From February 2016

Let’s Be Friends! Maintaining Relationships Between Women Who Mother and Women Who Don’t

Recently, a friend of mine, who has no children, mentioned that she was reading a book in the middle of the day. When I pictured her reading by a fire curled up on the couch drinking tea in her peaceful home, I was engulfed with envy: I want to read a book in the middle of the day in a quiet house! As this image solidified in my mind, my impulse was to say: “you don’t know how lucky you are!” but I managed to catch the words and swallow them. This friend could not have children and this would have been a cruel thing to say to her, but I realize now that it’s not really a nice thing to say to any woman because either way it is tinged with an underlying resentment, not an emotion I want to aim at my pals.

Since my friends started having kids, I began noticing how easy it is for tensions to surface between moms and the childfree/childless. Moms might think the root of the problem is that childfree women don’t know what we’re up against, but there’s more to it. In a recent “Dear Sugar” podcast, Steve Almond, father of three, admitted to, on occasion, resenting his childfree friends. Resentment is a strong and ugly emotion, but thinking back on some of my interactions with my childfree friends, I realize, reluctantly, that Almond is right on. If you miss your freedom at all, and what parent doesn’t, then your friends’ tales of independence or peace can make you feel taunted, even though they are just living their lives.

On the other side of the same coin, after I had kids, I noticed how easy it is to connect with women who are moms. Even with  drastically different beliefs and interests, mothers always have something to talk about: their kids’ potty training, sleep habits, eating preferences, first days of school, etc. Because, as we know, there’s no manual for having kids, and because most of us don’t live with our extended family, we often need to rely on friends and Google to figure out how to tackle the challenging moments of parenting. Friends and Google are the village.

Not only can moms rely on each other for problem solving, mom friends just get the struggle of motherhood. It doesn’t require explanation. This is comforting especially when you don’t have the energy to explain what it feels like when your child is waking up every two hours and not napping.

Pregnancy and motherhood do create a bond between women, but the opposite also tends to be true: a chasm forms between moms and not-moms. As a woman who had her kid late, I’ve been on both sides of that chasm. When I was childfree, I am sure I provoked resentment among my friends with young kids; I likely complained about a bad meal at a restaurant or being tired (and hungover) after a late night dancing. Now, I have an idea of what they might have been thinking in those moments: “quit your complaining, at least you can go out without spending a bazillion dollars on a babysitter and you can sleep through the night or take a nap–a nap!”

If my mom friends resented my freedom, I resented their lack of freedom and how our relationships changed when kids arrived on the scene. My mom friends couldn’t listen the way they used to or sustain a meaningful conversation. Kids affect individual relationships but there’s also the cultural weight of motherhood, which can make women who are not moms feel like they are not part of the club.

The term “the mommy wars” originally described the clash between working moms and stay-at-home moms, but now that there are more women choosing not to have kids, a new war is brewing. But a war between moms and the childfree/childless will not benefit anyone, so how do we stave it off?

Here’s my plan: I will resist the temptation to surround myself with people just like me; I will make a conscious effort to keep old and make new friends who are not moms. Part of making this effort means that I’ll need to notice and tamp down negative feelings that surface when a childfree friend talks about exercising, eating a delicious meal at a restaurant, seeing a movie in the theatre. I’ve traded in my freedom for a while; it was a choice I made, and I’ve gotten a lot in return. Truth is, I’m probably going to feel a little sad when I start to get my freedom back and my son needs me less.

I will also work on being a good friend to my friends without kids. To this end, I’ve fallen into a pattern of calling my friends with kids when my kid is around, but I try to call my friends without kids when my son is asleep or when I’m in the car alone so that I can give them my attention.  I want to be able to genuinely listen to the stories from their lives and I want to share mine. This is how friendships are maintained.

My friend and co-editor of this site, Beverly, does not have children, but we have made it our project to listen to and be candid with each other. Here’s a tiny example: typically, I would reserve the messy details of potty training my son for my mom friends, but I decided to tell Beverly, and she listened and instead of offering me a list of things I should(ve) tried, like most mothers do, she offered me something I actually needed more: a “wow, that must be really hard.”

Choosing My Choices and Stuff

From the editors: in this week’s essay, adventurer Ada Kenney takes a humorous look at pregnancy loss and being on the fence about motherhood.

“Everything happens for a reason,” say stupid people, in a world where there are starving orphans, kicked puppies, and Justin Bieber. I usually respond to their cliche with my own: “I’m sure you mean well.” Reasons are innate, but lessons are created as they are learned, so instead of looking for the reason implanted in traumatic and unnecessary events, I try to draw a lesson. At least that way I’m in charge.

It was Wednesday, and I was working. While struggling with a free downloadable worksheet that refused to be downloaded, saved, printed, or copied and pasted, the thought sprang into my mind that I was supposed to have gotten my period around Christmas. I remembered packing for my pilgrimage to my parents’ house and noting that I’d have to buy tampons when I got there. In all the holiday cheer, I had forgotten to note that I hadn’t needed them. I’m pretty sure the clock in my classroom slowed to a halt as I waited for dismissal.

I had never bought a pregnancy test before. Usually a comparison shopper to the point of neurosis, I immediately chose a two-pack of the only brand whose commercials I hadn’t hated. When I took it to the register, along with an Arizona Iced Tea, the cashier told me, “Be well.” I stared at her, trying to divine her intent, and then left, confused, panicking. What could she mean by this? It was weeks before I found out that it was a corporate slogan she was required to say to every customer.

In the bathroom, waiting: not me. Not this. Not now. And not with him.

But it was. Faint but positive.

He texted while I was on the phone with my best friend, numbly saying all the same things as all the other women who’ve gotten this same surprise. He suggested dinner at our favorite restaurant. I accepted, always having been one to get things over with. The sooner he arrived at my house, the sooner I could tell him and not be alone with it.

Divorced, he already had three kids, not a single one planned. As a veteran of this conversation, he reacted with impressive stoicism until I confessed that this was the last thing I wanted. We both assured each other that this wouldn’t change anything between us, that this was nothing, it was a blip. On the way to the restaurant, relief bubbled between us until we were positively buoyant over the kebabs.

The next morning at 5:45, I took the other test. I knew, the way that you know these things in your thirties, that pregnancy tests are more accurate first thing in the morning. All of your friends are trying to get pregnant now, so you know this without ever having tried to find out, just like you know about perineal massage and meconium and diaper blowouts. The test was positive. Strongly, solidly positive.

At work, I asked a coworker to watch my classroom so I could run to the ladies’ room between first and second period. And there was blood. I gasped out loud. “This is some prank, uterus!” I felt like yelling. “Way to scare me!” I shook my fist at it. In response, it cramped.

Back in my classroom, the cramps intensified. I’ve always been kind of a jerk about period pain. I go running during my period, I would say to other women. I go snowboarding. I go to the beach. You can’t just give in and lie down. Go kick biology’s ass! In karmic retribution, biology kicked mine. My momentary elation in the bathroom became ridiculous. Of course this was no period. This was a miscarriage.

Somehow I survived the teaching portion of my day, white-knuckling the desks as I bent over to inspect student work, leaning against the bookcase as I addressed the room. The students left and I collapsed on the carpet of my classroom. Sweating through my teacherly cardigan, I made a desperate phone call to my primary care provider, whose receptionist told me to call 911. Even in my haze of panic and pain, I knew I couldn’t afford to pay for an ambulance ride, so I called the only person possible.

Romantic comedies will have informed you that nothing is more clarifying to a relationship’s status than a positive pregnancy test. They are wrong. It is the emergency room visit that is the true test. In the waiting room, he told me about the kidney stones he had once, so that I would know that he knew what this was like. We sat without touching or looking at each other. When they called my name, he escorted me to the desk, and then stayed in the waiting room.

It’s a frightening thing to be a confident, adventurous person and suddenly be completely at the mercy of strangers in scrubs. Although they gave me some pregnancy-safe painkillers and the pain began to abate, I was still helpless as only fear can make a person. Was it ectopic? Was I going to die? Was I going to be able to pay this bill? I once moved to a foreign country where I didn’t speak a word of the language, and went to a coed public bath; here I was unable to bear being seen by a student nurse because he was a man. I went camping alone, even after seeing that movie where James Franco cuts off his arm, and here I was cringing at the sight of blood. Enduring a catheter, a blood draw, a transvaginal ultrasound, and worst of all, the kindhearted congratulations and comfort of every staff member I encountered, all for the sake of a baby I didn’t want, I lost the shape of my self and became a whimpering blob.

After five hours, I hobbled, bloblike, to the waiting area, where he was reading on his phone on the hospital’s free wifi. He looked up. “Let’s go,” I said, and walked away.

In the car, I explained what the nurse practitioner had told me. Blood and urine tests had been positive for pregnancy. But there had been nothing on the ultrasound, although it could be too early to see yet. I didn’t mention what I had seen just before the ultrasound. In the toilet. It would be kindest to call it “tissue.” I would have to go back for another blood test in three days’ time.

“So we just spent five hours there to find that out?”

Like I said, clarity.

Coworkers called and emailed to ask how I was, and I ducked them. What do you say? “Well, I might still be pregnant, or maybe not. At this point, it’s anyone’s guess!”

Three days of couch and Netflix later, I wasn’t. I returned to work with a brisk none-of-your-business tone to my “thank you for your concern”.

Voice mail has never been my forte. Speaking into a void and knowing I’m being recorded is apparently my kryptonite. At the beep, I turn into a babbling moron with no awareness of social niceties or normal human speech patterns. But no message I’ve ever left has been more awkward than, “Hello, Planned Parenthood, I will not be needing my appointment on the 29th because I have had a miscarriage.” It’s like the setup of a sick joke. But worst of all, it robbed me of the chance to choose whether I would go through with it. I wasn’t a proud, bold feminist choosing her choice and keeping the government out of her body, but I wasn’t a proud, bold New Woman discovering the glory and power of motherhood either. I was just empty. I hadn’t even known I was a vessel.

Everything happens for a reason, idiots say. Find your lesson, I say. But what could I learn from this? I could live in fear of my body and its functions, building a impregnable castle of mistrust around myself. But hermitage isn’t for me, and risk is far too attractive. I could decide not to have sex again until marriage, but then I would have to find and marry a man who doesn’t believe in sex before marriage, and they all seem to be really interested in the word “dominion.”

I never planned to have children, but I never planned not to. I figured it would happen if it happened, and if it wasn’t meant to be, it wouldn’t. As it turns out, this is like going to the grocery store, hungry, without a list. You grab whatever looks good, thinking that in this way, you’ll be fulfilling your desires and really living, instead of what is sustaining, what is vital, what could possibly be your last meal. You overspend and end up with junk food and random luxuries, because YOLO! But since you do, in fact, only live once, maybe a list would’ve been better. It may be as risky to admit you want to find love as it is to move to a country where you don’t speak the language, and it may be as daring to admit you feel joy listening to a baby giggle as it is to snowboard your cramps away.

And if you can’t find everything on your list, that’s okay. At least you looked.
AdaAda Kenney is the pseudonym of a lonely liberal in the Bible Belt. She enjoys the great outdoors, microbrews, creativity, and anonymity. She still hasn’t decided about motherhood; maybe she’ll adopt from the next big trendy country.




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Creativity 2.0

From the editors: Can women continue to be creative post-children? Can they be prolific? The creative and funny Leah Gotcsik says, “yes.” Read on to learn how she does it!

When I was pregnant with my first child I was performing improv and sketch comedy 2-3 nights a week in addition to working full-time as a writer at an experience design firm. I liked to think that my son was inside my belly going, “Dude, my mom is hilarious. And look at the example she is setting for me about pursuing dreams and having a family. Wait, was that a fart joke? Classic.”

Even though I always knew I would keep performing while pregnant and afterward, the choice to perform, and even the choice to get pregnant were hot topics for my fellow performers, especially the ladies. If you’ve missed the cyclical “are women funny?” rehash from the last infinity years, a lady in comedy is already fighting for her right to party, and a mom in comedy…well let’s just say that the dismissive “good for yous” from bros 25-and-under were not quite part of the “we are all just comedians” vibe I would have wished for. What began as some softball questions in a stairwell that served as a green room—when are you due? Is it a boy or a girl?—often snowballed into intense lady comedy conversations. How was I going to do it and why? How did I know that if I had a kid now “my career” would be okay?

My response then was that first and foremost, I wanted a kid. Key factor. And biologically it was something I had to be thinking about because I wanted to try and create/carry my own child. I had comprehensive health insurance for the first time in 10 years (because I took a full-time job in order to get it). And…I didn’t want to look back 20 years later and say, “Oh yeah, I could have had a kid, but I was really trying to get this 10:30 pm Tuesday slot at this comedy theater where they don’t pay you, so it didn’t happen.”

Almost 5 years and exactly two kids later I have this to add. And it’s pretty simple. If you want to have kids, and your life presents you with the opportunity to do so, have them. And if you want to keep being creative and successful you will be.

My son is now 3 ½ and my daughter is one. I still work at that experience design firm during the day, and while I still perform occasionally, I now write for children’s television at night (and during naps), for Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood, Creative Galaxy, and Odd Squad. My husband is a teacher—which is key for childcare purposes—and he is also a playwright. He is workshopping a play right now that has a residency at the New Victory Theater and is supported by the Kevin Spacey Foundation.

Dare I say it, and really I shouldn’t because as soon as this is posted we’ll be attacked by crows or something, our creative life is better than before we had kids, or at least more quantifiably successful.

How do we do it?

  • We sleep less, and less well, than we used to. My husband wrote the book that became his current play during the first five months of my daughter’s life…in the middle of the night while she slept on his shoulder.
  • We get things delivered. Amazon Prime. Instacart. Laundry. Anything we can do to use the time we have when the kids are asleep to do the work we’d like to do.
  • We don’t watch that show you love. I also probably haven’t seen you in a while, incredible friend who I love. Thank you for reading this. Let’s have a drink!
  • Our house is never as clean as we would like it to be, in case that wasn’t already obvious.
  • We help each other out. If one of us has a creative deadline or a project we are really focused on, the other takes the lead on childcare.
  • We have full-time creative-type jobs that help us get our other creative stuff done. My husband has summers off. My job starts at 10. Oh, and money.
  • We work with collaborators. We are naturally prone to that anyway (improvisers!) but it also helps to share the work.
  • We try not to get too freaked out. Are we working too hard? Shouldn’t we be spending all of this time with our kids even when they are sleeping? Did we just gain 10 pounds? Why the f&*% did my son just look at the dishwasher and say, “What’s this thing called again?”
  • We just do it. I have told people that I write more and better with two kids than I did with one, and way better than I did with none. I have a limited amount of time. So…FOCUS! And I am tired enough that I am pretty much always the equivalent of two drinks in, which means no filter and no worry that what I am writing will suck. Gotta be real ruthless with the spell check though.

Reality check: If you’ve read this far you might be thinking…who are these people? Why are they doing this? Don’t worry, I ask myself this question every night as I look longingly at the unread copy of “Yes, Please” by Amy Poehler collecting dust on my bedside table.

So here we go: Why do we do it?

  • We can’t stop/won’t stop. We have had ample opportunity to throw in the towel. Sometimes I wish we could—hammocks! Binge-watching! But any time either of us has a creative lull we dive right back in.
  • We know that the way it is now—two small children, multiple jobs, never enough time, endless amounts of hustle required on all fronts—won’t be forever. This is the long game, friends.
  • We’re still fun. When we got married, I cross-stitched one of our catch phrases, “We have fun, don’t we?” onto a sampler (Cross-stitching?! I guess because I love Anne of Green Gables?). The answer is still, “yeah, we do.” And so do our kids…unless we are singing, which my son cannot stand.
  • We’re proud of the example we are setting for our kids. When I watched my son run around the set of my husband’s show after my husband took a bow wearing our sleeping daughter, I was so proud. Our children will grow up in a house where doing creative work is encouraged and normal. And where working hard at something you believe in and that makes you happy is a good thing to do.

And if you are someone who likes to scroll to the end, here’s the gist: We’re not trying to be heroes, we’re just trying to make stuff we like with people we like and have a family we like at the same time. I knew a stand-up comedy couple with a 2-year-old. They were both getting up on stage 5-6 nights a week. Who was watching the kid? They figured out a way he could sleep backstage and they took turns watching him. Would I do that? Maybe not. Would you do what I am doing now? Who knows? However you approach creativity and parenthood is how it’s going to work for you. It can work. It will work. And your kids are going to roll with it.

The other day I opened my laptop in front of my son, and he asked: “What are you writing, mama?” When I told him, he said: “I want to watch that one.” And after multiple rewrites and 8-plus months of animation in Canada, he will.

leah momLeah Gotcsik writes children’s television (Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood, Creative Galaxy, Odd Squad) and designs experiences with ESI Design. She coordinates the Writers Group for the Children’s Media Association and was recently named the most aggressive bird in her son’s naptime story. She is always looking for more creative opportunities. Find out more at

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From the 20s: Gender Identity and Motherhood

From the editors: our readers in their 20s have let us know that even if they’re not yet “aging primates”, many of them are on the fence about motherhood. We’re thrilled to bring in writer and graduate student Alaina Leary for a new column exploring the perspective of 20-something fence sitters. 

I’ve been in a committed relationship for the past seven years. As if by miracle, my high school sweetheart and I stayed together throughout high school, throughout college and made it to the point where we’re new adults, living in our own apartment with two cats and a hamster.

I know that soon, we’ll be thinking about taking care of more than just pets. My sweetheart and I are both women, and we have to make complicated choices that go along with that. Will we adopt, and if so, from in this country or out of it? Will one of us conceive?

Is it insane for me to consider this question, when I’ve only just graduated with my Bachelor’s in May and am now pursuing a graduate degree in my field while working and interning?

I was about eight or nine years old when I first decided that I wanted to adopt kids. At the time, I hadn’t even thought about concepts like romance, sexuality or gender identity—all I knew was that I’d read the stories of many foster children, both true and fictional, and I wanted to be the person who could stop kids from being in that situation. I yearned to be an adoptive parent.

There’s one area on which we disagree: conception. I’m all for adoption, as I always have been, and she is too. But she wants one child of her own, and she hopes I might carry one too.

Even just a year ago, we still lived in the fantasy of college and actual adulthood seemed like a dream instead of a reality filled with difficult career decisions and piling bills. Now, the discussion of conception seems very real and that terrifies me. I’m on a continuous birth control for endometriosis, so there’s a heavy chance that I don’t have the option to consider giving birth even if I were to change my mind.

I’ve also always struggled with my gender, and the lucky side effect of my birth control is that I haven’t had a period in five straight years. Until I’m facing the kids question, I feel like I still have time to be confused and to ignore my gender identity. I’ve been an out bisexual to everyone I know practically since childhood, but only about two people in my social circle know how much I struggle with my gender identity: my girlfriend and my best friend. I don’t feel comfortable in a female body, but I also don’t want to socially and medically transition as a male, so I’m stuck in an awkward, painful in-between: skipping my periods and getting changed in the locker rooms quickly so I don’t have to dwell on the idea of body parts and what they mean.

Facing the kids question would change all that. Even if I stick with my gut and decide never to conceive, watching my future wife conceive will cement my gender identity in the minds of everyone around us. I’ll be her wife, and people will ask me—like they surprisingly already do—why I don’t want to carry any of our children too. People won’t see me as a biological mother, but they also won’t see me as our kids’ father, either. Gender and sex, which are abstract terms that I’m currently able to avoid, will be a daily discussion, just like they were when I first came out. Just today, one of my childhood best friends and I were talking about my future with my girlfriend: where we want to move, how our jobs are going, how school is. She asked me if we planned to have kids, and if we both wanted to carry one. I felt the panic rise in my chest as I answered her, “No, she’s the one who wants to have the kids.” When we people talk about male and female bodies, and what they do, and they gender those bodies, I get uncomfortable. I transform into the Drunk Aunt at a holiday party who ducks out of the room when everyone starts talking about my alcoholism in front of me.

Meanwhile, the cost of IVF, sperm donation and fertility treatments are always in the back of my mind as I consider my career decisions. Instead of thinking of just myself and what I want to do, I’m already thinking of my future family and the economic burden of being in a same-sex relationship. It’s like forward-thinking family planning, but with loads more pressure.

At age twenty-two, it seems silly to worry about something that’s at least five, more like ten, years down the road. As new adults, we’re figuring out our careers and finances. I’ve only just gotten approved for my first auto loan and my first apartment. I’m not even close to ready to settle on a mortgage. Kids are nowhere near in our future.

Still, we want them. Time goes by faster than we think it will. Seven years ago, when we started dating, I could never have foreseen our future as college graduates living on our own with two cats. It felt like a faraway fantasy—a time period that I dreamed about, but that would always remain looming and out of reach.

I know the decision about conception is coming faster than I think. As soon as I blink, I’ll be getting my first promotion, and so will she. When we’re nearing a more stable financial climate, we’ll be looking into permanent homes instead of apartments.

People around me are always warning me that my biological clock is ticking, and more and more of my age peers my age are having children.

I watch those people with envy from every social media platform. In the majority of cases, these are straight couples, one man and one woman, both who identify with their biological sex and assigned gender, smiling with a baby of either sex in their arms. They look so happy, and nothing is complicated. They conceived naturally, and the woman gave birth, and neither of them were torn apart on the inside because of their biology, all in the name of bringing life into this world.

Alaina FaceAlaina Leary is a Boston-area native who is currently a student in the master’s program in Publishing and Writing at her dream school, Emerson College. She’s currently working as an editor and social media coordinator for several brands and publications. Her work has been published in Cosmopolitan, Seventeen, Her Campus, BUST, AfterEllen, CollegeFashionista, The Odyssey, Luna Luna Magazine and more. She can often be found re-reading her favorite books, watching Gilmore Girls, and covering everything in glitter. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter @alainaskeys

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It’s a Boy!: An Interview with Katy, Part 3

This is the third interview in a series with Katy, a 42 year-old creative director who at 35 decided to freeze her eggs and at 42 decided to go ahead with a donor. Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here. This interview reveals Katy’s good news!

MS: Last I talked to you, you were about to find out if you were pregnant, are you?

Katy: Yes! And it’s a boy!

MS: How do you feel about being pregnant?

Katy: I’m excited. When I first found out I was pregnant I was so stunned, grateful and excited. I felt so lucky that I got pregnant on the first try. Granted I went through IVF and had acupuncture treatments which greatly increases the odds… but still I felt incredibly lucky. It made me feel like I chose the right path.

I also felt terrified at times too, particularly in the first trimester… it was hard to let go of the safety of my single, child-free life as I have known it. It’s a major life change into the unknown and it made me feel uneasy and vulnerable at times. But reading books about parenting has helped me become more confident, which then makes me excited. Plus, when I’m around kids they fuel my excitement and then I feel like “I’ve got this.”

As far as how pregnancy feels in my body, I really enjoy feeling him kick, seeing the ultrasounds, the porn-star breasts and eating all the time… then there are other sensations and bodily changes that come along with pregnancy that aren’t so pleasant. But when I read about what’s happening each week in the baby’s development, it always amazes me and I’m reminded of what a gift it is to be pregnant.

MS: What are you excited about? What are you nervous about?

Katy: I’m excited to meet him and get to know him. I’m excited that this chapter of my life is starting: motherhood. I’m excited that I’m not on the sidelines anymore just watching others fulfill their dreams; I’m now jumping in and fulfilling my own dreams. But there are also so many unknowns that get me nervous. Will he be healthy? Will we bond? What kind of a monster will I turn into when I am sleep deprived? Will I have postpartum depression? Will he resent me because he doesn’t have a father?

MS: Before you were worried about finances and not meeting someone — what are your primary concerns now?

Katy: I’m still worried about those things, but I have focused less on when I’m going to find my partner. I think my larger concerns right now are how am I going to pull this off and still maintain my sanity… being a full time mom, working full time and getting enough sleep. I’m going to need help, so I’m sorting out where I will get this help from.

MS: You spent a good deal of time deliberating over this decision. Now that you are pregnant, how do you feel when you look back over those deliberations?

Katy: This was a major decision and I needed time to process it. But I wish I had started this process sooner. Sometimes I feel ambitious and think “maybe I’ll have another child” since I have more embryos, but my age may be an issue (I’m 42 now). It would have been nice if I was a few years younger, so I could have more flexibility with that decision in the coming years.

MS: Do people assume you have a partner or ask stupid questions about how you conceived?

Katy: Thankfully no. Maybe they assume that I got knocked up unexpectedly. But no one has asked me anything about my “husband” or how I got pregnant. When I tell people that I used a donor, they always respond with excitement and curiosity. They want to know all about the whole process. This has been a nice surprise. I spent too much time caring about people’s reactions before I got pregnant.

MS: Do you have any advice for someone considering freezing their eggs? Using a donor? Choosing to be a choice mom?

Katy: Freezing eggs: this is a no brainer for me, as you have nothing to lose… provided you can financially afford it. Just know that it can be hard on your body, and some people react strongly to the hormones.

Using a donor and deciding to become a single mom by choice: this is clearly a larger decision to make, and it needs some thoughtful consideration. There is no wrong or right decision here; it’s more about what choices can you live with. Do your research, check out Single Moms By Choice , read up on donor-conceived children , check out sperm banks (cryobanks) to learn about donors, read up on adoption processes, talk with women who have adopted, women who have used a donor and women who have decided not to have a child on their own…. decide which route is best for you. If you are considering a donor you know, meet with a lawyer to get the facts. And sometimes your finances or your health might dictate which route is best for you. The point is, there is a lot to consider… and you want to feel good about your choice. So research is key. Good luck!

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