On August 9, 2022, Serena Williams announced her plan to retire in Vogue. I have followed her and her sister’s storied career since they were kids. Like the way I felt about Mike Tyson and before him Muhammad Ali, I loved Venus and Serena for being outstanding in their sport. Richard Williams, their father, coached his daughters, bringing them to the attention of the nation. I remember when Richard Williams interrupted Venus’s 1994 interview to challenge the reporter for refusing to accept her confident response to his questions. I sat near my own father watching them. I remember him talking back to the tv in defense of Richard Williams. Understanding Richard Williams and some of what he was up against as a Black Father.

The ghetto fabulousness of the Williams sisters affirmed for me the Blackness of blackness. I loved these girls for being dark and familiar. Their beaded cornrows signaled their girlhood and the presence of a Black mother, between whose legs they must have sat on the floor while her hands parted their damp hair, greased their scalps, and braided their dark tresses. Black girls and cornrows go together—the beads were extra. I knew that. My girlfriends knew that. My Black family knew.

As Richard Williams predicted, Serena outpaced her sister’s remarkable career. Serena says she benefitted from growing up in her sister’s shadow. Rising to number 1 in both singles and doubles, Venus won 7 grand slams. Serena has won 23 grand slam titles, the most of any player in the Open Era and the second most ever.

In her announcement, Serena Williams lamented the fact that her desire to grow her family comes at the expense of competing as a professional tennis player. She says:

Believe me, I never wanted to have to choose between tennis and a family. I don’t think it’s fair. If I were a guy, I wouldn’t be writing this because I’d be out there playing and winning while my wife was doing the physical labor of expanding our family. Maybe I’d be more of a Tom Brady if I had that opportunity. Don’t get me wrong: I love being a woman, and I loved every second of being pregnant with Olympia. I was one of those annoying women who adored being pregnant and was working until the day I had to report to the hospital—although things got super complicated on the other side. And I almost did do the impossible. A lot of people don’t realize that I was two months pregnant when I won the Australian Open in 2017. But I’m turning 41 this month, and something’s got to give.

Serena alludes to male counterparts as evidence that men are spared the choices confronting her as a woman. In fact, her perspective appears typical since birth rates decline as women become more accomplished in their professions. This is also true with men, however, according to the New York Times, our society tends to view children as a bonus for men in the workplace, as opposed to being perceived as an obstacle for women.

Moreover, professional women are lauded for their contributions to their fields. Women are not similarly recognized for their work as mothers. There are no award shows. No matches. No cups or trophies. No telecasts. No audience. Women’s waistlines and hips expand in a world that despises wide female bodies. Their breasts sag. Mother’s Day is no match for the affirmation of celebrity and fortune.

I confess that I scoffed a bit when reading Serena say that it’s unfair for her to have to choose between tennis and family. In this context, the idea of fairness sounds like a feminist trope, particularly when one considers the wealth Serena has at her disposal. No one objects, though, because evoking the notion of fairness suggests that Serena is like the overwhelming majority of mothers having to make tough decisions about work and life. The reality, as evidenced by the photo of Venus pushing Serena around a tennis court as a toddler, is that the decisions made for her and by her have been entirely different than those made by the rest of us. Those decisions shaped her life. Fairness has had little to do with any of it.

Besides, there are other ways to look at the circumstances. It is sad that this society relies so heavily on reproductive work but allots it so little value. While every day, despite our ability to kill, to hate, to destroy, to make war, to make bombs, to slide toward nuclear annihilation, women continue to bring forth babies. Babies, most of whom laugh and cuddle and crawl before walking, and grow up, and repeat the cycle.

Men may father any number of children, but they must ejaculate. Their work is external. They will never carry within their dark bellies the miracle of blood, bone, and spirit that has been and continues to be the sole means by which we have all become human. The bleeding womb signals the potentiality of women to reach beyond a profession and aspires for immortality. The ego of motherhood is the insistent influence of personality and persistence of genes. And then too who knows the myriad ways a lactating mother nurses her baby? Beyond which the imprinting that happens throughout child rearing leaves an enduring mark. Motherhood is extraordinary in its ordinariness, the Divine within us.