Being asked, ‘Is he yours?’ after gestational surrogacy

“Is he yours?”

This is what a random stranger said to me while I was out attempting to trick-or-treat with my one month old son, who was dressed as a fox. I told my friends my “costume” that year was a zombie or maybe a mom-bie. Determined to start making memories, I was a sleep deprived mom of a newborn brave enough to attempt trick-or-treating during his literal witching hour. 

I had to pause and take a deep breath before I gritted my teeth and responded—yes, of course, this cutie was my baby. 

What she was really commenting on was my appearance. My body. I saw her eyes quickly dart from me to the stroller as she commented on how much weight I’d lost. I didn’t have the stereotypical physique of a postpartum mom because I didn’t have the opportunity to grow him in my uterus. 

One month earlier I was in Norman, Oklahoma where my amazing gestational surrogate gave birth to my son. A year ago, I signed a 61-page contract known as a “gestational carrier agreement,” after consulting with family lawyers, my surrogacy agency, my fertility clinic, my financial advisors and my family. Two years ago I was sorting out which medications, at what quantity, I would start when for my upcoming round of IVF. And for many years prior to that, I had dreamed of taking my future child trick-or-treating. I longed for these wholesome family outings. 

And now that I finally was actualizing my dream, here was this woman questioning me. Of course, she didn’t mean it to be harmful or triggering. She had no idea about my path to parenthood. But that’s the point. Our society has conditioned us so deeply to think about parenthood in one way that we don’t even question our biases. We don’t stop to think before we speak. We’ve heard these pleas before, but here I am asking you once again to please: 

Stop asking people when they’re going to have kids. 

Stop asking people if they are pregnant. 

Stop asking people if the child with them is theirs. 

I knew about the whispers and questions people had when I announced that my husband and I were expecting via gestational surrogacy, but I was so focused on getting him here, into my arms, I didn’t think ahead to the judgements and assumptions that might come afterward. 

A year after the “is he yours?” incident, a teacher at daycare made a passing comment. My son was running around during pick up and I was chasing after him. She said something along the lines of “Be nice to your mom! After all, she gave birth to you.” It stopped me in my tracks once again. No, I didn’t give birth to my son but, yes, he should still be nice and listen to me. The two statements should not be intertwined. 

Today, my son is almost two years old and I’m a proud mother via gestational surrogacy. I’ve grown in my confidence to advocate for inclusive parenthood journeys—in the workplace, in mom groups, in brand marketing efforts and in society at large. 

The journey to motherhood doesn’t look the same for everyone and it’s not fair to assume that it is. We can’t control what other people say, but we can work together to create intentional change toward inclusive vocabulary, policies and support systems.