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My Biological Clock Is Actually a Biological Time Bomb

posted 13th November 2011    Written by: Kat    CATEGORY: All Posts, Family, Kat, Quarterlife Crisis, Season 5

When I turned 29, disaster struck. Suddenly, I wanted to have a baby.

This may not seem like a big deal to you, but for me, it was entirely unexpected. Prior to August 5, 2010, I didn’t care whether or not I had children. I adamantly declared that fact for years – just ask my mom. Friends would tell me that my biological clock would kick in someday; I was convinced that I didn’t possess one.

My brother has always wanted to have a family, so I figured that he could have kids, and I would be the awesome aunt who got them cool gifts as she traveled around the world. It was going to be great.

It’s unclear to me why my biological clock decided to make its grand appearance as I was in the middle of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad breakup. Apparently my body didn’t get the memo that I wanted nothing to do with those of the XY chromosomes. I can’t recall exactly how it started, whether I woke up and went, “Ohmylord I want a baby!” or if it was my sudden, overwhelming desire to coo over photos of friends’ children. It was there, and it wasn’t going away.

It took some time, but I thought I’d tamed the beast. Sure, I still ooo and ahh over my friends’ kids. I love hanging out with my two-year-old pals, even when they want me to read the same book to them 27 times in a row. It melts my cold heart when I see attractive dads with their kids, and I wonder if I’ll ever find an awesome partner to co-parent with me. Still, I find that my biological clock, while it makes me a little sappier, is overall manageable.

Or at least, I did. And then I spent two weeks in England with my OddDaughter, B. She just turned one, and she. is. amazing.

You see those stacking cups in the photo above? I can’t tell you how many times I rebuilt that tower to see the great joy in her face when she knocked it down again. I read the same five or so books – her favorites – over, and over, and over again. Sometimes, we wouldn’t even finish them before she’d want me to start from the beginning. (One-year-olds, goodness. Talk about a crazy short attention span.) When her parents brought her downstairs in the morning, she’d come into the living room, beaming – especially the day that she put her toy train that plays music next to my head to wake me up.

I knew I was in trouble when I was willing to sing at least 20 verses of “Old MacDonald” to get her to stop crying in the car ride home one evening. For the love, that farm had a seal and a tyrannosaurus rex on it! I can’t describe the sheer joy of tiny hugs when I would pick her up, or glee over high fives. The day that I saw a photo that my friend had taken of the two of us about to go down a slide, I actually had to look away because it made my heart ache so much.

Apparently, my biological clock is actually a biological time bomb.

There are a lot of ways in which I’m not on the same track as many of my peers. I don’t own a home, nor do I want to. I quit a good job to travel around the world and settle in another country. I’m single and don’t have any marriage prospects. And you know what? I’m okay with all of those things.

This one, though – my desire to be a mother – gets to me. I think about the fact that I only have about ten good child-bearing years left in me. When will I be ready for this? (Yes, no one is every fully prepared, but as someone who’s traveling indefinitely at the moment, I want to be sure I can create a stable home.) With no long-term partners on the horizon, at what point do I need to consider asking a friend to co-parent with me? (I know that I don’t want to raise a child alone.) Even more difficult to ponder, what if I can’t conceive? Is adoption an option I’m willing to entertain?

I don’t know whether I’ll ever know the answers to any of those questions. What I do know is that these freaking hormones are no joke.

Tick…tick…tick…

[photo credit: me!]

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The Home Stretch: A Meditation on Youth

posted 28th June 2011    Written by: Amanda    CATEGORY: All Posts, Amanda, Family, Season 4

As I write this, I’m two weeks away from my due date of July 3rd. Little ZomBaby has a makeshift nursery set up in our bedroom, complete with comfy seating for me and ample snuggle space with his daddy. I’ve watched my life transform from video games and gadgetry to Bumbos and baby clothes. Nothing’s been replaced. The additions have been comfortable (so far).

My nights are getting shorter; the mornings are early and sleep doesn’t come easily to a woman with swollen feet and aching muscles. When I was younger, my muscles ached from organized sports. I’m closing in on twenty-five and the muscle pain is from being a little top heavy.

Behind me, there was a lot of broken — broken dreams, broken hearts, broken promises. Beckoning to me, there is a world of promise — promises of love, fulfillment, and success.

Mike and I had a deep discussion last night about youth and what it meant to each of us growing up. Mike has always had this incredible youthfulness that he wears as a badge of honour. He’s responsible and mature where it counts (our finances, etc.) but is playful and whimsical the rest of the time. It was one of the things that really drew me to him six years ago. Until we met, I was very serious. Playful at times, but usually very serious.

I worked hard. I rarely enjoyed my life. It was one big drama after another with me, which may or may not have been related to my eighteen-year-old disposition.

I had to grow up fast. My mama — this incredible woman with an incredibly warm heart — has been chronically ill for the entirety of my life; my family needed me to step up, even if no one asked. I wanted to ease the burden on my parents as best as I could. I made breakfast for my brother when we were small. I got my first job babysitting at eleven so that if I wanted to get something special, I wouldn’t have to ask my parents for it; it was important that the money went to medication, groceries, and my brother. My self sufficiency and fierce independence was the product of that “grow up fast” mentality.

So when Mike and I had our discussion about youth, I realized that I had spent most of my life avoiding youth. Avoiding playful and wonder and whimsy, just so I could make ends meet or so I could ease the burdens of family (even friends).

I wept. I hadn’t realized it before… but I was starting to feel the bowers of my life closing in.

What if this youthfulness was lost to me entirely?

Mike disagreed.

We would reimagine youthfulness and experience it through the eyes of our child. As he grew and wondered and played, we would grow with him. We play and see the world through his young eyes.

So while we’re on the home stretch — the final weeks of my pregnancy — I’m finding myself more and more at peace with motherhood. With parenthood. With childhood.

I’m grateful, as always, for this moment. These handful of moments, really.

Image is my own.

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Can I be honest? I’m terrified.

posted 29th March 2011    Written by: Amanda    CATEGORY: All Posts, Amanda, Family, Job/Career/Work, Love/Relationships, Season 4

Note: this is my very first video blog, like, ever. Be gentle… but be honest: how’d I do? If you’re a mama, tell me how you’ve dealt with your terror and freakouts. I would love to see how other mamas — or mamas to be — deal. You all give me such inspiration. ILU.

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One Love Ends, Another Love Begins

posted 20th August 2010    Written by: Alisha    CATEGORY: Alisha, Creativity, Family, Inspiration, Love/Relationships, Season 3

You know that saying about how love always comes when you least expect it?

One Friday afternoon, I left a message for my boyfriend the bouncer, letting him know that it was not going to work out.  Then I called my friend Crystal and we made a date: Brooksider for burgers and beers at 8.  In that basement, on a very cold February night (February 9th to be precise), the universe threw another curve ball.

I won’t bore you with the details, but let’s just say that I fell in love that night.  Three months into our relationship I found out I was pregnant.  Wowzers.  My head was spinning.  My first thought was, “oh my God.  My parents are gonna kill me.”  Fortunately they did not.  And luckily, for me, my new boyfriend was beyond excited.  That night we drove to the library and stayed up until the wee hours talking about baby names.  It was a hasty decision, but two months after that we got married.  I was working full-time in the accounting department of an engineering firm while going to school full-time.  Needless to say, I left school—again—and focused on work while trying not to freak out about my future as a parent.  Yet, at only 22 years of age, how could I not be freaking out?

The summer flew by, autumn was a blur and on December 29th, 2007, I gave birth to a very beautiful baby boy.  During my maternity leave, we decided that the ridiculous cost of daycare meant that I should become a stay-at-home mom.  Those first 4 or 5 months were really difficult.  My life basically consisted of pumping, feeding, burping; pumping, feeding, burping; pumping, feeding, burping…you get the idea.  I was tired, hungry, and very depressed.  I did not admit it to myself then, but looking back on it now, I was clearly suffering from Post Partum Depression.  One night, as I rocked him back and forth, back and forth trying to stop the crying, I could feel myself fill with rage.  My muscles got really tight, hot.  Jaw clenched and eyes wide open, I imagined myself throwing him across the room.  I didn’t, of course.  But I really wanted to.  At that moment, I felt like a failure as a mother.   Yet, day after day I tried my best to be the “perfect” mom.  I learned how to cook.  My home was always spotless.  I got a sewing machine.  I tried to learn how to knit.  I even tried to be all eco-friendly and green and use cloth diapers.  (After I had to soak a poopy one in the sink, the husband put an end to that.)  However, I never really felt like “me.”

Three years later, I have perfected the role of a homemaker but I still feel lost.  It was not until I was pregnant with my daughter that I really felt compelled to make some more change.  I knew that if I wanted to be an example of a strong, secure and authentic woman for my daughter that I needed to get to work on my self.  This past summer I read “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron and it is no exaggeration when I say that it has changed my life.  It reminded me of all those little things that make up “Alisha”.  I delved back into writing, drawing, dreaming.  It made me excited about life again.  It was as if by giving birth to her, Iexperienced a rebirth of my self.

However, I am still floundering in uncharted territory.  I knew how to be “me” when I was single.  Now, the challenge is how to combine all of these new elements (husband, home, two children) while I travel on this existential journey, the rediscovery of my soul.  In the midst of broken train tracks, how will I find inspiration instead of ire?  How will I navigate through the poop and toddler vomit and stay on course through this crisis?  I don’t know.  But maybe Stratejoy can be my compass.

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