It is a week before my 35th birthday. I was having a super thrifty moment when I bought this ridiculous flight from Portland to Los Angeles with a layover in San Jose. Who in their right mind would take a layover in San Jose when going from Portland to Los Angeles? There is more time wasted boarding, un-boarding and waiting in total than it takes to get from one place to another. Like I said, I was having a super thrifty moment.
In a nearly empty waiting area next to the gate, I aimless wonder through the hallways of my mind when all of sudden I am struck by a most peculiar thought. Do I want children? Wait. Where did you come from? Why are you asking me this question now? The question is insistent. This must be answered between now and the flight’s arrival in Los Angeles.
DING DING DING!!!
Did you hear that? My biological clock, programmed by the most delicate and precise horologist, just rang. Why hello uterus, did you not the get the note from our career counselor?
A month later, he utters the words babies and suburbs in the same sentence and I immediately experience shortness of breath.
I can summit Kilimanjaro. I can do another tour of the Middle East as a single woman; Sierra Leone or the DRC, yes, yes I can do that. I think I can make a documentary film about women in conflict. I can most certainly finish writing the two books on hand, raise enough money for the incubator and drive a tut-tuk across the length of India, but babie and suburb?
*Deep breaths, deep breathes before I hyperventilate*
Everyone has limits, its good to know where yours are.