They came back with the hot flashesthose old leftover longings for a child of my own.

I have been surprised by them.

It is not a constant, this longing.

I don’t care.

I thought I was done with this.

A decade ago, at age 45, my biological clock struck midnight.

By that point, I had done it all, tried everything to get pregnant.

Granted, I’d gotten a late start.

After years of ambivalence about motherhood, I finally began trying to have a baby in my late 30s.

My writing career was on track.

I was making a living.

If I got divorced or was widowed, I figured I could support this child.

That’s what it felt likefailureand the more my baby desire was thwarted, the larger it grew.

I felt a rare peace with my choices as I headed into my 50s.

My babies, my kids.

My friends were shipping theirs off to college, walking them down the aisles.

I have swatted it away, this longing.

I’ve made mental lists of all I ought to be grateful for.

How could I not have seen these feelings coming?

Why hadn’t I played my hand differently?

Mine is about not having kids.

I have friends who have the same regret.

No one gets to a certain point in life without regrets.

How we wrestle with the questions.

Why didn’t I start trying for a baby earlier, when I was presumably more fertile?

True, I don’t know if that would have made a difference.

I thought I’d put such questions to bed nearly a decade ago.

But I’ve discovered that you don’t do it once, apologize to yourself and have it over.

“Oopssorry, heart.

I didn’t get you any kids to drool over and nurture.”

No, it isn’t a one-time thing.

It isn’t even a process moving you toward some kind of closure.

There is no closure, and we shouldn’t pretend there is.

I see her beaming at me from magazines and book jackets.

I look at these faces and read these stories and think: Get real.

Tell me what happened along the way.

What regrets have you?

What would you have done differently?

Not that any one life is better than another.

Not that all of my peers who ended up childless share my regret.

Some, I know, do not.

Some tried to get pregnant, as I did, and when that pregnancy was not forthcoming happily adopted.

Some went the infertility distance with me and walked away, battle-scarred but not overtly regretful.

Well, I am regretful.

What I would say to younger women is take your own measure, sooner rather than later.

If you want kids, pay attention.

Figure out a way to get them, preferably with a loving mate.

Not always easy to find, I know.

You’ll learn to live with your own regrets, about this, that or the other thing.