I'm tempted to blame either hormones or circumstance but this is the second book in a row where I have found a heterosexual relationship entirely adorable and may have said "aww" out loud once or twice. I understand not even a fraction of the frustration and sadness of wanting a baby and failing to conceive, but with her sweet husband, a house, and a cat as somewhat of a child stand-in, sort of, it seems like Phoebe has a wonderful life even in the absence of baby. Her husband tells her he doesn't know what to do with himself when she's gone. That's so cute. It doesn't fill all of the loss of wanting to be a parent and not being able to make it happen, but you can tell they never lack for love regardless and that cuts some of the underlying sadness of the book.
The only issue I have with the book is that even though I think she's mostly making fun of herself for her white liberal guilt, there's still a little bit of a sense of tokenism in the way she writes about her lesbian couple friends and her Asian hairdresser and her Guatemalan doctor. Ehh. It doesn't make her unsympathetic or anything, just is kind of annoying at times.