I keep joking that matching is basically like Tinder.
You swipe right and hope they do too.
Except this match means you’ll be part of each other’s lives for at least a year.
There are no awkward first dates where you can decide after an hour that maybe you’re just not compatible and quietly disappear. There is no ghosting. There is no “Thanks, but I just don’t think we’re a good fit.”
Well, technically, there is.
But when you match, it’s a little more complicated than deleting the app and moving on.
Together, we’re all taking on the responsibility of bringing a new human into the world. And that creates a bond unlike almost any other relationship you’ll ever have.
Like a first date, you hope they laugh at your jokes. You hope they like who you are. You hope they aren’t secretly thinking, “Wow, this person is weird,” even though you know they probably are.
You hope you like them, too.
You hope you can picture spending the next year together.
You hope you can communicate.
You hope you can be honest with each other.
And, most importantly, you hope you can trust each other.
Because this isn’t just about whether you get along over dinner.
This is about pregnancy.
Medical decisions.
Appointments.
Birth plans.
Expectations.
Boundaries.
Emotions.
And eventually, a baby.
Our meeting with the intended parents went really well. We asked questions, got clarification, and saw a side of each other that no profile could ever capture.
That’s the thing about profiles. They can tell you the basics. They can tell you where someone lives, what they do for work, how many kids they have, what their hobbies are, and maybe even what kind of personality they have.
But they can’t tell you how someone reacts when they’re nervous.
They can’t tell you how they treat the people around them.
They can’t tell you how they talk about their family.
They can’t tell you whether they make you feel comfortable enough to ask the uncomfortable questions.
And they certainly can’t tell you whether you can imagine trusting them with one of the most important experiences your family will ever go through.
That’s what the meeting is for.
Our official matching call happened a while ago and I had been thinking about it all day.
I knew this wasn’t just another Zoom call or another meeting to check off a list.
This conversation would shape at least the next year of our lives.
After that call, everything changes.
From that moment on, whatever happens next, we’re connected in a truly profound way.
We will know each other’s lives in a way that most people never know someone else’s.
We’ll know about doctor’s appointments.
We’ll know about milestones.
We’ll know about fears.
We’ll know about excitement.
We’ll probably know way too much about each other’s schedules.
We’ll be texting each other about things that, under any other circumstance, would seem completely bizarre.
“How are you feeling?”
“Did you get your bloodwork done?”
“Did the doctor call?”
“Is the baby moving a lot today?”
“Are you still craving that?”
At some point, you realize that this person who was essentially a stranger is now someone you are talking to regularly about things that are incredibly personal.
And that’s the weird beauty of it.
You hope that you can understand them.
Their struggles.
Their lives.
Their motivations.
Why they chose this path.
Why becoming parents is so important to them.
And you hope they can understand us, too.
Our family.
Our kids.
Our concerns.
Our boundaries.
Our sense of humor.
Our lives.
You want them to understand that my wife isn’t just a surrogate.
She’s my wife.
She’s a mom.
She’s a daughter.
She’s a friend.
She’s a person with her own feelings, fears, and experiences.
And I think, in the same way, we want to understand that they’re not just “the intended parents.”
They’re people who have their own story.
Their own journey.
Their own reasons for being here.
You don’t want this to feel like a transaction.
You don’t want it to feel like a business arrangement where everyone signs some paperwork, checks some boxes, and moves on.
Of course, there are contracts.
There are lawyers.
There are medical appointments.
There are financial arrangements.
There are a million logistical things that have to happen.
But none of those things explain why you’re doing this.
At the end of the day, this is about people.
It’s about relationships.
It’s about trust.
It’s about a family helping another family become whole.
And that’s why the matching process matters so much.
You aren’t just looking for someone who checks every box on a form.
You’re looking for a connection.
A feeling that says, “I think we can do this together.”
And hopefully, it’s more than that.
Hopefully, you develop a genuine connection.
Maybe even a friendship.
But that’s where things can get complicated, too.
Because as much as you want to feel connected, you also have to remember where the boundaries are.
This is their baby.
Not ours.
We’re going to care about this child.
We’re going to think about this child.
We’re going to talk about this child.
We’re going to watch this child grow for nine months.
But when the baby is born, they go home with their parents.
And after that, what happens is ultimately out of our hands.
Maybe the intended parents will want to stay in touch.
Maybe we’ll exchange pictures.
Maybe we’ll hear about birthdays and milestones.
Maybe our families will remain connected for years.
Maybe this becomes one of those incredible lifelong friendships that nobody could have predicted when we first sat down for that awkward “first date.”
Or maybe, over time, our lives naturally move in different directions.
And that’s okay, too.
That’s one of the things you have to accept going into this.
You can hope for a relationship.
You can hope for a friendship.
You can hope that this connection lasts forever.
But you can’t demand it.
You can’t overstep.
And you can’t assume that because my wife carried their baby, we automatically have a permanent place in that child’s life.
When that baby is old enough, their parents will decide how they tell their story.
They will decide what they share.
They will decide whether the child knows about the woman who carried them.
And that’s their right.
Our job isn’t to write the ending.
Our job is to help them get to the beginning.
That’s a strange thing to say.
But I think that’s what makes surrogacy so different from almost anything else.
You become incredibly important to someone’s story without necessarily being a permanent character in it.
You help create one of the biggest moments of their lives, knowing that once you leave the hospital, the story belongs to them.
And that’s okay.
Because maybe that’s the whole point.
We’re not doing this to become part of their family forever.
We’re doing it because, for a brief period of time, our families are walking the same road.
And during that time, we have the opportunity to treat each other with kindness, respect, honesty, and maybe a little bit of humor.
Because let’s be honest, we’re going to need all four.
So yes, matching is a lot like Tinder.
You swipe right.
You hope they swipe right, too.
You meet.
You ask a million questions.
You try to figure out if you like each other.
You wonder if you’re making the right decision.
And then, if everything works out, you take the biggest leap imaginable.
The difference is, on Tinder, you’re hoping for a quick little connection.
In surrogacy, you’re hoping to find someone you can trust with a year of your life and with a dream that is so much bigger than any of you.
And if you get it right, you don’t just find a match.
You find people who are willing to walk alongside you through one of the most extraordinary experiences any family can ever have.
-The Bus Boy-
