never married, over forty, a little bitter

closed doors

I always thought that once I hit my early forties and my fertility was at its end, I would be much happier, as the decision would be made once and for all. This is pretty much what has come to pass.

Sometimes things get easier when hope is gone:

I’ve seen good women spend years in this particular torture chamber which I call ‘the tunnel’. I did time there, and it’s not somewhere I’d go back to, not even for a day. Being on the other side of the fertility window has its advantages, and no longer being ‘hopeful’ is definitely one of them!

different worlds

Over the holidays there was an article in the Los Angeles Times by Laura Nelson about Rachel York, the Broadway star of Anything Goes. In the article York, a relatively new mother, is quoted as saying, “When you have children late in life, they’re the center of your world.”

That quote provided some insight into why my friends’ late-life pregnancies were especially difficult for me. Not only did I suddenly and unpleasantly lose the sense that I had close peers traveling my same path, but the ones who had children later seemed to lose themselves totally in the mothering experience, at least initially.


It’s been just a few days without Facebook, and I’m already feeling much better about not logging in. Although I’m fond of my Facebook friends, I don’t think I will miss their posts. In fact, I believe that I see my friends less because Facebook gives us the sense that we are connecting when we really aren’t: Maybe my quitting the site will mean that we’ll feel the need to actually have a drink together sometime. I definitely feel that a certain part of me may be invisible or even die without Facebook — that quitting means entering a silent, private, faceless realm.