I spent the larger portion on my early 30s desperate for a baby. In that quiet keening kinda way that disturbs small dogs and makes potential partners edge nervously for the door. I even had a brief moment when I couldn’t imagine life having any meaning without the patter of tiny footsies. And then I had to pull myself towards myself and come to terms with two clear facts: there was a good possibility that I was never going to have kids or if I did, I was going to be facing a non-traditional option.
I weighed up the idea of various non-traditional approaches and eventually realised that doing things entirely on my own was probably not a road I wanted to go down. So made some significant moves to investigating egg freezing.
Not having kids took longer to get my head around than I thought it would. But I did. And the prospect was actually quite rad, to quote my 16 year old cousin. International travel, less panic about stable income, sloth…yeah, I could do that.
So imagine my surprise…
The universe laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs.
If I dig deep for honesty here, I’m a little ambivalent. I’d made other plans. I’d shifted my perception of myself really rather drastically. Mother was not fundamental to my sense of future self any more. On the other hand, whoah! Baby! Squee! A wee beastie in mah belleh. A little zygote of pure loveliness. Extraordinarily awesome.
Fuck me. Life does like it’s curve balls, don’t it?