I looked down at the infant’s wrinkly face and pink skin; the way her tiny fingers curled into a fist and tried to push into her rooting mouth; the crease of a frown between her tightly closed eyes; the wriggly body squeezed into a white onesie printed with happy colorful butterflies; the smell of powder, soap, and innocence drifting to my nostrils. My insides suddenly stilled. Time became a flowing, liquid thing that made no sense as I stared, fascinated, at the magnificent creature in my arms. And as if right on cue to the perfect stimulus, my biological clock burst to life in stunning, vicious Technicolor.

For the first time, I craved something I couldn’t do on my own. This was nothing hard work, perseverance, and effort could accomplish. I spent an entire year obsessed with babies and pregnancy and the hidden life of motherhood I’d never cared to explore before. After researching every angle and option, I decided to attack my intense need for a baby like I had everything else.

I set a time limit of thirty. If I hadn’t met a man whom I envisioned a future with, I’d have the baby on my own. Freezing my eggs was a valid option, but I couldn’t imagine waiting too much longer to get pregnant. I refused to be one of those mothers who were too old to keep up with an infant and gray-haired by prom time. Already, biology was against me, favoring healthy pregnancies at a younger age. Maybe I wouldn’t have the traditional route the world believed in, but I knew I’d be a good mother, and my future son or daughter would have enough love from me to equal a dual set of parents.

The process suited my nature. I was able to pick out the father by doing meticulous research to find the best traits and advantages for my future baby. I became pregnant immediately and embraced every change in my body, relishing the growing life inside me that would give me new purpose.

When Allegra was born, I learned a valuable lesson. Books and research and intellectual knowledge meant nothing compared to the type of all-consuming, massive love I’d been capable of. The moment she was put on my stomach and our gazes met, I realized I’d reached an almost dangerous precipice. Nothing was more important than my daughter. The violent, ferocious need to protect and cherish my precious baby rocked and tore my stable world apart. My entire body trembled and shook when I held her, and for the first time, a crippling fear shot through my system, draining away my egotistical belief that I’d be able to control things. I was helpless and vulnerable to the cruel fates, no longer locked in my Rapunzel tower of confidence and capability.

And the voice inside me whispered, tormenting me with words that stung like a nest of wasps.