Our surrogate mother might take my baby and husband

I became pregnant for the seventh time and observed every little detail the doctor had told me to.

I was neither overworking nor stressing. My husband was very supportive, but just like the past six pregnancies, at the end of the first trimester, I miscarried. If you have never miscarried, you might think it is just some loss of blood or fetus. No, my dear!  It is a loss of a life so dearly-loved and eagerly- waited for. I cried lakes and rivers, and as usual, the world blamed me.

“She is too soft. She is a witch. She is…” all kinds of insults were hurled at me.

After watching an internet video clip about surrogacy, I thought about it and decided to give it a try. I convinced my husband to undergo the procedure of giving his sperm cells to the fertility department in the hospital.

I looked for a healthy and strong young lady who accepted to carry my pregnancy at a price. We went through the legal procedure of our respective rights. She was not supposed to bond with the baby, whatsoever, when he is born.

She was never going to claim to be the parent of my baby. She only had to be paid a certain amount she was comfortable with. Even then, all the upkeep and medical bills were to be paid by us. We were not supposed to know the surrogate mother’s name and neither would she know our own because the deal was for a few months. We used pseudonyms for the mission.

I felt happy that I was finally going to have my own baby. My ovum was planted into her uterus. It was my husband’s reproductive cell that fertilized the ovum. We were all set, and yes; she carried the baby.

At seven months when she was heavily pregnant, she caught a fever. This made us run around like headless chicken. My husband and I badly wanted this baby, and he was growing perfectly; a cute little boy whom we monitored through ultrasound.

I did everything I could to take care of Lady X because her health meant the baby’s health. I rented a nice house for her, paid a live-in housekeeper and checked on her every morning and evening. I spoke to the baby under the doctor’s instructions. He said this would help the baby get familiar with my voice.

But when Lady X was down with malaria, my husband got closer to her in a very uncomfortable way, at least to me. At first, I thought he was caring because of the baby.

Later on, however, I started seeing a man who was taking care of his own pregnant wife. I had to calm down because there was a lot at stake. While I returned from work one day, I passed by to check on Lady X.

I had also brought the fruits she told me she was craving. I had left work earlier than usual because my palpitations were high and I thought I might go into a high blood pressure attack. I saw my husband’s car parked at the house and I knew my intuition had not lied to me.

I drew closer to the house and there he was; sitting around the dining table with Lady X. There was a bottle of Club beer with which she occasionally filled his glass.

“You and I will keep the baby. When you give birth, we will go away to some other country. I will figure it out,” my husband promised her.

I thought about my son and decided to be calm. I did not knock to disturb their peace. I went back home and waited for him. He returned beyond midnight.
“Did you hear from Lady X today?” I asked him.
“No, not at all. Is she alright?” he replied.

I am so mad, but I need my child and I have a plan. The moment she gives birth, I will take off with him. I am beginning to lay the strategy NOW.