(Extra points to you if you sang the title as you read it)
I was in Phonetics class this morning, as I am every Monday, Wednesday and Friday this semester. I pulled out my color-coded notebook (because I am that kind of student: Phonetics is the navy blue notebook), turned to the end of my notes and wrote the date down. And then it hit me.
Exactly one month until my birthday.
I jokingly say that I’m in a constant state of turning 30; once that is no longer believable, I will then turn 31, and so on. But really, I have never been in the habit of lying about my age, and as a result, I do it very poorly.
A month from today, I will be turning thirty-mmhmm.
You could (and I often do, to myself) argue that age is a number, blah blah blah…But the fact is, each birthday I have, I am less likely to have kids. That’s not society, that’s biology. If I didn’t want to have kids, I probably wouldn’t be so bothered by having another birthday. Au contraire, I could totally see myself kind of bragging – as in, “Hey look at me – guess my age. Wrong! I’m at least 10 years older, but I don’t look it! Woo hoo!”
My mother, bless her heart, tries to encourage me by mentioning every celebrity having kids in their 40s. It’s kind of cute, although we both a) know that most of these women are having IVF and b) we both have issues with IVF (monkeying around with hormones, additional health risk, expensive, by no mean guaranteed success). What other women choose to do, more power to them. What I feel comfortable doing, that’s all on me. It is true that late pregnancies run in both sides of my family, but that’s a big leap, too.
Actually, all this theoretical chitchat about my options (which of course include adoption, though I hadn’t specifically mentioned) is just that – theoretical. After all, I am ambitious, but not so ambitious to raise children on my own. I have friends who do so, and they amaze me with their ability and skill. They are also always tired.
So yes, these days are filled with thoughts of motherhood and my ever-dwindling window of opportunity. I long for the day when my impending birthday brought on thoughts of how I would celebrate, what my Halloween costume would be, how I would get that cute guy to notice me…
…and speaking of that…
I googled GSS. It was bound to happen, no? Do you remember the dark ages of dating before Google? Terrifying. Anyway, my googling turned up no red flags; GSS looks great on paper (I also think he looks pretty good in person, but we have to go beyond mere superficiality), and what’s more, everything that he has claimed (background, education, etc.) has checked out. Who among us has not been burned by a liar? And, if there was something I’d find alarming, better I should know when I am in the early crush stage.
So I can go on having my crush on GSS. If only I could stop thinking about my biological clock – it muddies up all my other issues.