March and April are the big birthday months in my family. The past two weekends have been all about parties for "the boys" since two of them turned 40, and well, you couldn't ignore the other one.
Next up is me. 3 weeks from yesterday I will be 34. Not a terribly momentous age, but still it gives me pause every time I think about it. You see, 35 is a magic number. It's that number that means that you're entering the danger zone if you ever want to have children.
And yes, if any of you have some quizzical glances at your screen because of that comment, I don't blame you. I'm sure I've indicated more than once on here that I don't want children. And I mean it. But you know, being told that it's risky to have one in a little more than a year? Well, I'd be stupid not to ponder that just a little bit.
For as much as I've been kinda whiny on here about my single state, most of the time I really wouldn't have it any other way. I am independent, and kind of eccentric. I like my own space, and I really don't want to ever be accountable to anyone for even one moment of my time.
However, as much as it's quite easy to have a baby without a husband or even a boyfriend, it's just a wee bit gauche to do so. And hard. And since I like my sleep and my money and my time, I'm still pretty sure that I don't want one anyways. I sometimes enjoy my visits to babyville. Other times I don't. So I certainly wouldn't want to live there full-time.
But. What if I change my mind? What if I feel this way mostly because I don't have a vision of anyone helping me with it? Eccentric? Yes. Making up imaginary boyfriends in my head? No.
And I'm sure that this exact same post has been written a million times by a million different other women in their 30's, but you know...whatever- that means it's topical.
And it's not like I don't get it. I do resent that from the women I know who have babies. Even my very best friends have gotten that superior and knowing look on their faces around me. Like I couldn't possibly understand what it's like to be a mother. I can't know what it's like to create life. To give nourishment to another little creature from my breast. To have someone love me unconditionally and be completely dependent on me to keep them happy and safe. To feel the weight of responsibility that falls on a person knowing that they are tasked with the enormous job of making this person a happy, moral bearable member of society. To feel the fear that you might screw it up. The anxiety when they're sick. The longing when they start to grow up and become more independent, yet at the same time, the pride that you've given them the tools to do so. I've obviously never felt that level of exhaustion coupled with inexpressible joy.
Clearly I don't get it at all. Le sigh.
And yes, a part of me does have a biological clock. And while I wouldn't say that it's ticking, it does give a tiny little chirp every once in a while.
So I wonder. Am I being lazy and irresponsible for not actively seeking out a partner? What if I have serious regrets when I hit 40? What if I start beating myself up for not begging everyone I know to set me up with all their single friends? What if I kick myself for not working the internet dating circuit more relentlessly?
Am I being naive for hoping that it happens in a less contrived way? For having faith that somehow if it's meant to be, it will happen? Or is it a case of the universe only helping those who help themselves?
And do I really want to kill myself to do this in order to satisfy some clock? To work at finding a willing sperm donor when I'm still not sure- but based on the idea of "but what if I have regrets?"
Ugh. I kinda resent all men who can keep fathering children until death right now...