more or less."

KK: (a minute later) "Do you think people who DID have sex with monkeys admit it on this form? I mean, that seems like information you might want to keep to yourself, no?”

(And the answer is no, I've never had sex with monkeys.)

But I LOVE getting asked all of the questions, because it allows me to talk about something that is so exciting! 

We’ve had our lips zipped about this whole process for almost 6 years – SIX YEARS PEOPLE – not talking to anyone about anything. We are two awesome secret-keepers.

So my advice would be to ask away. I’m a pretty straight-forward person; so if you ask me a question that’s a little too wacky, I’ll tell you. 

But for the most part, we want to share our journey with you. It’s been long and painful and happy and sad and filled with uncertainty and wonderfulness…all at the same time.

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