On the day of our wedding, my husband whispered to me, ‘I can’t wait to start a family with you’ - and I felt a chill spread through my body. I had never, ever wanted children. Ever since I was a little girl, my dream had been to pursue an academic career, which I’d pursued tenaciously and successfully carved out for myself.
My parents divorced multiple times, and I had struggled with a variety of mental health issues, including an eating disorder. Having grown up in a complicated family, I valued my liberty above all else.
Motherhood looked like a dreary life sentence I was only too happy to shun, and I made sure to say as much to my husband when we first started dating. The trouble was, he wanted a child. He wanted one so badly, and talked about it so often, that to deny him felt like a cruelty. Moreover, as we grew closer over nearly a decade together, it had become obvious to me that unless I gave him one, we would have to split up.
I loved him deeply and wanted to give him his dream of becoming a dad. So against all my instincts and better judgement, I agreed.
Due to our ages (my husband was 54 and I was 41), we underwent fertility checks to find out whether we could still safely have children. We had spent years travelling the world, partying in some of the most glamorous international cities, and it showed in my husband’s low sperm motility.
