BREAKING THE LAST TABOO
THERE WAS A PERIOD in my late teens and early twenties when a pregnancy was always bad news. An accident. By the time you hit your thirties, it’s almost always good news. By your forties, a quasi-miracle. So much angst and joy from lines on a stick.
I thought about this a lot, once. I was trying to get pregnant. Well, I was doing all the right things but hoping to fail. Every time I got my period, I thought, “Blessed be.” It was not, dear reader, a hoot, this lack of fruit. Because I was meant to feel devastated that my womb had not quickened. But I didn’t. Instead I just felt a
