Why I Froze My Eggs

Single at 37 and eager to become a mom, Rachel Lehmann-haupt made the empowering choice to go it alone.

- Rachel Lehmann-Haupt

Around my 37th birthday, I came to a crossroads with my boyfriend, Jacob. We had been dating for about a year, and I was starting to feel antsy. All of our friends seemed to be getting married. Some were having babies; others, miscarriages and fertility problems. As a longtime health reporter, I knew my window of fertility was closing (37 is the official turning point when women qualify as “advanced maternal age” on medical charts), and Jacob, who checked every box on paper (Ivy League degree, good job, nice Jewish family), seemed like my best option at the time. Was I truly in love? In hindsight I’m not sure. What I did know: My biological clock was ticking furiously, and I desperately wanted to press the snooze button.

I had secretly been hoping Jacob would surprise me with an engagement ring on my birthday. Instead, he presented me with a sad brown sweater (and shawl) that looked like something you might give an estranged aunt for Hanukkah.

A few weeks later, I was sitting in the dimly lit living room of his New York apartment when he said that he wasn’t sure he could spend the rest of his life with me. Emboldened by a few glasses of red wine, I had just uttered the statement dreaded by noncommittal boyfriends the world over: “We need to talk about our future.”

He groaned. “I love you,” he said. “I wish I didn’t.” It was the most confusing statement I’d ever heard from a boyfriend. He said he thought our relationship should be more like a honeymoon. Instead, he felt like I was pushing him to get married. I burst into tears.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” I said. “But I don’t have control over my biology!”

“It’s nature’s cruel joke on women,” he said coldly.