As I sit here a week and a few hours from my 35th birthday, there is a bit to contemplate. It started a few months ago when I started experiencing what I can only describe as a physical void. Yes, my friends, the biological clock is real!
I always thought this to be a myth, an urban legend. Unfortunately it's true. Something kicks in at some point that makes your body feel empty, and fills you with an overwhelming want and sadness. Some people claim to have this much younger than my age, but I never experienced it until recently. I mean, sure I've always wanted kids, though I've tried to tell myself I didn't after my divorce, but I always knew in my heart I did. I LOVE kids! Sometimes I think they get me more than adults do, but still I never felt that pang, that void until recently. It's not something that is always with me, or controls me, but there are definitely moments that last longer than others. And for some reason, there have been WAY too many magazine articles and such lately, talking about statistics of getting pregnant at my age and up. They lay out all these factors about age, how long you've been on the pill, how much sex you've had. Basically, I've learned I'm like an overplayed Beatles record that is now just playing static with intermittent lyrics. I screwed too much, got too old, took too many birth control pills, and now my junk is apparently equivalent to Death Valley.
I remember my ex-husband once telling me about how his mom bought a Happy Meal from McDonalds and put it in the trunk for some reason. Three months later she opened the trunk and the Happy Meal still sat in its final resting place...or so she thought. She opened up the bag in curiousty, and found that....duh, duh, duhhhhhhhh...the Happy Meal looked exactly the same three months later as it would have upon purchase. That is my junk. It looks fine on the outside, but upon closer inspection it's not what it seems. The the uterus is cloudy, my ovaries explode, and I've got a hoo-hah that seems to only intake things and never releases. My burger has gone bad.
Tonight, my friend Isaac emailed me about my birthday and the following conversation ensued. And I'm sure he thinks himself an expert since his mom is, as he quotes, "a pussy doctor."
Isaac: dude i am a bad friend! when is your birthday?
Me: Like you're expected to know? No worries. It's on the 5th. I'm going to be OLD!!! I'm turning 35. I got five years of eggs left. It totally sucks.
Isaac: hahaha Heather don't think of it like that. First off 35 is not old. Second, plenty of people have kids in their late 30's and early 40's now. So don't sweat it man. october 5th. Well that is brilliant! I feel things brewing, my brain is ticking like a funny little mad bomb.
Heather: Isaac, trust me! We're talking day old eggs and a camping skillet. A woman's chance of conceiving drops 87% by age 40. I'm currently at like 45% or something at my impending age. You throw in a repetitively exploding ovary and a tipped uterus, and I will be lucky to poop out a mouse. And most women from 40 and up do the invitro, which unless I fuck Bill Gates on the side, is not affordable.
Brewing? Ticking? I'm scared! Unless you send me a baby, that is! Yes, ship me a Black Market baby. That is what I'd like for my birthday.
As I had this conversation, I realized something. While my biological clock ticks away, I know that life is still full not matter what lies ahead. I have the most amazing people in my life who make me smile every day, and a pretty good life in general. If a kid could fit in there, that would just be the sprinkles on the dessert. If it doesn't happen, I still got the cupcake.
And who knows? I'm walking around with an internal Happy Meal inside of me, and the one thing I forgot about is the surprise inside each Happy Meal. Who knows? It could be a kid in five years, or at the very least, a baby purchased off the Black Market.
