It was easy to joke with the doctors about what I’d name my 40+ growing eggs, if they were all viable. On the other hand, it was not something I dared to mention as I curled up next to Jake on our third date, an evening picnic in a picturesque San Francisco park. “Why you wearing your skirt so high?” Jake flirtatiously asked me as he tugged at the fabric at my waist. I coyly covered my bloated belly as I moved his hand away, looked into his hungry eyes, and imagined saying, “Oh Jake, I so badly want to roll around with you in this public park, but I don’t want to endanger the eggs that I’m harvesting to freeze next week.” So instead, I quickly leaned in with a distracting kiss and whispered, “To keep you in suspense, my dear.”