That year, seven of my girlfriends were expecting babies.
Although the biology was simple, falling pregnant seemed like life’s greatest mystery.
“Why does it happen to everyone else but not me?” I asked my mother, who had never put any pressure on me to settle down.
She was proud of the life I had created.
“Perhaps it’s just not your destiny,” she replied philosophically. “Maybe you’ve got a different purpose in life, like writing your books.”
“I probably had 12 kids in my last life and need a break!” I joked, despite the fact that a deep sadness was starting to settle over me.