Becoming a mother at 50

I was a terrible babysitter. I didn't really like babies and kids, the single qualifying quality for a teenage sitter. The only thing that drew me to the job, besides the money, was the free time after the kids went to sleep and free HBO, and a chance to be alone in someone else's house with a refrigerator stocked with food. I wasn't maternal or nurturing. When I played Barbies, I'd act out passionate sexual adventures with Barbie and Ken in the bathtub, but I never had them marry. There was never a Barbie baby. My Barbies remained singular and interesting, unlike my parents. I had no intention of being a mother. I had things to do and big dreams and plans that didn't include being a mother. I would be a famous actress or singer in New York City. I would live in a loft there and have lovers but never marry. I'd never move to the suburbs. I would be forever interesting.

I was in my 30s when it occurred to me to ask my doctor about freezing my eggs in case I changed my mind. "You should have thought about that 10 years ago," he said. I took it as a sign.