“Oh God, listen to me blathering on, when we’re here to helpyou. Yes, she was teeny-tiny when she came home. And as you can probably tell, she is the best thing that has ever happened to us.”
I bring a hand to my chest. “That’s so sweet,” I say. “That’s the feeling that I’m after. It’s really all I want in the entire world—to love a child like that.” (Well, that, and a house where we can actually fit a kid.)
“Then you’ll be a wonderful parent. But do you mind if I ask whether you’ve tried… other ways?”
I laugh. “Of course not. We started trying a few months before the pandemic. Buzz—that’s my PR firm—had finally made me a vice president, so I felt like I was at a place in my career where I could step away for a few months without falling off a cliff, you know? I was thirty-five by then, but my doctor assured me it would be fine.”
All of that is true. I was ovulating on time. Taking all the rightvitamins and supplements. Choking down whole milk and sardines. Doing everything you’re supposed to do.
I let out a sigh. “It just hasn’t been that easy.”
Jack takes a drink of his coffee now that it’s cool enough. “Did you ever think about in vitro?”
A familiar sting sprouts in my gut.
Walnuts were the tipping point.
After we’d been trying for forever, I convinced Ian to start eating a cup of them every day. I would put them out for him in the morning with his coffee. A cute little sperm-count-boosting ritual, I’d thought. And really, it seemed like the least he could do, given all the sacrificesI’dmade—caffeine, alcohol, red meat—an especially tall order when you hang out at restaurants and hotels for a living. Plus, he was getting laid every other day!
But one morning, he refused to eat them. He said he just didn’t feel like it, that his stomach was unsettled. I felt the incinerator click on inside me—I get hot when I’m angry—and before I could think, I picked up the bowl and threw it as hard as I could at the fridge, walnuts and glass flying in all directions. (If you know where to look, you can still find a dent in the stainless steel.) I get that I probably overreacted, but it was like the rage had swallowed me from the inside out.
So that’s when we made the appointment to talk about IVF. We already knew we’d be good candidates for it. Dr. Warner had said as much when we passed our fertility tests with flying colors a couple months before. But she thought it was too soon to give up on conceiving naturally, especially since there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with us. Now, we explained, the status quo was becoming untenable.
“Okay…” she said skeptically, appraising us through wire-rim frames, “but this walnut incident concerns me. Is this only aboutgetting pregnant, Margo, or is something else making you anxious? Have you maybe been under more pressure at work?”
It had only been a few days since we’d lost out on house number five. Ian broke in to tell her all about the toll he thought the search was starting to take.
“Listen, honey,” Dr. Warner said, “you’ve come this far. Waiting a few more months won’t hurt. Why don’t you and Ian focus on getting the house squared away, and then we can revisit IVF?”
When I started to protest, she cut me off: “The research may not be conclusive, but I can tell you from years and years of doing this that stresscanimpact the results. And in vitro is a marathon. It’s an enormous commitment, and it can be quite psychologically taxing—it’s a lot to take on if you already have a full plate. I just want to make sure you’re set up for the best chance of success if we do indeed go this route. And honestly”—she winked then—“I’m still not convinced we’ll need to. Who knows? Maybe once you find your house, you’ll be able to relax enough that it’ll finally happen on its own.”
“I appreciate your concern, I really do,” I said, “but I think I’d feel better if we just got the ball rolling now.”
“Well, the other factor to weigh, of course, is the expense. I’m obviously not your accountant, but I would advise that you take the time to seriously evaluate that piece of this.”
I knew Ian was already worried about the cost, so I wasn’t surprised when he piped up. “It could turn into a huge stretch,” he said, looking from Dr. Warner to me, “and you know Ginny said we shouldn’t take out any other loans right now.”
My throat thickened then. As the first tears surfaced, Dr. Warner reached across her desk to comfort me. “Do you think it would help to talk to someone? I can refer you to a wonderful therapist. She’s right here in the same buil—”
“No.” I knew immediately that I’d said it too harshly. Dr. Warner pulled her hand back from the top of mine. “It’s just that my eggsobviously aren’t getting any younger,” I continued, trying to soften my tone. “What if we never get pregnant, and by the time we try IVF, my goods are all, you know,dried up?”
Dr. Warner smiled sympathetically. “I think you just need to take a deep breath, Margo.”
“Couldn’t I at leastfreezethem now?” I asked. “For peace of mind? Just to know I have a decent supply ready to go if we need them for in vitro later on?”
She leaned back in her chair, considering me. “It’s an interesting idea,” she said. “Thatwouldbe less of a commitment at this point. And I mean, if that’s really what would make you feel better, then sure, we can pursue that.”
On our way out, Dr. Warner encouraged me to loosen up—“Try to stop putting so much pressure on yourself”—advice that didn’t yet make me want to put my head through a wall.
Ian and I have been in a holding pattern ever since. We don’t try nearly as rigorously as we used to, especially since we’ve accepted that we have no idea when we’ll have an actual nursery. But we’re notnottrying, either. It’s like our life is on ice, right along with my eggs.
“We looked into IVF for a minute,” I lie to Jack, “but I never felt like it was the right option for us. I really feel like it’s my calling to give a home to a child who needs one.”
“I was the same way,” he says. “Curt wanted to use a surrogate so the baby would at least be biologically related to one of us. But that just didn’t make any sense to me at all. Like, we have this beautiful life, why not share it with a child who’s already out there somewhere?”
I nod, knowingly. “My husband felt that way at first, too. He was so hung up on having hisownchild. It was incredibly frustrating.”
Ian and I have never discussed adoption. But if we were out ofoptions, I bet he’d go for it. He has always wanted children, even, he claims, when he was just a kid, which I still find hard to believe. You don’t see a lot of little boys playing house, you know? I, on the other hand, wasn’t sure about having a baby until I met him—really, until I met his family and glimpsed the life that was possible.
