"When are you two going to start working on more kids?"
It was such a simple question. The thought behind it was innocent in design. A simple inquiry on why a thirty-one-year-old woman had only one child was one of the most dreadful conversations that I have ever had the pleasure of being part of.
While my daughter was the light in the darkness cast by my own body's failure, my happy little family was not the societal norm. According to my family's version of the American Dream, a man and a woman were supposed to have two children, a dog, and a white picket fence. This was a sign of success for a stay at home woman.