I’m beginning to feel like a walking, talking cliché.
But I’m at the age (37), when maturity and uncompromising honesty kicks me fair in the ovaries and I realise, she’s ME!
(Take a deep pause for the unhinged rant.)
This is my life, and the more I try NOT to think about where I am, the more it haunts me like the ghosts of Christmas past. (Ironically, it’s more upsetting than Christmas ’78 when Santa stumbled drunkenly onto the barbecue, set fire to his nylon suit and, in the midst of panic, revealed himself to be my Uncle Barry!)
Then there are Christmas boyfriends past… but that’s another moan for another time.
And now it’s Christmas present and it’s surreal.
It’s like I’m looking at myself as I have a conversation and I’ve turned into Jennifer Aniston, Cameron Diaz… Betty White. (In fact, insert any rom-com star over 35, sans child.)
I’m having an animated, yet deeply moving, conversation with my “bestie” over a mocha frappe at Starbucks about how “my clock is ticking so loudly Barbara Cartland can hear it and has asked what the noise is”, or I’m telling her I’ve actually turned into that Andy Warhol poster where the blonde looks devastated and the thought bubble screams: “OOPS! I FORGOT TO HAVE A BABY!”
Even my fridge magnet is screaming at me: “WHERE’S OUR BABY, YOU MORON!!!”
Because, THAT IS ME – THIS IS MY LIFE !
I’m the walking stereotype of the career gal that… I dunno… just forgot.
I got busy, dated dickheads and didn’t realise my time was REALLY RUNNING OUT!
Too greedy looking at what else was on the menu, I suppose. I never really committed to that: “must find hot, successful guy, must marry him, must buy house, must have baby.”
Yep, I’m the one that forgot to tick that box.
I recall being interviewed for a story in WHO weekly years ago that was headlined: “Women Who Choose Career Over Babies”.
At the time, being 33, I wasn’t really fussed at being featured in such a deceptively brutal article about how “selfish” I had been to choose “interviewing celebrities and having a top-rating radio show” over a child, because I honestly thought: “I’ve got plenty of time and I’ll be having kids one day.”
I suppose a lot of people still think of me as that selfish woman.
But now I know the truth. Something went wrong with that picture. Very wrong.
I’ll be honest.
I got sucked into a vortex of dating the wrong guy and having kids never came up in conversation – ever.
I just didn’t feel like ticking that box – at all. There was no urge.
Then one fine day, I woke up out of a fog and thought : “WOW… I’m 37 and I’m running out of time. BIG TIME!”
I watched that SBS special on Sami Lukas turning 40 and how she was desperate for a sperm donor and I thought: “Faaarrk”…. I want kids too! What am I going to do?”
Then I reasoned, hey, I’m only 37.
Madonna (whom I had the distinguished pleasure of interviewing many years ago, sans child) didn’t start the baby ball rolling till she was 38 and that was as a single (albeit rich and world-famous) mother.
She then went on to have another child aged 42.
Why was I worrying?
Now I see the truth. Even though Kelly Preston just had a baby at 48; Mariah Carey just dropped her double-bundle at 40; Hugh Hefner is still dating bunnies aged 84… do I still have time?
Do I want sleepless nights, limp hair and cracked nipples?
Am I prepared to live in tracksuit pants and have an opinion of daytime soapie storylines as I sit and nurture my baby from my once-bountiful bosom?
The answer to it all is: YES I AM!
Why not? After all, the thought of NOT having a child is keeping me up nights.
So the bottom line is – short of posting an “eggs close to expiry date, use now” ad on the local shop community notice board – I need a plan.
I’ve decided to hone my feminine wiles and find myself a decent loving man.
Hey! It should be easy enough.
I need a man who has had a full and adventurous life; is pleased with how he’s turned out and is now ready to share himself with someone else and contribute to the nurturing and care of another blessed life force.
Or can buy a cat.
Look, I know I can change my attitude and accept all the brilliant choices I have made up until this date. I can be grateful for all the things I’ve had the chance to experience.
And I am all that – grateful, thankful, mindful – full of ‘fuls’ in fact.
But I’d like to have a baby. I really, really would.
I have to keep believing that tomorrow is another day and anything and everything is possible.
I know TheHoopla women are possibly the brightest and bravest women on the planet with about 5000 years of life experience between them.
(OK, no offense, you don’t look a day over 3000 years.)
But, how do I proceed from here, my ladies?
Any advice for an empty-nester like me?