Monday, August 5, 2013

A Shooting Starshine

Big news on the StarShine front this morning!
The doctors have agreed, her natural preparation antics are good enough. 

Mock cycle ended. 
Real cycle planned. 


This is such a major victory for drug free surrogacy. I am so excited for her! 

I've asked Star to write a bit about how this whole journey has felt to her over the last (two) years. She has supplied us with this beautiful prose:

It began with hope. 
Strong, flashing, made of bright burnished gold and was warm to the touch. 
That hope stabilized - it became something stronger, deeper, made of smooth stone covered in moss. 
Still warm after a day spent in the sun. It fueled me and drove me on, as hope should.


One day it came to pass, as nature intends, that the sunlight set, and my stone cooled. It sunk below a horizon made of distant goals, became blocked by the Setback Hills and the Disappointment Mountains.

Once the light was gone and night fell, my hope made do with the soft white light of the moon, set solidly in a sky of Someday stars. I knew that night would pass and found solace in it, and in the Mother's glow, as long as I could.

I knew that night would pass and that morning would come. I knew that morning would come and that my stone of hope, which had grown so cold in the darkness, would bask and warm itself, again. 
I knew it.

And yet...and yet. A part of me fretted.

There came a point where clouds covered the Mother's glow in the night sky and blocked her smile from my view. Plunged into total, still, breathtaking darkness, I waited. 
I waited for my hope to die. 

I held it in my hands and breathed on to it, trying my best to keep it from freezing and dying, though I could not see it even so close to my eyes as it was. 

"Morning has to come soon," I whispered, unbelieving. 
Even the kindly willow, wise and steadfast, whispered to me that I was foolish to worry. She knew that morning would come, and so ought I. 

And I did know.
And yet...and yet. A part of me doubted.

Finally, morning did come. It came in fits and spurts, and it came with clouds in the violet-and-cerulean sky that were dark and threatened of storms and rain. 

But it did come. 
I knew it would.

And once the sun had climbed partway above my head and its warm, rich fingers stroked my hair, my tiny stone of hope had once again become a strong, flashing, golden thing.

I have a whole day in the sun ahead of me, I thought, and made the most of it.


Best part of it all? Her bleed started a few hours before mine. Means our calendars will likely be right in sync and we will transfer together. 

Check out the other Starshine Blogs: 

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