Caveman Circus
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I never thought I’d be the guy writing about this, but here we are. I’m 33, my wife is 28, and my ex-wife is 29. Over the past year, the two of them have become genuine, certified best friends. Not “we tolerate each other for his sake” friends. Not “we’re polite at events” friends. Actual, pickleball-league-playing, hiking-on-weekends, calling-each-other-at-1AM best friends. And I’m still trying to wrap my head around the whole thing.
Let me back up.
“Why did you decide to become a surrogate?”
“I have wanted to be a surrogate since I was 19. I live in a state where it only became legal within the last 5 years.”
In 6 days, it’ll be 2 years.
Two years of promises. Two years of “almost.” Two years of me building an entire emotional life around a future you kept telling me was right around the corner.
And meanwhile, my actual life kept moving.
I moved across the country. I built a career I’m proud of. I made a home for myself. I learned how to survive without you, even while loving you. I’m living a good life.
Alone.
Single.
Without you.
How are you inbred?
My mother was the daughter of my father. Impossible though might sound, she was not raped. From what she’s told me and what I saw myself, their relationship was loving and healthy, or as healthy as it could have been I guess.
1. My soon to be ex wife has adhd and it played a huge role in our divorce. It was like having a 3rd child, and she never made me feel like she appreciated all the work I did to make our lives work.
Day to day was rough. I did all the house chores, managed finances, ordered groceries, cooked and so on.
Look for a partner who is actually a partner. Someone who reciprocates and can think of you, do things that work for your love language even if it doesn’t come naturally to them. Someone who values your option and wants to make big decisions with you.
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I was twenty-nine, and I had never been in a relationship. That fact gnawed at me. It made me feel behind, defective somehow, like there was this whole part of life everyone else was living and I was just watching from the outside. So when she came along, I ignored every instinct that told me to run. But I wanted a relationship so badly that I shoved those red flags into the shadows and convinced myself that being with her was better than being alone.
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1. New grad here, all my offers were in the $50k range in a suburban setting. I’m currently working at an office in that range with a commission structure in place and should be closer to $100k by this time next year. It’s hard to give a range because your salary directly correlates with your work ethic. I know docs who are happy with $50k/year, I know docs who are struggling to live on $100k/year. Depends on your level of debt, COL in your area, and how hard you work for it.
For extra perspective, my student loans after school were $180k.
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It was a nothing thing. A minor sin, an indiscretion that, in the moment, seemed weightless, no more damning than a lie about traffic when arriving late for dinner. I told myself that. I told myself, too, that I was still the same man she married, the same man who laid beside her night after night, who knew the smell of her hair in every permutation—shampooed and damp, sun-warmed, slick with the oil of sleep. And yet, I did this thing.
Is it as bad as it sounds? Not denigrating you, just it sounds like tough work.
Honestly not really. After awhile you kind of get used to it, it is a dirty job but I’m paid well.
How well?
I’m paid $18 an hour to basically drive around and do five minutes of work every 10 to 20 minutes or so. I get 40 hours a week over the winter and overtime in the summer, which can hit 20 plus hours a week.
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I don’t remember a “before.”
There’s no clean break in my life where things were normal and then suddenly weren’t. My parents died in a car accident when I was just a few months old, so I never knew them. Not really. I have pictures, a few videos, fragments of who they were. But memory? Nothing. Just the absence of it.
And over time, that absence starts to feel like something you’re actively losing, like you’re forgetting people you never even got the chance to remember.
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