Scenes From My Surrogacies: A Memoir in the Making

I laid her down on top of my legs while I adjusted my bra and gown, pushing both aside so she could easily access my breast. It took us a few times to get a good latch, but within a couple of minutes I could hear the sound that brought a wide smile to my face – swallowing. She was nursing, and nursing successfully – even though this was only our second time at it, she knew exactly what to do.

She not only seemed very competent at what she was doing, she seemed very comfortable as well. Even at only a few hours old, I felt she had an innate sense of our relationship – her job was to latch and suck, and my job was to provide her food. It distilled the whole concept of breastfeeding down to its essence – a nutritional delivery device, not unlike a wet nurse from an earlier era. I knew our nursing couplehood would be brief, and perhaps that’s why I enjoyed it so much. There was no real stress, very little responsibility, and no worries – she could take a bottle at any time since she’d switch over to bottles as soon as she left the hospital. Since I wasn’t vested in bringing in a big milk supply anyway, I couldn’t fail at this, and that idea was one of the most liberating I’d felt yet in my years of childbearing and parenting.