We knew we’d been spoiled with our first journey. From finding an agency, clinic, donor, and carrier, to the medical screenings, contract negotiations, transfer, pregnancy, and birth, we never faced a bump in the road. (Apart from the desired bump.) Recognizing this, we initiated our second journey with a big buffer, taking nothing for granted. 

We also started early because we wanted a California-based carrier. When baby-making was shiny and new, we didn’t think twice about multiple trips to  Wisconsin. For round two, though, with Leila in tow, we wanted to use my parents’ house as home base and travel by car. Convenience trumped expediency. In fact, we didn’t want the pregnancy to start sooner than eight months after Leila was born, so it was in our best interest to get Circle’s matching machine underway but with a geographic constraint we knew would draw it out. 

It was largely for this reason that we didn’t continue the conversation with Sara. But not the only reason. There was also an emotional element on both sides: for her, the risk of deeper attachment; for us, a sense of greater indebtedness. We adored her, and it would have been nice to skip the get-to-know-you process with a new woman, but that would have made Sara the sole source of our offspring. We felt more comfortable dividing the credit. 

I updated our PowerPoint to reflect our newly minted status as fathers, and we had a kickoff call with Debby, our Program Coordinator at Circle. When we added the California request, she smartly clarified, “Must she be in California? Or are you more concerned with driving distance from L.A.? Because certain cities in Nevada, for example, are closer to L.A. than, say, Sacramento.” Thus, “driving distance from L.A.” became the phrase on record. 

Debby then asked if this was a preference or a requirement, a key distinction as Circle manages its master jigsaw. If IPs start with, “Ideally, our carrier would…,” their coordinator will try to separate nice-to-haves from must-haves. 

Debby asked if a one-hour flight from L.A. would be acceptable. Given that we had ample time, we chose to test our luck with driving distance only. Requirement. 

We confirmed the other requirements on file such as willing to pump and healthy diet. 

Debby continued, “Is a first-time surrogate okay or do you want someone experienced?” 

“We’re indifferent,” I replied. 

“Would you like a surrogate with her own maternity insurance, as Sara had?” 

“That would be great but not required.”

“You want a non-smoking household, correct?” 

I was shocked this was even a question. Then silently wondered, Is a smoking household cheaper?

The tone of this call was entirely different from our first matching call 14 months earlier. I’d been nervous for that one. Circle had described it as an “info gathering meeting,” but I knew it doubled as an interview. We had to be presentable. Matchable. I spent the hour leading up to it in a flurry of OCD preparation: I elevated my laptop on a stack of books; I cleared the background of any clutter; I made Paolo shave; I wore nice pants that weren’t even in view; I brushed my teeth right before and logged on ten minutes early to test our
internet connection.

This time, Paolo had a castaway beard and I was in my underwear. We had confidence in the system and confidence in our reputation as affable, non-psychotic Intended Parents. 

Circle, too, had evolved in the intervening months. They made a Chinese version of their website, for example, and improved their branding. They also launched a series of virtual networking sessions to, as they wrote in the invitation, allow IPs to share ideas, ask questions, and get support from others having similar experiences. 

I joined one entitled The Relationship with Your Surrogate hosted by their Outreach Associate, Penny, a surrogacy-enabled parent herself. I signed onto Zoom expecting a large group of IPs, but it was only Penny and one other gay guy underway with his first journey. She was relieved to see the participant count double. A few minutes later, a third guy joined, also a first-timer but straight. By joining the call, he was telling us that he and his wife could not conceive (or perhaps didn’t want to for some reason), and it struck me as a commendable coming-out of sorts. I’d almost forgotten that straight people need surrogates too. They have it so easy, I’d think as we jumped through all these hoops. But our obstacles weren’t uniquely gay. Straight couples with infertility issues comprise the largest demographic of people in need of IVF, and within that group many women can’t carry. For these couples, surrogacy is a last recourse after trying intercourse—a delicate discourse, of course.

Sadly, being straight was the only thing this guy brought to the table. He and the other dude were so drab that it was like pulling teeth for Penny to get them to speak. 

My teeth, in contrast, fell right out. As the veteran IP—VIP, if you will—I took it upon myself to compensate for their reticence with enthusiastic sharing. This helped them relax, and they started sharing as well.  

As did Penny. I enjoyed hearing how she maintained contact with her surrogate over the seven years since her son was born. She advocated honesty when addressing the topic with children, and ended on a sweet note that became the sound bite of the session for me. It’s special to tell your kids about their surrogacy birth, she said, because “it teaches them early on that people help other people, and that’s a beautiful thing.” 

Four months after our first call with Debby, we asked for an update. She informed us that the California stipulation was extremely limiting: 

I looked at the data from last year, and we made  anywhere from 0 to 3 California matches each month (all of California, not just 4 to 6 hours from L.A.). From that pool, I am also taking into account your other requirements/preferences.

She asked if we were comfortable expanding the search to include Pacific and Mountain time zone states. We allowed it and let a few more weeks pass before further relaxing our requirements by adding Boston, since I had family there. 

A couple months later, we received an email with the subject line Carrier Match—two words on par with Call me in making my heart stop. The email would either be momentous like a college acceptance letter or meaningless like a Facebook request you decline. In the last section entitled NEXT STEPS, Circle wrote, “The carrier has already reviewed your profile and would like to Zoom if you feel the same.” 

We did not feel the same. The woman had a cavalier attitude towards pumping, worked a stressful job, and didn’t live driving distance from L.A.

Zero for one, as with our first journey.

At around this same time, a friend told us that his wife, a birthing counselor, had found us an L.A.-based surrogate. The dream! We texted the woman to introduce ourselves and encourage her to submit a Circle application. 

She responded, I don’t want to use an agency. My friend who’s been a surrogate 3 times told me to find my own clients. No middleman. We make more and don’t waste time with approvals. 

Oh. I see. 

It wasn’t the reply I’d expected, but after my disappointment subsided, I felt grateful—grateful to be doing surrogacy within Circle’s curated ecosystem. It was sobering to remember that our affluence insulated us from a less rosy reality, one in which women in the U.S. (and not just in poorer countries) become surrogates for money alone and not some higher calling, as Sara had done.

I texted back that we’d already committed to an agency, which was true, but the bigger truth was that we needed someone who cared about the mission. 

That wasn’t a preference; it was a requirement.