While a freshman at Columbia University, I came out, which seemed to clinch the fact that I would go through life childless. In my late teens, studying and dancing with my friends at the Roxy filled up most of my time. Discovering New York and my newfound sexuality offered me countless hours of distraction as well. If and when I thought about babies, I thought of them as these strange appendages to people I passed on the street. Never once, not for one instant, did I feel any desire to procreate. But 10 years later, I found myself at a turning point, sitting across from Ruth, a 41-year-old lesbian desperate to conceive.
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