Recently, during a visit to a friend in Houston, Texas, I found myself at a birthday celebration for two young sisters, ages 3 and 5, who were classmates of my friend’s children. The venue was a church that featured a basketball court, a bowling alley, and an abundance of play structures to keep the kids entertained—enough to astonish my suburban New Jersey sensibilities.
As I munched on chicken nuggets and watched the little ones navigate their sugary high-energy activities, I felt a sense of joy. I’ve always been the type who cherishes every moment spent with kids, eagerly browsing through their photos and happily diving into games like Candy Land or Chutes and Ladders, or in this instance, air hockey. But then, a trip to the restroom changed everything.
To my dismay, I discovered that my period had arrived—two days early. Surrounded by energetic children, I felt a wave of sadness wash over me. This was compounded by the recent month when my period was four days late, giving me a fleeting hope that at 39, my dream of becoming a mother was finally on the horizon. Clearly, that was not the case. I had packed pads for my trip, but didn’t think I would need them that day, as my cycle usually runs like clockwork. Here, however, it seemed to be playing tricks on me.
My enjoyment of the event faded as I struggled to focus amid the competitive games and charming fashion choices of the pre-K set. I’ve grown to resent the phrase “having it all,” yet all I could think about in those moments was how unfulfilled I felt. As I near the fourth year of a committed relationship with a wonderful partner who treats me better than I feel I deserve, I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. I’ve edited over 50 anthologies in the field of erotica, penned two sex columns, and even had an article published in The New York Times—an aspiration of mine since adolescence. I feel fortunate; yet, I often feel anything but.
If a genie appeared before me right now, offering to trade my successful career for a healthy newborn, I wouldn’t hesitate. When I first realized my desire to become a mother at the age of 30, I thought I had plenty of time. I was engrossed in my job as an editor for an adult magazine by day and indulging in trivia and comedy shows by night. I didn’t have a five-week plan or even a five-year plan. Now, however, my life revolves around my menstrual cycle, with a sense of despair when it arrives and a glimmer of hope when it doesn’t. Turning 40 in November feels like a looming deadline, as I watch many of my peers become parents while I find myself left behind.
Despite my flourishing career and a loving relationship, I often grapple with the emptiness of not having children to share my life with. I long for a child to play games with or to plan birthday parties for. Living with a supportive boyfriend who astounds me with his kindness adds to my happiness, yet I still wake up each day feeling that something significant is missing. It’s a daily challenge to envision a future filled with children while navigating decisions like whether to order champagne or stick to seltzer, or whether to splurge on a new bra or save for a rainy day. I often find myself asking, “What would a good mom do?”
Yet, I understand that the notion of perfect parenting is a myth. Parents, like everyone else, have their flaws. I hope to join their ranks soon, but until then, my otherwise fulfilling life continues to feel incomplete. For further insights on pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent resource on understanding the IVF process at Parents. If you’re curious about at-home insemination options, you can find helpful information at Make a Mom and for more tips, visit Intracervical Insemination.
In summary, while I cherish my career and relationship, the longing for motherhood looms heavily in my heart, making each day a balancing act of aspirations and reality.