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From that moment onwards I told everyone that I was pregnant as a surrogate: mums at the school gate, my children’s head teacher, people at bus stops and supermarket-checkout girls.It was a way of explaining why I’d have no baby to show for the pregnancy.It was a massive leap of faith for all involved: I had to believe that Annette and Morgan would take the baby, while they had to be sure that I would hand her over.We’d talked about their expectations of me during the pregnancy – Annette was happy if I had the occasional glass of wine with a meal out, and we would watch TV together whenever she was over, with her hand on my belly and me telling her when to look out for a kick.The only negative reaction was from an aunt who questioned my altruistic motives.

When we eventually spoke on the phone, I knew within a few minutes that I wanted to help her.At the second scan we found out that the baby was a girl.But the pregnancy took its toll: I was hormonal, snappy and exhausted.It was just after the birth of my first child Jacob, ten years ago, that I started thinking about surrogacy.A friend had been trying to conceive for five years, while I’d become pregnant within two months of coming off the pill, had a blissful nine months, followed by an easy birth a fortnight before my due date.

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