Two years ago, not long after I returned to work post-maternity leave, I found myself at a Planned Parenthood gala in D.C. I felt like a tourist. Having just spent five months in my sweatpants, speaking in baby-rhyme with an infant hanging from my boob, I might as well have been an alien among these well-dressed people, with their wineglasses and their witty repartee.
So as I sat down at my table, I was relieved to recognize the man seated next to me. Semitic, bespectacled, handsome in a nebbishy wayâ€”I couldnâ€™t place him, but a wash of warmth told Read more