The term is eerily reminiscent of the language used in Margaret Atwood's dystopian novel A Handmaid's Tale.

In response to the announcement of the Kidman-Urban family on Tuesday, the social networking site Twitter was aflame with debate about the term, rather than the act itself. Questioning the language, whether or not this is the standard terminology in the American context, is not the same as ''bashing'' the ''consumers'' or ''recipients'' of the services of the ''gestational carrier''.
We know all too well the stories of heartbreak experienced by those who undertake the most gruelling and expensive reproductive procedures or negotiate the minefield of intra- and inter-country adoption. Many have experienced the trials personally or watched those close to them go through the pain of infertility.

As a mother of four children, I have no patience with those who dismiss the real pain of the infertile with the attitude that they should just get over it and find another way to realise their human potential.
While some may eventually decide to do just that, it is not for anyone else to judge.

Terms such as breeder and gestational carrier are dehumanising. The experience of carrying and giving birth to a child is profound. It is also difficult, painful and life changing. The changes go beyond the merely physiological to the core of our personhood.

In advocating that women should be free to ''choose'' surrogacy, we need to be clear about who we are referring to. Are we speaking of the infertile couple or the would-be ''gestational carrier''? And is ''choice'' - such a favourite in our globalised, free-market economy - the most appropriate framework in which to discuss the many layers of complexity that is surrogacy?

Who is this woman, the birth mother? In some instances, she may be a relative or friend who performs the function of surrogacy as an act of great love and compassion for an infertile couple.

This is the situation which most of us, myself included, are comfortable with as it does not raise issues of class and exploitation, let alone trans-continental financial transactions and the commodification of the womb.

In other cases, she is a woman in a developing country who agrees to be a surrogate for the financial benefit of herself and possibly her family. Her ''choice'' to be a surrogate is limited by the options available to her.

Her payment may be the ticket that lifts her out of debt, out of poverty or even into education and a better life. Or it may be just enough to help her family survive for another year.

Either way, it is these transactions that are the most troubling, as they represent the ultimate commodification of the womb, and the separation of the process of bearing and birthing a child from the personhood of the mother.

The language of choice is also problematic in a first-world context. In the United States, where the gap between rich and poor is so stark - and growing - women who enter into commercial surrogacy arrangements as birth mothers have far less choice than those who use their services. Those who use commercial surrogacy services are privileged beneficiaries of a society that is highly stratified along class, race and gender lines. Being a birth mother is not a career choice for the already privileged.

Surrogacy is here to stay. I am not proposing, or even advocating, that we should turn back the clock. But the language we use to describe surrogacy has a profound impact on all participants in the process.

It is wrong to silence or eliminate the face of the person in this exchange who has given herself so completely for the benefit of the other parties. And using the term ''gestational carrier'' does exactly that. In one fell swoop her role becomes nothing more than that of an incubator or ''walking womb''.

Language matters. The insinuation of the term ''gestational carrier'' into our vocabulary changes the very terms of the discourse of surrogacy.

Michelle Higgins is a former union official, domestic violence worker and will soon be a columnist at www.happychild.com.au.