The Evolutionary Wallflower

I am trying to come to terms with the fact that my my eggs are all frittata by now. I am pretty sure that's the reason the second pregnancy went, literally, to the trash.  I respond well to injected FSH, but I guess I am producing crappy eggs that are unable to implant, even if fertilized.  I have to sit down with the spouse and make him see it too. He is OK with my decision not to do IVF, but I don't think he really understands what it means: Donor eggs, donated embryos, or adoption.

From a Darwinian point of view, my genes are out of the game. But I dislike the term "evolutionary dead-end". It sounds kind of... well, dead.  Evolutionary Wallflower sounds nicer. I know that a wallflower is a dull person, but still, that's better than dead, no?  And flowers are pretty. I came across the term in a book about, of all things, feathers (Thor Hanson, 2011). 

And yet, my sister shares 50 percent of my genes, and each one of her kids  is the genetical equivalent of my grandchild. In a Dawkinsian sense, the game is still on. I just skipped a whole generation, without ever having to worry about poopy diapers, school, violent media, drugs, or setting up a college fund.

I know I am missing also on the fun, the many milestones, the pride and the simple joy of being a parent. That may still come, attached, of course, to the above mentioned worries. Genetics is the only part that is settled.

But I still have the rest of my life to live, and I definitely do not want to play the part of a wallflower in it.