This is one of three essays contributed to the Motherlode blog by performers in the first New York City production of Listen to Your Mother, an national series of live readings by local writers in celebration of Mother’s Day.
Somewhere between the French toast and pancakes, my sister offered me some eggs. With her D.N.A., that is, because I've found myself in my mid-40s, minus a partner, and with seven billion people on the planet furiously chanting, "Bay-bee, bay-bee…" Not because I want a child, and not because I don't. It's more that I don’t not want one, and performing in New York's "Listen to Your Mother" show as the only woman without a child who's suddenly too old to have one in a traditional way feels like falling onto a cactus. Naked. On Queens Boulevard.
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