There are days when I think infertility is a gift.
Before you roll your eyes and click away, let me explain. I’m not trying to sell you a gratitude journal app or convince you that God has a plan for your life or that you should go vegan or start taking homeopathic anti-stress drops made primarily of brandy, or anything like that. I’m just saying that in a world where Donald Trump seems poised to win the Republican nomination, and perhaps the presidency, maybe it would be best to get a dog. The dog would love me and Mr. Gentlemanface, and when President Trump blew us all to kingdom come, I’d feel bad, but not, you know, baby-bad.