Until three years ago, I thought I was brave. After all, I’m a girl who has trekked all the way across the Andes without a map. But there’s one thing that scares the hell out of me: getting pregnant.
It’s late 2018 and I’m 38 years old. I have always wanted to start a family, and I’ve reached a stage in life when doing so would make sense. I’ve established a career as a freelance journalist, and I’ve finally found the right man. We’ve been together for a year now; family and friends have begun watching closely to see if I’m still drinking alcohol.
