Of all the posts I’ve written about how my godchildren were born, this has been the hardest to actually write. I can’t put my finger on exactly why, but I think it has something to do with this being Wendy and Mike’s story now.
You’ve all read why I decided to donate my eggs. You’ve all read about the process. You know Wendy got pregnant. And, if you read today, you know she had two beautiful girls: Arlene and Lydia. At this point, I’m not really a part of the story. I’m just Amber: Godmother Extraordinaire.
After Wendy got pregnant, it was very easy for me to blend back into the background. It was easy for me to celebrate her pregnancy and sympathize with the aches and pains of her pregnancy. At that point, like her specialist said, “[She was] just like any other pregnant young woman.”
I went to her baby shower. I brought a gift. I helped decorate. I loved that no one really knew how Wendy got pregnant. I loved that it was normal. I loved that I got to play a secret part in the process.
I only told a few people about what was going on back then. My fiancé. My friend Tiffany, who helped by giving me shots in a Burger King bathroom. A few people at work (to whom I had to explain time off and/or who found out and offered support). My aunt. And I liked it this way. Over the years, more people have found out – my brother, my dad, my in-laws, etc. – but by that time, it was done and over with.
Two of the people who knew relatively early on were Billy and I’s best friends Bob and Missy. They are both very strong, practical, thoughtful people and I knew that I would need – from time to time – someone to lean on. It was fitting that they were with me the day I found out Wendy was giving birth.
The four of us, me, Billy, Bob and Missy, were down near Dayton when I got the phone call. Without a second thought, we continued down to Cincinnati – and met Arlene and Lydia, two of the cutest babies in the world. People often expect me to say I felt something at this point, but I didn’t. I felt joy. And love. And happiness. And relief that all was well. But nothing else. Nothing that would connect me to those two little girls.
A few months after the girls were born, at their baptism, the godfather said something to me that I’ll never forget: ‘Can you imagine giving your eggs to someone so they could have children. I’d like to thank her’. Wendy thinks the godfather was told I was the egg donor, but he didn’t remember. Or if he did, he didn’t realize I was the same Amber. Either way, it didn’t matter. The girls were Wendy and Mike’s through and through. If the story of their creation was never told, I’d be OK with that. Because it just didn’t matter.
And it still doesn’t matter. When Arlene and Lydia were babies, every once in awhile, I’d see a picture of one of them that resembled my brother. Wendy says that some of Arlene’s facial expressions resemble mine from time to time. And we have a few pictures of Billy that are eerily similar to Lydia. When I see those things, or Wendy shares those things, they make me feel warm inside. They make me feel happy. They confirm that I did the right thing, at the right time, for the right people. What happens from here on out is icing on the cake.