In my late twenties, I asked my boyfriend how he thought having a family might work. Our standard weekday ended with dinner at 9pm, after 12+ hours at the office.

“I know just how it will work,” my boyfriend gamely replied. He grabbed a pad and sketched out our future. He drew stick figures of himself, me and two hypothetical children. In the center of his diagram, he penciled in Mary, our housekeeper, who came in a few hours a week to save us from dust bunnies. “We’ll do just what we do now,” my boyfriend told me, “and Mary will take care of us.” I laughed. I was no expert on running a family, but I had a feeling it was going to take more effort.

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