2010: Blog #5 – Hurry Up and Wait!

I have nothing to say.

Well, I have lots to say, actually, but nothing much regarding the reason we’re here – surrogacy.

We’re in a bit of a holding pattern. Figuratively tapping our fingers – we wait.

If all had gone according to plan, today we’d be starting our treatment. But of course it hasn’t gone to plan.  It’s India, where all goes sideways at the drop of a turban. We have a new fancy surrogate, with an even fancier fantastical name: “Pinki Baby”.  I’m sorry – but who names their kid that??

Even worse, Mark has taken to singing Santa Baby, we can’t get that blasted song out of our minds: “.. Santa baby, hurry down the chimney tonight…”

Pinki Baby has no last name either. She’s just known as Pinki Baby, or PB for short.

Which brings me to another thought. For those brainy chemists out there, you may think Lead (PB symbol); hard-core athletes envision “Personal Best” (race time – a run, marathon or triathlon); corporate types may think Pitney Bowes.. or for the more dicey minds, Playboy.  For me, however, it’s all about images of thick, chunky peanut butter.

So here I am, trying to seriously accept another human being carrying our child, and all I can think of is a big fat jolly guy dressed in red, or inch-thick waves of brown goo smothered on a door-stop hunk of German rye. It doesn’t do much for my confidence.

But I digress… back to The Wait.

We wait until her body is in synch with mine.

Really, we have to synch our cycles.. similar to when I plug my iPhone into the laptop and mesh my calendar, music and apps.  Once done, they’re all singing from the same Apple hymnbook. In this instance, it’s a Team Ovulation songbook.

We’re delayed by about a week, maybe more. Uttered in a heavy Indian accent: “What to do?!” Our flights may have to change too…

So, we wait.  Seems crazy, we have SO much time on our hands – we’re confounded. How to fill it..?!

Exercise?  Excellent idea – need to keep those little follicles in tip-top shape!

Running – no chance.  Pig-headed as I am, even I recognize I’d be a freak to attempt these roads – squashed by a bullock, clipped by a 3-wheeler, bitten by a rat.  Besides, lungs aren’t designed to filter dense pollution thick enough to be cut with last night’s Tandoori chicken dinner knife. To the rescue, Percy has a fantastic home-gym. Even better, he’s hired three “professional bowlers” (by definition, they’re always cute) to come to his home for 1:1 lessons tomorrow morning. A brush with young, raw cricket talent… yes please!  Besides, that will take up at least an hour or two of time.  I’m considering my ball-girl strategy…

While we’re waiting for Godot .. or St.Nick – actually, the chances of a sari-clad Snuffleupagus are just as good! – some images from the past few weeks (click on photo to enlarge) ..