It’s 11:30 p.m. on a Thursday night. I’ve just gotten home from dropping off my oldest daughter Emma at a midnight movie premiere of Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland. Months before the movie was due to be released, I had promised my 16-year old that she and her good friend Tresier – both of them huge Tim Burton fans — could go see the movie on opening night. As it turned out, it’s opening on a school night. But a promise is a promise, and so I’m back home waiting until 2 a.m. to pick them up. Normally I’m a pretty strict parent, but this one time I’m going to let her skip school tomorrow.

So as I brew some coffee and attempt to stay awake another two hours, I’ve got some very quiet time to reflect on my current parenting role. And the role I’m going to miss out on with the child currently taking up more and more space inside Michelle. When this little one is Emma’s age, someone else — our IPs Barb and Michelle — will be the ones keeping the promise to let them stay out late. (Probably to view the latest in the Harry Potter saga, number 24 when middle aged Harry and his wizard friends do battle with the greatest enemy of all – the Dreaded Curse of Male Pattern Baldness!)

As the weeks go by, and Michelle’s due date actually starts to come within view, I’ll be spending more time reflecting on just how … different….this journey has been. This experience has been a lot of things so far.

Rewarding. Fascinating. Fulfilling.

But it’s also been strange. Foreign. Awkward at times. And sometimes just flat out weird. Even a feeling of emptiness at what — or in this case — does not lie ahead.

Now that’s something I did not expect.

From my vantage point, it’s been almost all positive. Course I’m not the one gobbling up Tums like they’re M&Ms, or having my internal organs used for soccer practice during all hours of the day and night. But now I find myself noticing how different things are going to be with this pregnancy, especially the final act. Most of all the differences in my own thinking. 

Sixteen years ago I was watching Michelle’s belly swell up at about the same rate as my worries and headaches. ‘Holy shit,’ I remember thinking, ‘My pretty much carefree life as I know it is over. (There’s a shocking GuestWomb entry to come on this topic. Brace yourself kids – but you were pretty much all your Mom’s idea. Sorry to break it to you)

While I might not have been ready for this change, I certainly didn’t shrink from my responsiblities then or now. And that’s what it really meant to me:  Life was to be all about the responsibilities.

Focusing on keeping the roof over our heads, the wife and kid (and soon to be kids) clothed and fed. Praying that everyone stayed healthy through doctor appointments. Nursery school and kindergarten. Braces. And on and on. Saving for college. Paying for weddings. A lot of it was panicky headtrash that seemed overwhelming at the time.

And yet all the responsibility for the little soul currently in residence somewhere east of Michelle’s spleen lies elsewhere. It’s Barb and Michelle, the IPs, that will assume all the burden and more.  They’ll be the ones shaking their heads at how expensive 5 years of braces can be. They’ll be worrying about making sure their boy gets into Honors Classes to make a better impression on college admissions committees.

They’ll be the ones waiting up until 2 a.m. like I am tonight.

Am I going to miss that? Maybe so. Because while Michelle takes the credit for prodding me into becoming a family man, being a parent has been the most rewarding part of my life.  Even those daunting responsibilities that caused sleepless nights so many years ago bring only a smile to my face.

I knew this journey was going to be full of surprises. But here’s one that I really didn’t expect: I’ve found a new guilty pleasure.

It’s keeping score of the blog. In other words, watching the trickle of folks come and go into the site. This blog is created in WordPress and they’ve got a pretty nifty dashboard that lets me see all kinds of stats and numbers. I go up there 3-4 times a day to view the scoreboard.

Which is pretty silly because the traffic is more like a two lane dirt road in the middle of Nevada than a street scene in midtown Manhattan. But it’s slowly growing.

The charts go from just a couple of people wandering in. Then some more. And a few more. And now it’s a pretty steady stream everyday. My traffic. My audience. And it’s nice to know that my words are becoming a part of a few people’s day.

Most of the people who come upon this place are because of my participation in others’ blogs, adding comments or messages with my web link. But more than a few have literally stumbled upon this place by doing Google searches. WordPress actually records what search term people are using to click into GuestWomb. So this abridged list below are actual search terms from Google that brought people to my site:

• Guest Womb. GuestWomb. Guestwomb.com Yep. This must be my Mom, forgetting the name of the site.
• Gestational Surrogacy. Surrogacy. Sure, all those make sense.
• Tila Tequilla. Tila Pregnant. Tila Tequilla Smoking Yeah, those Tila updates have been popular.
• Embarrassing Facebook Pictures. Hm.
• Mexican Mowing Lawn. What?
• Dallas Cowboy cheerleader, courtney
• Surrogacy Horror Stories. Horror Stories of Surrogacy. Well, hopefully not.
• Funny Man Mowing Grass Images.
• Electromicroscope.
• “Bobs Mail Order” sample. Scratching head.
• Baseball Throwing Yips
• It is illegal to paint sparrows to sell. I should hope so.
• Michigan law wife’s hair. Uh, ok. I hope they found what they needed on GuestWomb.
• Bear stained glass.
• Scariest Roller Coaster. Well, maybe.
• Lollipops banned in washington state
• Oldest Dallas cowboys cheerleader girl. Would that be Courtney?
• Virginia law tickle woman
• Pimp suit
• Paris Hilton baby photo. Oh please God no.
• Misdeeds. You’ve come to the right place.
• Ted Kaczynski timeline.
• Illegal fishbowl on bus

And I’m not making this up:

• Baby pic with big dick.

Stealing a line from a famous internet author:

Yep, these are my readers.

The fact of the matter is — we can see the finish line. Yeah, it’s still 13 weeks off, but the days are flying by. (Well, they are for me. Michelle might have a slightly different take).

I’ve always been the kind of person who looks downstream, straining to see what’s around the next bend. Is it rapids? Is it a long slow shallow. Or is that faint yet growing roar going to Niagra Falls!

My eyes stray to the horizon not because I’m bored or unhappy with where I’m at. It’s usually just the opposite, as it is now. Michelle’s journey has been rewarding in a surprising number of ways and we’ve focused on making the most of this challenge. Dare I say I’ll be sad when it’s over? Maybe.

No, I just like to know what’s next — and what are my options?  I’m a world-class ‘muller’, and you can usually find me sifting dozens of things over in my noggin in the background.

In fact, let’s take a current inventory of the things that are churning in the sub-routines of my mind while most of my brain is engaged elsewhere:

I know I can lose that 25 lbs. and do an old guys basketball league next fall….like I’ve vowed to do the last 10 years. (Back when it was 10 lbs. and it was a not-so-old league).

If I move my spatula fast enough, could I really make scrambled eggs on the BBQ?

That useless dog. Why can’t I train him to run out and get the newspaper in the morning? Yeah, if the paper came wrapped in bacon.

And why are all my subconscious thoughts revolving around FOOD in some way? Stupid company weight loss challenge.

In fact about the only non-food related thought crossed my mind lately is this: What come after GuestWomb.com? When all the contracting-pushing-beathing-screaming-it’s-a-baby-boy-crying is all through…. what’s next?

Do I really try to package this amazing story into a book? Backfill it with more content from the IPs — which we haven’t explored in any detail here. Add back in all the really juicy content that would make a book sales zoom. (WAS TIGER WOODS REALLY THE FATHER?!?!) Find an editor who could hold his/her nose and really whip it into shape? And then trawl for a publisher who might want to take a risk on a promising, not so young writer?

Or am I content to simply leave this wonderful tale on this cyber platform, add any postscripts this summer that might give it closer and then just let it float in the ether.

The one thing I’m sure won’t happen after GuestWomb — to become a fulltime surrogacy commentator. I’ve encountered some simply amazing people in the blogosphere who have made surrogacy issues practically their life’s work. My hat is off to them — they’re performing a great service to those wanting to explore this world. But when this kid is safely launched into the world….I’m done with this topic.

As you can tell on your first glance at GuestWomb, this blog is ANYTHING but a ‘how-to’ guide to this journey. It’s much more of a “OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT HAS SHE GONE AND DONE PLEASE HELP ME” kind of narrative.

Or will THIS blog spur me on to write something that doesn’t involve Michelle’s private parts. Maybe even blogs that go something like this.

I don’t know just yet. But if you see a faraway look in my eyes during a meeting — or heaven forbid during tomorrow morning’s rush hour — you’ll know that I’ll be thinking about the possibilities.

Or pondering this eternal question:

What doesn’t go well with bacon?

GuestWomb will try to take credit for this, too.

In the very best tradition of Steven Colbert: Score one for GuestWomb!

Lawmakers in the state of Washington have succumbed to the pressure of humiliation and scorn, arising from their recent lampooning in GuestWomb.com:

State House says paid surrogacy should be legal

Women in Washington should be allowed to collect money for becoming surrogate mothers, the state House decided Monday.

By BRIAN EVERSTINE

The Associated Press

My wife said she looked long and hard to come up with just the right Valentine’s message this year. Something like:

I love it that you’re letting me have another man’s baby.

Unfortunately Hallmark doesn’t seem to stock that theme…

Emma
So now that Mom has only two months to go, I’m a little less weirded out by her pregnancy. Maybe it’s because soon it will be over or something. What about you?

Sara
i think shes transformed into a beautiful butterfly….with the baby in all…

Emma
sara seriously

Sara
hahaha she doesnt act pregneant, well except the excessive crying, she still shovels snow and takes a hammer to knock off tile for the bathroom to redone and such.

she reaaaally shouldnt do that

Emma
Yeah, putting extra stress on herself and the baby is probably not good. But what about now that she’s showing?

Sara
what about it?

Emma
well, the whole baby kicking thing is so freaky!! I never really thought about the baby so much as mom just going through the pregnancy, but now that you can actually feel it, it’s much more real.

Sara
agreed, i dont think of it as weird..

Emma
Why not?

Sara
i actually support her through this, and so at the beggining i thought this was another one of her little imaginations that would never go through, but its really happening and i dont even think of this as uncommon how bout you?

Emma
I still think it’s a little strange. I mean, I’ll say to my friends something about mom being pregnant, they say, “Congrats!” and then I tell them its not hers, and a lot of them dont get it.

Sara
a lot of people dont get it

i have to explain from Baby Mama (the movie)

Emma
haha same!

This could have been me.

I so love Michelle’s hardy pioneer woman spirit that I’ve chronicled before right here.

But sometimes…it drives me batshit crazy. Especially this week during our Snowmageddon event that dumped about three feet of snow in our Bucks County backyard.

So here’s the story. It was day two of this epic snow event, and our regular snow plow guy had failed to show up to take care of our driveway. To folks who have seen our place, you know this isn’t the kind of driveway that can be cleared in an hour or two of hard shoveling. It’s wraps around our house in a U shape, angling down from the main road at an incline of about 15 percent. All told about 150 yards long from end to end.

We called a CraigsList ad to find another guy who could push the snow off, and while we waited for him to show up,  I went outside to start digging our way out of the house. I had implored Michelle to stay inside and take it easy. She assured me that she was fine, and she’d just do a little bit to picking away at the snow near our mailbox. I just shook my head and shrugged.

Michelle being Michelle. After 18 years of marriage, I knew there was no hope of stopping her.

As I learned later, Michelle was chipping away at the snow when a snowplow crew in a big rig drove by slowly. “You need some help?”, they shouted to her. Michelle gave them the thumbs up and they turned into the drive. As she negotiated a price, she just happened to mention she was seven months pregnant and couldn’t do all the driveway.

I can imagine the shock on their faces at hearing this news, and the team quickly put their rig into gear and attacked the snow, roaring down the driveway with their blade smashing the mountain of icy stuff into submission.

Meanwhile….at the bottom of the driveway, I was sitting down and taking a short rest, tired out from spending a half hour trying to dig out our cars from the avalanche.

As the snow plow gang came barreling around the corner they spotted me sitting on the car bumper. And they let me have it:

“Dude, why are you letting your pregnant wife shovel snow!”

“Man I would NEVER let my 7 month pregnant wife lift a shovel!”

And a few more even more rude statements.

I manage to sputter a few words to my defense but it was no use. My protests fell on deaf ears as they plowed and scowled at me.

Plowed and scowled.

So while I may be a supportive husband, loving father and all around decent guy to most folks…I am the worst person in the world to three mouthy snow plow guys.

And so begins the most politically incorrect — possibly borderline rude — post to make onto Guestwomb.com thus far.

At least I hope so. I’ve typed out other, even more controversial posts intended for this space. Here were a few of the working titles/topics:

Baby, Space Alien or Human Turducken? You make the call.

Back to the bargaining table? Michelle’s surrogacy fee didn’t cover MY pain, suffering and sacrifice,and how am I gonna cover the hookers, ‘blow and bail money for those last few weeks of her pregnancy when I’m in Vegas?

19 Bizarre Habits of Pregnant Women, and the Men Who Start A Secret Blog In Order to Write Rude Insensitive Comments About Them.

“I have NO idea who the father is? It could be one of a dozen guys….” – rib-splittingly funny ways to shock complete strangers about Michelle’s pregnancy.

Sadly Michelle, the official blog censor, squashed each and every one of them.  She’s just not a good sport about such things.

But I digress:

This post concerns one of the two most sensitive topics to every woman on the globe. Age is one of them, but I’m not going there. (Yet.)

A lady’s weight is the other. I think every man knows these are quicksand topic areas, and should do his best to avoid discussing at all costs. But am I just any guy? No. Way. 

I just have to weigh in here, truly awful pun intended. First let’s set the record straight: By all apparent and not so apparent signs, Michelle is having a normal, healthy pregnancy. The alien baby is growing right on schedule, already 12 inches long, well over 2 lbs himself, all signs good. Thumbs up, everything AOK.

And outwardly things look…well normal. I’d like to phrase this next part most delicately: As she’s now just starting on month 7 of this pregnancy, Michelle is beyond just ‘glowing’, and having that cute little ‘baby bump’ that everyone talks about.

So let’s speak the plain truth. She is now…ripe.

Bountiful.  Abundant. Temporarily Zaftig.

Parentally Plump. She’s a SBABW — Semi-Big All Beautiful Woman.

Michelle has a bun — plus three cupcakes, a prune Danish and quite possibly a bundt cake — in her oven.

I think I’ve made my point here. There is roundness which cannot be denied.

Enter the magic.  Our truly magical bathroom scale. Because despite all outward evidence to the contrary, our trusty scale has only moved a couple of pounds north for her. In fact less than five. FIVE POUNDS?!?!

Each time she exits the bathroom and proudly announces her weighty findings I paste a happy smile my face and utter something profoundly supportive such as:

“Oh, no way in hell,” or something else endearing.

And yet I’ve seen it for my own eyes. It’s truly magical. Maybe even a miracle. I’m wondering if her wet foot prints are somehow forming the silhouette of Mary and Jesus when she stands on the scale pads, and that could be a contributing factor.

Michelle has her own theories, some of which she’ll allow me to share with this blog. “Every pregnancy is different,” she maintains. As for her…uh…measurements, that is very true.

With our oldest Emma, M gained a grand total of 45 lbs. With our youngest Sara, that number was down to 19. I’m thinking that the way these numbers are trending, she could launch her own diet plan empire.

I mean if Taco Bell and Subway can really market their crap as being part of a healthy weight loss plan, would it be so crazy to make this claim:

Surrogate Away Those Unwanted Pounds! Michelle’s “Have a Kid and Lose The Weight” plan — Guaranteed results in 9 months!

As for me I’ll go with the magic theory. And hope that a little her witchcraft and sorcery can rub off onto my OWN weight struggles.

(Writer’s note — let it be known that Michelle did listen to me read this draft and approve of its posting. The fact that she was barely awake as she listened has nothing to do with her approval.)

Guilt. Such a powerful force, especially for a kid who grew up in an Episcopal/Catholic family. The Jews might think they corner the market on this particular emotion, but be assured that we WASPs have our own potent brew of remorse du jour. More persistent than gravity, guilt is like a tsunami of emotions rolling up most everybody in its path.  

But not everyone. Some foks can shrug it off and not let guilt affect them. That’s not me. My well developed ability to react to it was passed down through my genes I’m afraid. It’s both a blessing and a curse for me. Guilt — or the avoidance of it – is what makes me get up at 5 a.m. to make sure the kids’ lunches are packed, dog and cat fed, fire started in the fireplace, coffee brewed, breakfasts on the way — all while Michelle gets in the last of her daily 11 hours of sleep. (just kidding).

Most people experience most of their guilt in a ‘oh, why did I do that’ regret. I express it as a ‘if I don’t do this/that I’m going to feel guilty’ reverse (or is that perverse?) kind of way. It’s a powerful motivator for me. Maybe I get guilt confused with having a sense of duty or purpose, but the result is the same.  I feel lousy if I don’t get thing done. 

It’s also what puts those knots in my stomach when I realize I’ve forgotten to do this, or call that person.

Or to blog. Yeah, really. I feel guilty about taking the time to do my daily keystrokes.

And that’s pretty silly. For one thing, it’s not like I’m sitting around on my ass watching TV in my off hours. This New Year has been chock full of a heavy load of work, helping my kids do massive homework projects, and finding many hours eaten up after being voted onto the board of directors for a local non profit charity.

The other ridiculous part of my Blog-guilt: It’s not like  my audience of 23 people and 411,232 spambots are waiting with baited breath for my next profound offerings.

And yet still I feel that nagging sensation each time I see an open date on the calendar on the GuestWomb dashboard without an entry.

Let’s see if I can do better. Can’t let down all those spambots just itching to crawl all over this site.

Another in a series of silly surrogacy laws.

From the Pacific Northwest, where people don’t tan…they rust (rim shot) I bring you the laws of the land in the great state of Washington:

It is illegal to paint polka dots on the American flag

All lollipops are banned.

X-rays may not be used to fit shoes.

A law to reduce crime states: “It is mandatory for a motorist with criminal intentions to stop at the city limits and telephone the chief of police as he is entering the town.

One may not spit on a bus.

In Seattle, they are getting REALLY tough on crime because: You may not carry a concealed weapon that is over six feet in length.

And the Emerald City is strict in other ways too: Women who sit on men’s laps on buses or trains without placing a pillow between them face an automatic six-month jail term.

No one may set fire to another person’s property without prior permission.

It is illegal to carry a fishbowl or aquarium onto a bus because the sound of the water sloshing may disturb other passengers.

Meanwhile, the city of Everrett declares that it’s illegal to display a hypnotized or allegedly hypnotized person in a store window.

And finally in the metropolis of Wilbur, the city father’s have declared: You may not ride an ugly horse.

Ugly is a good way to describe the Evergreen’s state’s stance on surrogacy contracts. The law prohibits surrogacy contracts for compensation over and above medical expenses as against public policy. No person (including lawyers, agencies or organizations) may enter into, induce, procure or otherwise assist in the formation of a surrogacy contract for compensation.

Any person or agency who intentionally violates this provision is guilty of a gross misdemeanor.