“You can get the vitamins on your way out if you’re keeping it.”

That was the first thing the scrawny lab tech at my OB/GYN’s office said to me after confirming what I already kind of suspected: I was pregnant. At this point I was two weeks late and lashing out at neighbors who dared to speak to me. It was like PMS times 200.

“Of course I’m keeping him,” I said, without hesitation. No ultrasound, no gender test—just a gut feeling that the tiny creature making me hot, tired, and irrationall...