When you’re 32, have no serious romantic prospects besides the one(s) in your head, most of your close friends are getting married or having babies, and the only thing you’re sure of is that you’d like to have a baby someday too, you spend a lot of time thinking about how that’s going to happen. I am not proud of being a chick flick stereotype, believe me, but I looked in the mirror this morning and that’s what I saw and, well, time to face facts.
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When it comes to baby-craving, I am a complete lady cliché. I remark that my own ovaries are rotting between bites of huevos rancheros at brunch. I joke about having a back-up plan that involves “accidentally” getting knocked up by someone handsome, successful, and smart. Just this morning, I got an email from a pregnant friend, who is due any day now, telling me she was having minor contractions and I got teary-eyed. So, when I read the headline “Women ‘should freeze ovaries in their twenties’,” I felt the urge to mentally flagellate myself for being nearly 31 with only Trader Joe’s mac ‘n’ cheese in my freezer. Fertility scare tactics work like a charm on me. But not this one! Keep reading »
A few days ago, I learned that a childhood friend of mine was pregnant and found myself unexpectedly exuberant over the idea of buying mini-things for a mini (and quite possibly bald) person who is to arrive in Arizona sometime around the ides of March. I thought this tiny soul should own my mini “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” shirt that I once dressed my cat Moskow in and an outfit that made him look like a panda, and my heart started racing in a new unfamiliar way. Lately, I feel like that female caricature that walks around with a cartoon clock ticking over her head and thinks her ovaries are a worthy dinner topic. I see a baby and I involuntarily gurgle, or at the very least talk in the same intonation I use for my cats (pitched perfectly high for their tiny little ears). In order to combat what can only be described as a genealogical disorder (i.e., the desire to have a baby before you have a mortgage), I have taken to interviewing women I know who have children. Keep reading »
A few years ago, I jokingly declared that I would refrain from reproducing until after my 10-year college reunion. That way, I said (again, facetiously, although of course I’d be lying if there weren’t a tiny grain of vain truth to all this hilarious jokery), I wouldn’t have to worry about losing baby weight or having to remain sober as the Georgetown Class of 2001 reconvened. It wouldn’t be a concern whether some liquor might damage Junior, or Junior’s breast milk supply, and my 100 percent hot, completely flawless body would remain pristine until that date and, obviously, if everything went according to my imaginary plan, everyone would say, “Oh there’s Claire — she looks so great!” (Anyone who’s seen “Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion” knows this is Goal #1, with actual success to brag about being Goal #2, and perhaps having fun and seeing people you like being a distant #3.) Keep reading »
I’m smack in the middle of my 30s and recently married. For some childless women my age, this is tick-tick-tick time. However, while other women may be intimately in touch with their ovulation cycles, I’m in no hurry to have kids now, if ever. My old man and I have talked about it, but we’re both horrified by how much our lives would have to change — not to mention how big a pain in the ass kids are for, oh, say, 18 years. Keep reading »
According to a new study, older women — “cougars,” if you must — are total horn dogs and they’ve got their waning fertility to blame (or credit?). Psychologists from the University of Texas at Austin polled almost 900 women about their attitudes towards sex, and learned that women aged 27 to 40 (those past their baby-making peak) have the best sex lives. Not only were they having sex more often than women younger and older, they thought about sex more and were more open to flings. Researchers say these findings suggest that a “woman’s libido picks up as her biological clock speeds up.” Keep reading »
When a study released in late June revealed that one in five women would remain childfree into the next generation, a lot of people were shocked. I wasn’t. In an ironic twist of fate, I had my tubes tied the same weekend. Keep reading »
Yesterday, I admitted to having a bad case of baby fever. But what I failed to mention is I’m single, broke as a joke, and heck, I can barely clean up after my own puking, crying, and screaming! There’s just no way I can have an adorable bundle of 50 percent me, 50 percent someone adorable. I’ve gotta hit snooze on my biological clock. So, I’ve been thinking up some diversion therapy. Here are my suggestions for some pill-free birth control … Keep reading »
I thought I could beat science. I thought breeding would be best left to girls with, you know, feelings. It was for women whose gag reflex is strong enough to handle rooms full of “baby pink” and stores with names like “A Pea In The Pod.” I remember watching Marisa Tomei in “My Cousin Vinny” talk about her biological clock and thinking, Dang that is one slammin’ mini dress she can pull off. Why the heck would she give that bod up for a baby with some schlub? Bitch is crazy! But lately, I have to admit, I just can’t fight this feeling anymore! Babies have won me over with their adorable powers, which are part bunny-soft, part kung-fu grip. Curse you, cuties! You are sweet, lovable lady kryptonite. So, as someone who is trying to hit the snooze button on her biological clock, I’m here to help you, my fellow womankind, to notice the sneaky signs of their newborn magic working on you … Keep reading »
I think about babies a lot. Big, fat tears rolled down my cheeks while watching Kourtney Kardashian give birth on Sunday’s episode of “Keeping Up with the Kardashians.” I secretly and selfishly hope my pregnant friend’s baby daddy will chicken out of being in the delivery room and I’ll get to be there with her. I’ve already offered to babysit, oh, constantly. I’ll be deep in conversation with someone and a baby will cross my path and it’s like I’ve suddenly found myself in high altitude because my hearing is muted — I’ve got baby tunnel vision. Needless to say, I am a terrible date at a family-friendly restaurant.
So every time I see a headline like this one, I get a little … discouraged: “Ovaries have not adjusted to many women’s decision to delay having children.” According to the article in yesterday’s Washington Post, a study conducted by the University of St. Andrews and Edinburgh University shows that women lose 90 percent of their eggs by age 30. I turned 30 in November. Researchers studied the “human ovarian reserve from conception through menopause” and using the data of 325 women, they did some math and concluded that the average woman is born with approximately 300,000 eggs and “steadily loses them as she ages, with just 12 percent of those eggs remaining at the age of 30, and only 3 percent left by 40.” Keep reading »
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