I was a typical girl from a typical family marrying a typical boy from a typical family

I always knew They existed. They were at the edge of my consciousness, sometimes staring me in the face, often blurred in the background. I remember a brachos party in sixth grade when we wrote down the names of so many people in need of yeshuos. Of course, They were on the list, those waiting for kids. I remember putting down my 70-year-old aunt’s name alongside that of my young cousin. It was all one big mush of Others. They were an amorphous bunch who evoked pity and an uncomfortable fascination.

I still remember the palpable relief I felt when each of my newly married siblings had a baby. I was so nervous when one brother waited a whole year and a half, but then he also made it. We were safe. When my brother right on top of me became a father, I felt an underlying anxiety recede. We did it. Our family was staying the course. My parents were free of worry.

Then I got married. The baby of the family. I was always the favorite aunt who loved little kids. I looked around at my siblings’ large families. I knew what was coming next, and planned my life accordingly. I was a typical girl from a typical family marrying a typical boy from a typical family. We were all set on having our own typical family.

But we didn’t. I’m not sure how and I’m not sure when, but somehow my neatly laid plans evaporated. Maybe it was when our first anniversary passed with no news. Perhaps it happened when everyone who got married at the same time as we did became parents. It might have been when people greeted my stomach instead of me. It could be that spotting my name on a Tehillim list did us in. Probably our first appointment with the “other” doctor, not the OB, clinched it.