I’ve decided this blog needs a spine. One unnamed
BFF has turned all “sensitive” about my diary posts about my life and who is in
it - her she says. She’s right, that’s hardly a
movement. So let's find a spine. Since my book review on Betty and fertility created a tweet
fest, let’s start there. Sissy, this one is for you...
I call it the “Feminine Mistake.” One
blogger asked if I did something wrong. Yes! Lots! My point is I’m at home on a
twelve-week leave from my six-figure job trying to get pregnant at forty. I played
by the new rules, Betty! But there’s one problem. You forgot to tell me to remember
to get pregnant in my thirties! You didn’t mention any clocks striking at
midnight or bibbidi-bobbidi-boo
when you granted me my wish to have it
all. Is it even realistic to have a kick-ass career when you put babies in the
mix?
For close to ten years I’ve watched my best
friends struggle to create this cocktail without a manual. They are the real
mavericks who decided to have children and then figure out how much
career/art/family they needed to feed their identity. I took the solo career
track, which Betty extolled. But she had something I don’t. A child. She wanted her old life back, with a child. Do you
feel this way? If you do, tweet me back. My Twitter handle is @RachelZ.
–
Rachel Z
