Something funny happened today — I thought to myself: Gee, it’s a good thing we have a surro-thing to do today so at least something feels normal. In its own context, and because of my own exhaustion, I find it pretty amusing that I took some small comfort in our surrogacy journey as being a source of stability. Pre-pregnancy was anything but reliable. Pregnancies with my best girl, though? Yawn. Regular as Raisin Bran.

This happened (referring to surrogacy as the ‘quiet usual’) because life in our tiny corner of everything has been nothing short of whelmingly chaotic; not over- or underwhelming, just whelming. We walked in from a 24 hour road trip back from vacation to this:

Not ideal. A toilet leak upstairs made a real mess of our kitchen ceiling so we had to call water event mitigation specialists (aka guys with fans) and move into a hotel for at least the next day or two while things dry out and likely longer while our kitchen is put back together because there is a gaping hole where the ceiling used to be and our light fixtures have been removed…

Have you ever heard of the X Games??! In short, it’s a bunch of kids (in age or at heart) riding bikes and boards and struggling to keep health insurance; they take extreme risks for money and bragging rights. They’re super cool to watch. They’re not super cool when you need to book a hotel room while they are in town. Minneapolis is just about completely sold out of hotel rooms this week on account of the 2018 X Games going down at US Bank stadium this week.

So we’ve had lots of transition and our kids are a little out of sorts, but only verbally, really. They aren’t acting any differently than their baselines, but the 5 year old reminds me daily that “we are out of sorts, Dad.” But really they’re not. They are suckers for hotels and pools so this is like winning the lottery for them. I’m going to have a rough time topping a trip to the beach that gets immediately followed by living in a hotel for awhile.

Anywho, all of that craziness makes anything surro-esque feel familiar. That’s weird to say, but right now, any kind of normalcy is welcome; even the weird sort.

Trimester 1 is somehow done and this delinquent blogger was, well… delinquent.

Believe it or not, I have a life outside of this blog and being the baddest surro-hub ever. I know, breathe. The shock will pass just like the heart palpitations.

Anyway — trimester two. At this point, surrogacy looks and feels (from everyone’s perspective) an awful lot like regular old pregnancy; just an ordinary miracle at this point. Nothing to see here, folks; move along, move along.

I feel awful for my wife, I do. Here we are on vacation in South Carolina with some of both of our favorite cuisines available in the abundant barbecue options and she can hardly choke down a Chobani yogurt drink. We go through a sad routine of her getting super excited about the next meal, only to stab a forkful and siiiiiiiggghhh… and slide the plate over to me or the kids. This is sad for me. My wife and I love food. If you’re thinking you might love food more than either of us, you’re wrong. But not just any food. Good food. Authentic food. Sometimes “authentic” means “an authentic medium McDonald’s fry” but that’s a rare exception. Usually it translates to “we spend lots of time perfecting things at home so they taste like they do where we ate them” or, if it’s just too lofty, we respect the fact that some foods are beyond the level of effort/expense/time/etc. that we can reasonably manage so we don’t try. Like really good churros made in the Mission District in San Fran. Or an exceptional smash burger, the variety, not the chain. Another great example is hibachi — we can do it at home, but we don’t because mess and that huge grill we wont use for enough other things. You get it.

In SC, the barbecue fits this bill perfectly. These are grandma’s grandma’s recipes and things my wife usually powers through with incredible efficiency. This trip? Siiiiiggghh… *pass*. It’s tragic. I’m mourning for her while I enjoy my pulled pork and collard greens like a champ. Hey, sympathy preggo-queasiness is not a thing. Sorry, not sorry, babe. This is definitely a “forgiveness over permission” situation. She’ll recover. Someday.

South Carolina is one of our favorite places. Every time we’re here, we experience something new. There’s always new food, activities, poolside antics, etc.

Our “first” this time? Feeling baby squish move.