As I watched the German countryside bump slowly past my train window, I had the unsettling sense that I was being watched — and that the watcher was my sister. “What?” I asked, peering over the head of the baby in my lap. My sister hesitated, her pale, freckled cheeks flushing carnation pink.
“Well,” she mumbled, now looking everywhere but at me. “So, if you don’t mind my asking,” she began again. As I watched the color spread from her cheeks to her neck, I wondered what question could possibly cause such discomfiture. “Why ...” she finally blurted, “why would anyone want to be a mom?”