30

It's such an arbitrary number. Why do we infuse it with such grave meaning? And, yet, here I am feeling incredibly depressed today, because I realized it is now officially too late to have a baby before I turn 30. That expectation is dead.

For the first time, B was visibly disappointed that I didn't get pregnant this month. I thought his sadness would help me feel less alone, but actually it just made me more sad. Because now it feels like I'm letting him down, failing to provide him with something that would bring him joy. I know that's an irrational way to think about it, but I desperately want to declare the news that I'm pregnant and see him celebrate. I want to give him that gift.