Attempting motherhood has been the most profound experience of my life. My longing coated everything I saw
I ran into attempted motherhood like a wall and it grew to become the worst period of my life. Eventually, a garden of possibility broke through the mound of crap and enabled me to like the unexpected life I am now living.
I was 35 and charmingly, newly in love. With this shiny affair returned my dreams of parenthood. The sword of Damocles of my 40th birthday was just far enough away for me to build an idyllic mental castle: there was me, together with my new beau, and two beautiful children, with the various accoutrements of a comfortable life, including a nice home, close friendships, lots of sex and laughs, satisfying employment, enough money, rah rah rah.
Everyone seemed to be pregnant everywhere.
I poured my broken heart into reviewing the masses of material on donor IVF.