Wednesday, June 5, 2013

OMG! My Eggs

OMG! my eggs are starting to shrivel up and die!!! This is my concern of late. I’m not sure why, really.

Not having children has never really been an option for me. Aside from those few years between 13 and 16 when I didn’t know what to do if someone put a child in front of me - because at that age everything is awkward enough to not know what to do when presented in any situation - having children has always just been an un-objected assumption in my mind. Like, would you like ketchup with your fries? Duh. 

Sometime just after the awkward was wearing off, I was deciding that I wanted to have kids by 26. At 24, I would get married. At 26, I would have my first child. A few years into college, that timeline was pushed back two years. Either way, I thought, I could still accomplish having all three of my children by 32. And then I broke up with The Ex and I was 25 and just wanted to paint my face blue and scream FREEDOM!

The Ex got married this past April. I knew it was coming. What I didn’t expect was to stumble upon a wedding photo of him. When he told me last summer that he was engaged, I was happy for him. Everyone asked me if I was okay, which seemed like an odd question. “Yes, of course. I’m glad he found someone.”

Even more unexpected was my reaction to his wedding photo. He looked great. He kept the weight he lost after gaining in our relationship-falling-apart off and appeared genuinely content. I shared the news that I had seen his wedding photo and again the question was posed, “How do you feel about that?” slash “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” I replied. “I’m happy for him. I didn’t break our hearts so that we both could end up unhappy and alone. I’m proud of him. He looks really good and I’m happy he found love.”

And that’s the God’s honest truth. The initial reaction is hard to explain: Somewhere between saying goodbye to an old friend and wanting to congratulate the shit out of him. I am happy he found love again and I am proud of him for finding himself a better place. I’m glad he took the time we had together and the mistakes that we both made, to learn and grow and become solid man and a good partner. And then it stings a little too. It makes me begin to wonder when it’s my turn.

I feel a bit of martyrdom from time to time. I feel like I fix men and send them off better people, having the next lady benefit from my good deeds…and sore and broken heart. Am I allowed to think it’s unfair since I’m the one with the biological timetable?

Probably not, I realize, considering I have placed myself here over the past four years. And that I have just recently decided that I’m tired of all the dating disasters and disappointing drama of late and perhaps ready to dig my heels in the sand of what potentially could be another broken heart. But I can’t help but think it anyway. And television and media and all this talk of freezing eggs makes me feel like I’m 29 and that means my ovaries are getting ready to audition for the California Raisins.

Damn you, media.

On the plus side, I put a strict rule on myself at 18. For really no scientific reason – and even though I was totally going to have kids at 26 28 – I would only be on birth control for four years. I was convinced that any time longer than that, my body would get confused and I wouldn’t be able to reproduce in the future. I stuck to this rule and at 22 was off the drugs. At 26, I was back on and 27 back off again. So despite the fact that my TwoPointFive got married last year, my first “love” got engaged (again) a few months ago, and The Ex got married in April, I have to hope that everything works out in the end. I have to hope that 18 year old me was planning for more than she knew. Because if I’d stuck to my original plan, I would have missed out on the last 10 years – all of the stories and parties and travels and proverbial face-first-falls and things and time I wanted to myself, for myself; which, without having experienced, I probably wouldn’t have made a very good mother anyway.

It seems like a fair trade to kick some maternal ass.

But I don’t think that just because I love the life I’ve chosen to live instead of the life I had planned, that I shouldn't be allowed get scared about these things from time to time. And I don’t think just because I get scared from time to time, that I should have to regret abandoning my plan and choosing to live my life. What I do think is that the media should just shut the fuck up.

Everything is about balance. This is mine. Fulfillment and hope quell the fear. Besides, 29 isn't that old...right?

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