The day Destiny was born a mist covered the mountains and the air was crisp. The green of the trees and the grass shown against the gray of the morning. . I was out with the other expectant pregnant folks for our daily exercise and I felt like I could finally feel them coming closer.  “I think the baby is coming today!” I said excitedly to Maria.  “Oh really? Why Shaquan? You’ve been pregnant so long, maybe your baby decided to stay inside!” Maria laughed. She was trying unsuccessfully to do the calisthenics that the teacher was demonstrating and collapsed into giggles.  “I am not really feeling this. My belly is so big!” I said, adjusting my loose-fitting blue crop top over my breasts to do the next stretch.   “Don’t squat so deep and maybe it won’t be so hard to get back up!” Maria laughed even louder.  Maria was my closest friend in the group of baby carriers this season. All of us exercised and had breakfast together before beginning our day. She was …

Dr. Isaac’s words shatter me. More than half the syllables that leave his mouth have been shattering me, disintegrating the perfect mold of my life since the day I learned I couldn’t carry a child to term. Today, he says to my husband and I, “Mr. and Mrs. Akingbade, I think it’s time you both start considering surrogacy.” It was a resigned statement, spoken with slight reluctance but punctuated by a bluntness that only physicians can produce. The words smother me as I mull over them, processing their meaning and assessing their implication. A typical response of mine each time Dr. Isaac metes out words that confirm the limitations and failures of my body. I’m sorry, but it seems you are unable to carry a child to term. I hate to say this, but we might have to try IVF. Desola, the IVF didn’t work. We can try again during the next cycle. When can you come in for another round? My fourteenth IVF attempt has just failed and now, I’m being told to relinquish …

Mother died. The apartment I’d bought for her had to be sold. When the apartment wouldn’t sell, I started grousing that I would be wearing Mother’s albatross now. As soon as the place was move-in ready, she had to go and die. Good in a way she was dead, actually; if she’d had an inkling of my (okay, mean) grousing she’d have writhed like a salted leech. And if she’d even heard the word “leech” — same thing. Mother loved my son Joey more than anything else in her world, everyone would say. Joey didn’t love her back that much. Joey was a tough kid that way. Living with his immigrant single mom, American dad furious about the divorce, Joey knew not to love too much where the yield was slant or uncertain. And so he didn’t love Mother enough to be really stricken when she died. I tried to see it from his point of view, but since I had to be the link between him and Mother, I minded it. I minded that …