Tick Tock

I’m hearing the ticking. Yes, the slow ticking of the proverbial biological clock that alerts so many women they’re nearing the end of their child-bearing years. When I was 25 and married, I knew I wanted children – couldn’t wait to start having them, in fact. And then my marriage ended and I realized I decided I’m not cut out to be a parent, and don’t feel the need to be one. Last year I couldn’t hear the clock. 

As I got to know myself, I became afraid of beating my children. I have a patience level of about nil, and the sound of a shrieking baby makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. How on this good earth would I handle having one of my own? Erin says that sometimes you just have to let them scream to save your own sanity, and there’s nothing wrong with that. My mom agrees, and adds that when you give birth to a baby you are filled with more love than you could ever imagine. I am skeptical.

Then I got to know my nephew.

I met Benny when he was just starting to crawl. Fluffy blonde hair, with blue eyes like both of his parents; he is an adorable child. I was there when he started to talk, and like many children, couldn’t manage my full name. I was dubbed “Aunt Titi” henceforth. Every time it comes out of his mouth my heartstrings pull a little tighter. Every hug he gives me, every spontaneous “I love you”, every time he asks me to push him on his swing, or when he sang me happy birthday this year – I remember why I wanted kids in the first place.

So why now, am I suddenly filled with thoughts of babies? Why is that damn clock ticking? 

Because I’m not 25 anymore, I’m 31. I’m no closer to a boyfriend, or a wedding, or a place where I could reasonably raise a child. But as I’m waiting impatiently for my period to either show (or not), I realize that at 31 I’m a grown woman capable of anything. I can (and have) accomplished anything I set my mind to. And if that thing is a baby of my own, I just might be ready.