***Warning: this post is blunt, honest, and addresses the elephant in the room with every woman in her mid-to-late twenties whether she wants to admit it or not***
The biological clock is not a myth. Whether you love kids or hate them (if you hate kids, we need to talk. I’m trying to understand your kind… but I just can’t). Before you start thinking I’ve become some sort of desperate almost 26 year old who is dying to have children, let me assure you – I have not. The problem with the biological clock is that it doesn’t care about any other element of your life. If you’re 25, you’re 25. You’re not the youngest child who is still mostly called by her childhood nickname. You’re not the late-blooming girl who took her sweet time growing up, because she could. The clock doesn’t care.
Ready or not you’re going to start loving the smell of babies’ heads. You’re going to reminisce about the days you got paid to play with other people’s children while they enjoyed a rare night out. One day you’re going to surprise yourself by browsing someone’s pinterest wedding planning board. You may, in a weak moment, watch an episode of ‘Say Yes To The Dress’ without vomiting (but you probably won’t really enjoy it). You might even think of potential baby names — this one will scare you the most.
There are enough wildly complicated relationships in my family to make it worth my while to hold back and take my time. To make sure I’m prepared for the challenges. I know this, but the clock doesn’t care. When I think too long and hard about my advancing age I fall into the rabbit hole of comparing my accomplishments to other women in my life. (By accomplishments I mean the things society wants us to do as women… whether they should be how we measure our success or not.) I think about my Grandmother who was married at 19 and had a kid within the year. I think about my mom who waited longer but was married and had her first baby by the time she was 26. My oldest sister had two kids by my age. My middle sister was married with a stepson by the time she turned 26. I am 24 days from turning 26 and best classified as “intermittently single”. I know, I know, you have to take changing times into account. My grandmother got married in the early 50s, my mom in the early 80s. My sisters are both a decade and a half older than me. Times have changed. Intermittently single at 26 is not weird, but that doesn’t keep a girl from comparing the numbers. It’s human. We live by comparisons, without taking outside factors into account.
So the challenge is comparing other things. When the ticking of the biological clock gets too loud we have to remember that we haven’t spent our entire lives accomplishing nothing. I have a career that’s going pretty well. I have good friends all over the country. I have people who love and respect me. I have skills that will hopefully lead me to more career opportunities in the future. I don’t have a husband and I don’t have babies, but I don’t want them… yet. I do have the ability to enjoy an occasional night out with a great guy, and nearly a dozen of my siblings’ kids to spend time with until I make my own.
Now if I could just find the volume on this damned clock.