I live in Austin, Texas, with my husband and our two kids, a five-year-old and a two-year-old. My journey toward becoming a surrogate didn’t just happen overnight. It actually started years ago, long before I had children of my own. A close friend of mine struggled with infertility for over a decade. I remember watching her pain, year after year, and one day, half-joking but fully sincere, I told her, “If you can’t have a baby, I’ll carry one for you.” At the time, it was just words. She finally conceived on her own after eleven long years, but the thought of surrogacy never left me. It stayed tucked in the back of my mind.
When I got pregnant with my daughter, it was a complete shock. I was careful with my birth control, so it felt impossible, yet there it was a positive test. The doctors labeled me “high risk” because I was overweight and had hypertension, but the pregnancy turned out smoother than I could have dreamed. A healthy, full-term baby girl. At that time, though, I figured surrogacy was off the table. I was a size 24, and that didn’t exactly fit the picture of a candidate agencies would accept.
That’s when I made the choice that would change my life: weight loss surgery. My daughter was just over a year old. The surgery worked better than I imagined I lost 130 pounds. Suddenly, my body felt different. Stronger. Healthier. Within four months, I was pregnant again, this time with my son. I couldn’t help but recognize how lucky I was. No IVF. No miscarriages. No gestational diabetes. Two healthy full-term pregnancies. I realized then that what I took for granted was something many women prayed for and never received.
By the time my son was born, my husband and I were done building our family. I had my tubes tied, and he had a vasectomy. But the desire to help someone else have children was still alive. During my second pregnancy, I quietly started poking around online joining surrogacy groups, asking agencies small questions. I had to wait six months postpartum before applying, and I worried I’d be rejected because of my past hypertension or weight loss surgery. To my surprise, none of it disqualified me. When I got the approval email, I cried. It suddenly became real.
Finishing breastfeeding my son was the next step. We made it to seven months, but I felt a tug in my heart to stop so I could move forward. Once my cycle returned, I began the medical screening process. In my agency interview, I made one thing clear: I wanted to help a married same sex couple. My heart was set on it. As a mother, I wanted my children to grow up seeing love and family in all its forms, and this felt like my way of contributing.
I was given several family profiles to read, and I connected with a couple from Washington, DC, who had experienced loss with a previous surrogate. Reading about their story, seeing their faces, it was humbling. These were real people dreaming of becoming parents. Surrogacy isn’t casual. It’s an emotional, expensive, and long road. Every baby born through it is so deeply wanted.
The process was intense, medical tests, psychological evaluations, contracts that spelled out every detail. At times, I wondered if I was strong enough for the responsibility. But my husband stood by me the whole way, and in October 2020, we flew to DC to meet the intended parents in person. Sitting across the dinner table from them, talking for hours, I felt at peace. They were the right match.
IVF was next. The shots weren’t easy, the pills even harder on my body. Still, the transfer went smoothly. A tiny embryo, the size of a poppy seed, was placed inside me. Four days later, I couldn’t resist testing. That faint line on the pregnancy test made my heart race, it worked. Soon after, blood tests confirmed it. I was pregnant with their baby boy.
The pregnancy itself went well. Because of COVID, the dads couldn’t attend appointments, but we FaceTimed for ultrasounds. I sent bump pictures and even videos of kicks. They included me in their virtual baby shower. It felt like we were on this journey together, even from miles apart.
Finally, in June 2021, it was time for the C-section. Hospital rules were strict, but because our situation touched so many hearts, both dads and my husband were allowed in the operating room. The moment their son was born, they held him close. Seeing their joy, it’s something I’ll never forget.
Baby Andrew went home just a few days later. I kept pumping milk for him for months, and we stayed in touch. Watching him grow from afar filled me with pride.
People sometimes ask if it was hard to “give him up.” My answer is simple: he was never mine to give. I was just his home for nine months. He had parents waiting for him, and I was honored to help bring him there.
Would I do it again? Without hesitation. It was hard, yes, but beautiful in every sense. Surrogacy taught me the power of selflessness and the many ways families can be built. To this day, I feel grateful I had the chance to help create one.
