Three years ago, the fall of Roe v. Wade coincided with a more personal deadline. I would soon turn 35 years old, which meant, according to the Internet, that my ovaries were going to dry up and float away. If I did conceive, I would have a “geriatric pregnancy,” and everything about it would be complicated. This is not exactly true, as I learned later on. Doctors now prefer the term “advanced maternal age,” and pregnancy after 35 is neither unusual or universally complex. My gynecologist told me that although the average woman’s fertility does begin to decline in her mid-thirties, lots of women have babies when they’re older, and they don’t all need IVF. I asked her to remove my IUD, and to prescribe the birth control pill. I wanted a child, but only if I could decide when or how or w

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