You’ll change your mind. It’s a deeply condescending thing, to be told that you don’t know yourself. To assume that I haven’t gone over this question a thousand times, and nonstop for the week surrounding Mother’s Day every year. That I haven’t pulled my hair out and questioned whether I’m cold and dead inside (and maybe I am, but that’s because I refused to cry during E.T., and not because of this). Sometimes I clench my teeth until they hurt, because my husband doesn’t get lectured about needing to give me children, but I’ve been pulled aside and told I’m depriving him of something.
