One reason “surrogacy” is not the sweet touching altruistic fairy tale some would like us to think:

Nine-day-old baby Luke Moynihan woke up on Thursday morning safely at home in Co Kerry with his parents Dermot and Dorothy, after a frantic mission to bring him home succeeded just ahead of the Russian invasion. 

“At home” is stretching it, since his life up to that point was spent in Ukraine. He wasn’t kidnapped and taken to Ukraine by criminals, he was born there.

Just two days before, the Moynihans were in Lviv, scrambling for emergency travel documents to bring their baby home before the military invasion began.

Charming – “their baby”…that some random Ukrainian woman had carried and pushed out for them, and never mind what happened to her, the important thing is the baby-shoppers got out.

Mr Moynihan said it had been a surreal journey of “intense emotions” from when Luke was born in Lviv last week to touching down on Irish soil with their precious cargo on Tuesday.

It’s ugly stuff. They didn’t plan it that way, but it’s the nature of “surrogacy.”

There are many many more words, about their joy at getting home, and about the baby, and about how difficult it was getting out, and even about “the people of Ukraine,” but there’s not one fucking word about the woman who gestated and gave birth to the baby. Not a single mention.