The world seemed to conspire against me when I got a call from my mom a few minutes later. After the usual hellos, in her adorable enthusiastic tone, my mom shared with me a brilliant idea; I am to find a man with good genes, get married, get pregnant, and get divorced right away. I laughed my heart out. I wished I could hug her. She thought I was mocking her with my laughter and she was ever so intent on making her point. She flashed the biological clock pepper spray in my face as she quoted a doctor on TV: “As women age, the quality and quantity of their eggs declines; thus, affecting fertilization success, embryo quality, and pregnancy rate. The rate of decline varies from one woman the other, but overall, fertility begins to decline slowly in a woman's 30s, with the greatest decline happening after the age of 35.” I was no longer laughing as I felt trapped between a huge rugged rock and a very hard place; part of me acknowledged what my mom said yet another part insisted on doing it the right way. I want a child with the right man; I never wanted any of the men who came my way to be the father of any baby I gave birth to.
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