To be born in the 1970s was to be slotted into a sequence—a regular, stepped pattern. My siblings and I, the neighbors, the children with whom we played, the families at our school, we all of us had our place in these arrangements. Women back then tended to have a baby and, two years later, they had another. And perhaps another, in two years more. That magical pair of years was considered the most apt interval or breathing space between children. It was simply the way things were.