There was a time not so long ago that I laughed in the face of people who would talk about the ticking biological clock. Having children really wasn’t something that interested me; I was too self involved, too unsure of my own world to consider bringing someone else into it.
I remember the moment I felt the first pang. I was 37 and had just moved back into my condo -after yet another failed relationship attempt- and was awakened by the cries coming from my neighbours’ infant. Awakened by a physical ache that truly caught me off guard. Tick tock.
Now here I am, weeks away from my 40th birthday, much less self involved and much more self-aware, and I can’t get away from the ticking of this clock. Where once it didn’t make any kind of difference to me if there was a child in the room, now they are the most forceful magnets imaginable.
I don’t know if I will ever create a life; I honestly have no idea if I am even physically capable. The thought of pregnancy and giving birth absolutely scares the shit out of me. And the chance of me being able to afford to have a child before my biological clock gives out is exceptionally slim.
But someday, when we decide we are ready to take the chance, I will stop religiously taking birth control. Someday I will set my body free and allow nature to take over and do what it will. Someday I will know if motherhood is a privilege I will be blessed with. I do my best to not hope too hard one way or the other but sometimes it’s a struggle. Then a screaming child bangs into my chair and stomps on my foot at the airport and I realize that I’m completely okay with letting fate make this decision for me.
