it's official

I am old. Do you want to know how I know this officially? Because today I went to see my GP about getting my pain medication changed and my wonky periods and acupuncture (I like to pack in as much as I can on the NHS's dime) and after discussing those wonky periods (she says to give it another month since I just got off the no baby pills two months ago because they were making me mean) she asked if I was planning to get pregnant. And I said, "Maybe in the next year or two." And she said, "Don't leave it too long , Carolyn." In a very nice way, I mean, not like hey, you old bag, your eggs are drying up and a woman's only purpose in life is to make babies so get cracking! or anything but more in the gentle concern of a kind dr sort of way. And I made a crack about how my mother says the same thing. And she said very seriously, " No really, you can't leave it too long, it can be very devastating." And I know she wasn't trying to make me feel old or anxious or anything bad, she was just pointing out the state of womanly affairs.

The whole exchange left me with the two following reactions.

1. When did I get to the point where making babies has become a concern of this nature? You know, like it's no longer, oh shit my period is late, but rather oh shit my eggs are not as plentiful as they were in my youth! When did I stop being 22? Because I'm pretty sure that in my head I am still approximately 22 years old. When did everything change and go all topsy turvy? I'm not old yet, really, am I? I'm still young, aren't I? Authors are considered Young Authors until they're 35, so doesn't that apply to my womb as well? And how is it possible that I am two weeks away from being 31 and my goddamn book is still not written? What the hell is up with me? When did these grownup adult ass concerns become valid?
2. Babies. My peer group is currently making a lot of them and they all seem really psyched about it. Sure they aren't sleeping and they're having crazy mood swings and one of them has lasting issues due to the most dreaded word I have ever heard, the episiotomy. But they all claim to love and adore the fruit of their loins. They all claim that seeing the face of their baby(ies) makes it all worthwhile and that all else pales in comparison. But I (obviously) remain unconvinced. What if I do make a baby (with Jeremy's assistance of course) and what if it isn't all worth it? What if I'm like the We Need to Talk about Kevin mother and I never connect with my child on a deep and meaningful level and my child ends up shooting all the kids at his/her school? What if I'm a lousy fucking parent? What if i have a baby and realise that I was right all those years when I said I didn't want children and that I would be happy without them? God, I miss that conviction I had that I was not maternal in the least. But I was also convinced that I would never marry, and here I am, married. So I feel that I owe it to myself to reconsider this too. I need to figure this shit out but I worry it's one of those things you can't know for certain until you're in it. Babies scare me. The whole idea of bearing them and raising them into responsible citizens of the world is scary. It's really really scary, and for someone as easily frightened as me it takes on huger and huger proportions every day. I'm not ready. But if I'm going to do it I need to get ready pretty fast.

There, that was your slice of neurotic reproductive cake for the day. I'm going to go bang my head into something now.