Being the husband of a surrogate is a really interesting experience. You’re involved. But you’re not. You’re there. But, in a lot of ways, no one really cares that you’re there. And honestly? That’s okay.
I’ve started to think of my role as being a little like the busboy in a restaurant. The busboy is there. He’s working. He’s important. He helps keep everything moving. He clears the tables, brings water, grabs whatever is needed, and makes the waiter’s job a little easier. He supports the entire experience, even if most of the people sitting at the table never really think about him.
In this analogy, my wife is the waiter. The intended parents are the diners. My wife is the one bringing the meal to the table. She is the one doing the heavy lifting, the one everyone is focused on, the one carrying the responsibility of delivering something incredibly important to the people sitting across from her. And the intended parents? They’re the ones who ordered the meal. They’ve been waiting for it. They’ve probably spent years hoping for it. They’ve dreamed about it. They’ve worried it might never happen. And now, finally, it’s being brought to their table. My wife is the person making that possible. My job is to support the waiter. I’m there to make sure she has what she needs. I help keep things running smoothly at home. I pick up the slack when appointments, medications, exhaustion, or pregnancy make everyday life a little harder. I listen when she needs to vent. I reassure her when she’s nervous. I try to make her laugh when things get uncomfortable. Sometimes I’m the person who gets asked to run to the store because she suddenly needs something very specific. Sometimes I’m the person who gets to hear about every little kick, every ache, every symptom, every thought, and every fear. And sometimes I’m just the guy standing in the background trying not to get in the way. Because the reality is, nobody really came here for me. And that’s something you have to become comfortable with.
How many times do you speak to the busboy at a restaurant? How often do you wonder how he’s feeling? Do you ask him how his day is going? Do you wonder if he’s tired? Do you think about what he has going on in his life? Probably not. And that’s okay. I don’t say that to complain. It’s just the reality of the role. The intended parents aren’t supposed to be focused on me. Their attention should be on my wife, on the pregnancy, and eventually on the baby they’ve been waiting for. Their relationship is with her. She’s the surrogate. She’s the one carrying their child. I’m just…the busboy.
But here’s the thing about being the busboy, I don’t actually mind. Because I’m not competing with the waiter. My wife and I are on the same team. Always.
Whatever happens throughout this journey, we’re in it together. When she has a hard day, I have a hard day. When she’s exhausted, I’m there to pick up the pieces. When she’s excited, I’m excited. When she’s nervous, I’m nervous. I may not be the person carrying the baby, but I am carrying the experience with her. And there are moments when I realize just how incredibly special this whole thing really is.
At the end of this journey, my wife and I will get to hand a baby to a couple who, without us, might never have been able to have one. That’s an incredible thing. There is something deeply humbling about knowing that the most important thing you’ll do in someone else’s life may be something they never fully see you do. It’s an invisible kind of reward. I’m not going to be the center of attention in the delivery room. There probably won’t be a line of people thanking me for all the times I helped, waited, worried, adjusted plans, or quietly supported my wife behind the scenes. And honestly? I don’t need any of that, because I know what my role is. I’m there to support my wife. I’m there to protect our family. I’m there to help her through one of the most physically and emotionally demanding things a person can do. And I’m there because I believe in what she’s doing. What we’re doing.
So, yes, being the husband of a surrogate can sometimes feel like being the busboy. You’re involved, but you’re not. You’re there, but you’re often invisible. You help make the whole thing work, but you don’t get to sit at the table. But maybe that’s the beauty of it. Because the busboy isn’t there for the recognition. He’s there to make sure the waiter can do their job.
And when the meal finally reaches the table, when the people who have been waiting for it finally get what they’ve been hoping for, you get to stand back and watch. You get to see the look on their faces. You get to know that you played a small part in something enormous. And maybe that’s enough. Actually, I know it is. Because when this is all over, my wife and I will walk away knowing that together, in our own little way, we helped create a family. And that’s a pretty damn good reason to be the busboy.
– The Bus Boy
