It certainly wasn’t the way I’d imagined starting a family, having a baby. As part of a “team.” I don’t think any woman dreams of growing up and hiring a surrogate. You might joke about it as a way to avoid childbirth, but it’s different when you come to the conclusion that it’s your last chance, the only remaining possibility. Surrogacy, with another woman’s egg, was not what I really wanted, down in the molecules of my deepest womanly hopes. I wanted to feel the baby kick inside me; I wanted the birth experience.

Of course, I assumed I’d be able to get pregnant the minute I wanted. Why else had I worried so much about birth control all those years? I didn’t want to adopt, because you’re never sure what you’re getting, genetically. I’d had friends tell disaster stories of medical issues, mental illness and behavior problems, fetal alcohol syndrome, and the list goes on. We considered IVF, but my doctor had made it clear my chances were slim. So I went down the path of alternative medicine for a year. Tried acupuncture and yoga, meditation. I eliminated processed sugars, ate lamb, and visualized a fertilized egg in my uterus. But nothing worked, and I finally had to face the fact that I’d waited too long: I was of “geriatric maternal age.”

Hal already had his two boys, who were twelve and fourteen when I met him, and he might have assumed that we’d become an instant family, and wouldn’t that be a sufficient motherhood experience for me? Because, after all, we’d have his sons every other week. Hal might have been hesitant to start over again with the nighttime feedings and diaper changes, and that would have been reasonable. But regardless of how he personally felt about becoming a father for the third time, it was clear to me that he loved me and wanted to make me happy. And that, he said, was enough of a reason for him.

For me, however, I’d been surprised by my desire to reproduce. It was different, falling in love with this man. Sex was fun and we were making love, yes, but for the first time, I also wanted to make a baby. With him. Combining his sperm with my egg, blending us together. I believed it would be the ultimate bond, and I yearned to see him father my child. My biological clock was ticking: I wanted to be a mom. But, of course, we don’t always get what we want, or in the way we think we should, or at the time we’re ready for it.