I had dinner last night with a couple of old friends. One friend, Polly, was all abuzz with news of her new beau. Seems Polly and her fella are on the fast track, full steam ahead to Marriage City. He hasn’t formally proposed yet, but they are living together and already shopping for wedding venues. She told us to expect an announcement soon and to keep October open. Polly’s relationship with her guy is younger than my blog, btw. When asked why the hurry, Polly pointed to her lower abdomen and said, “because these puppies aren’t getting any younger. I need to be pregnant by this time next year.” Ohh! So that’s why… Matzel Tov?
So exactly how old are these old friend’s old eggs? Less than six months older than my old eggs, as a mater of fact. Thanks for reminding me, P! I try not to think about this ticking clock stuff, but maybe she’s got a point. My eggs and I better get a move-on. Haste makes waste! I should be on Match.com right now looking for the first half-way suitable sperm donor I can find, marry him, push out 2.5 kids, then worry about all that other silly compatibility stuff later. Right?
Wait. I would like to be happily married some day with a kid or two, I really would. What are the chances, though, if I went Polly’s route that I would have the happily part? I think about what my Aunt Liz said, that there is no worse loneliness than the loneliness inside of a bad relationship. For the record, I haven’t met Polly’s boyfriend/unofficial fiancé yet. He could be Polly’s perfect life partner, for all I know. When she was talking about him, though, all I heard was, “red flag, red flag, red flag.” I learned a long time ago that having an opinion, particularly when it comes to someone else’s boyfriend/girlfriend, doesn’t mean I need to voice it; so I kept my mouth shut. How often is, “I HATE your new boyfriend!” or “Make sure you get a pre-nup!” ever well received, anyway?
What I’m trying to say here is that I don’t think it’s wise (for me, at least) to force an artificial timeline. I surrender to my higher power. He’s in control of this matter, not me. Someday he’ll probably see fit to lead me toward a healthy partner. Maybe he’ll do this while I’m still young enough to conceive naturally. Maybe not, though. Maybe his plan is for me to adopt, or something else entirely. All I need to worry about right now is getting healthy. The rest will come when it’s time.
Image via Wikimedia Commons.