‘Waiting for Daisy’ not your typical infertility saga Book Review

At 35, Peggy Orenstein’s feelings about motherhood suddenly blast through ambivalence, race toward desire and speed straight to obsession. It’s a familiar theme: another 30- or 40-something woman who has put off pregnancy only to discover she really might not be able to have it all.

But while there have been countless books and articles about the seesaw struggle of infertility, Orenstein’s memoir is honest, insightful and even funny.

With one ovary and a singular vision, the successful feminist author’s quest at one point leads her to a destination well-known to many couples: in vitro fertilization. To initiate that process, Orenstein is instructed to give herself injections of the purified urine of postmenopausal Italian nuns.

It’s a new spin on the concept of immaculate conception, Orenstein writes, a child to be conceived not through intercourse, but after a virgin’s pee helps produce an abundance of eggs. “Putting voodoo dolls beneath my mattress no longer seemed so unreasonable,” Orenstein realizes. But neither spells nor needles do the trick.

That her marriage stays intact is the true miracle. Orenstein does not mince words about the toll that sex on demand, her necessary self-absorption and a calendar completely controlled by her cycles took on their relationship. “I can’t do this,” her husband admits, telling her he will only continue to try for a baby if she dials back her desperation.

With her fingers crossed behind her back, Orenstein promises to stop caring so much. Feeling like a complete failure, she takes in a stray cat, then a young friend willing to lend her womb. Almost no option goes untried.

In another literary work whose title also begins with “Waiting for” but ends with “Godot,” the subject of the characters’ anticipation never shows up. This book may not be quite as important as Samuel Beckett’s epic play, but for the reader and the author, its ending is worth the wait.

By Nancy Larson