“If you want to have kids you’d better do it while you’re young. The women in our family go through menopause early — 38 to be exact. Your grandmother? 39.”
My mother said that to me every few weeks from the moment I started menstruating until I hit 30. But at 25, I was more concerned with drink specials than finding someone special. During my monthly fertility chats with Mom, I’d internally puff up and congratulate myself for not being into all that conventional crap.
I was the cool chick. The one who didn’t need a boyfriend and didn’t want to get married and lived in a big, bad city and focused on work and traipsed about to parties; soaking up new experiences and bad dating stories like a weathered Army vet with a killer hangover. This was my identity and I loved every second of it. Keep reading »
I’m more than sure Kirstie Allsopp is going to take a beating from the Internet in the last few days over encouraging young women to forego higher education for a job, an apartment, a boyfriend, and a baby. She argues that career doesn’t have a time limit, while (for most people) child-bearing does.
I’m not going to call her anti-feminist, or a bad feminist, or whatever. She’s a person with opinions she’s entitled to — a few of which I agree with, notably that marriage is a big old WHATEVS. I just think there are some serious logical flaws to her argument. Keep reading »
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 »