This year holds many milestones for my family: Dan will be 18 and start his senior year of high school, we'll celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary, and my husband and I will both turn 50. My fiftieth birthday is the first marker to hit. These benchmarks, and completing the (hopefully) last draft of The Working Woman's Pregnancy Book (to be published by Yale University Press next year) have made me think about how having babies and being a mom fit into the long view of life.

Growing up, I always knew I wanted to be a mom. I didn't know that I wanted to be a doctor or a writer, but I knew that I would want to experience giving birth, parenting, watching children grow up. When we had small children at home, the most ardent discussions among my friends had to do with managing competing demands: children, partner, home, other family obligations, job, community, and time for oneself. Now I am on the precipice of a new phase of my life, with fewer competing demands, but potentially fewer rewards. I have come to terms with not having more babies, with pregnancy and nursing being behind me, but this adjustment seems weirder. Empty nest.

As her youngest was leaving for college, one of my neighbors told me that because of the choices she made to dedicate her life to her children, she was about to be unemployed. She was terrified. Having nurtured (and sometimes fought for) my career makes this next transition perhaps a bit less painful than if I had put all my eggs in that stay-at-home basket.

I know that I am very fortunate. I get along well with my husband most of the time, we have personal and financial resources, we all enjoy good health, and my work interests and challenges me. It was pretty stressful there for a while, trying to balance all the demands when my world was maximally full. Not that I envisioned ever being 50 when I made the choices to try to do it all. Who imagines life after children?