Julia Ross?s body is a roadmap. A small butterfly tattoo, perched on her right foot and blurred by time, honours a friend who died in high school. Intertwined figures?two daughters and their mother, whose womb is a starburst, skirt the hairline at the nape of her neck. ?Patience,? in meticulous cursive across the inside of her right wrist, is both a prompt and a reproach. Stretch marks telegraph multiple pregnancies but not their outcomes: one miscarriage, one biological child and three surrogacies. The swell of her stomach, pregnancy number six: a son, due in July.
Tucked between two don?t-blink hamlets in the heart of the Ottawa Valley, the Ross family?s trim red-brick farmhouse and bright-white wraparound porch call out to passing drivers. In many ways, the building?s current vocation isn?t all that different from its original purpose: a shelter for a growing family and their motley menagerie. Three dogs, one cat, two donkeys, nine chickens and seven bee colonies currently populate the three-acre property; until a barn fire six months ago, a pair of baby goats did too. The loss of the kids was a swift and merciless reminder of the unpredictable nature of life and death. Inside the 112-year-old home and up a flight of stairs, three bedrooms, each with a colourful centerpiece: a quilt handmade by a then stranger, now friend?the grandmother of two of the three ?surro-babes,? as Julia calls them. In the master bedroom, a bassinet nestled up against the junction of two walls,...