Last summer, I had my first panic attack, and it was induced by children.
By the way, I don’t have any kids.
During an office baby shower, a female colleague about 15 years my senior reminded me that I was next, since I was married, 27, and only had an estimated 12 percent of my eggs left. Highly inappropriate? Hells to the yes. And effective. It freaked me out.
Four months later, I was having a particularly rough morning at work. I couldn’t stop getting interrupted and my to-do list kept getting longer. I suddenly felt massively overwhelmed. My brain went into a crazy-spiral: If I can’t get my work done today, I can’t get home and write the screenplay of the century, and it’ll take me forever to become the Nora Ephron of my generation, and I will be letting down every woman and brown person in America by not unleashing my voice to the masses, and I won’t be able to have a baby until there’s at least some small sign that I could accomplish that, because I’m not trying to be some resentful, broke mom with “dreams.”
I blacked out at my desk for a minute, popped an Advil and sat in a nearby park for an hour inhaling an economy-sized bag of popcorn.
That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Keep reading »
Mother Nature’s biological clock stops for no one, not even wannabe grandparents. And that’s why, instead of nagging their daughters about why they have not settled down and started pumping out babies, The New York Times reports that today’s moms and dads are helping to foot the bill to freeze their eggs. Well, rich moms and dads, anyway. The procedure to freeze eggs (not including future in vitro fertilization) costs between $8,000 and $18,000. But apparently, the possibility of future grandchildren is priceless. Keep reading »
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. Keep reading »
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 »