Lord Help Me, I’ve Got The Old Chick in The Club, Ready For a Family Itch

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I probably should’ve written this anonymously because if my family or friends come across it, I will never hear the end of it. The thing is, I’ve been on a tirade for the past four or five years about not having children. I never was a person who dreamed of baby carriages or said I wanted to have a big family, but after seeing how far money doesn’t go in New York City, and watching one too many women carry their strollers up the Subway steps while men pushed past them or just watched them huff and puff at each step, I decided I wasn’t about that life. And so, I made the announcement to my family—at every holiday gathering—and moved on with my happily non-impregnated, don’t ever want to be impregnated life. But something(s) happened to change my tune just a smidge last week.

One, I turned 27. This is actually an age I’ve always wanted to be and probably one of the few years where I didn’t feel like, “oh God, I’m not where I want to be.” There are some situations I don’t want to be in but an equal number of doors are opening and I’m pretty content. However my best friend, who’s not quite 26 yet, hitting me with the “oh my god, you are truly a grown woman. When you say ‘I’m 27,’ it lets people know you are too old to be bothered with childish foolishness but still sort of young you know?’” I just wanted to hang up on her, you know? Plus, I think I got used to the “oh you’re still a baby” comments that annoyed me at 26 and all the years before, but now for the five days that I’ve been telling people I’m 27, I just get “OK, cool.” No wet behind the ears, breath smelling like Similac jokes or nothing.

Number two, I went out for my birthday and spent about a good hour dancing back to back with a guy from high school that I hadn’t seen in forever and who’s 25. I’m not sure if I was on one or having a legitimate breakdown, but I felt like a straight cougar and was having a hard time trying to figure out the appropriate way a woman of my age should dance without moving like a granny or trying to compete with the 21-year-olds whose heads I couldn’t see because they were bouncing and shaking that thing like the twerk team. Add in the fact that he wiped sweat off my forehead and I had just the slightest twinge of knee pain the next day, and I began thinking, “Hmm. Maybe this is the life I’m not about.”

Number three, my friend got engaged. I’m not too keen on his bride of choice, but for some reason me telling him I was going to be looking for a new apartment soon—a studio that screams room for one and only one—just didn’t feel quite as exciting as the thought of him creating a home for his soon-to-be wife and their son together. Now don’t get me wrong, for someone as independent as I am, the ability to be able to have my own space, pay my own bills, and do me all by myself is nearly orgasmic. However, for the first time possibly ever, I was feeling the urge to have a purpose outside of myself and be responsible and accountable to someone besides me.

Number four, mother’s day hit. Now again, don’t get me wrong here either. I gladly turned down the mother’s day mug they were giving out at church yesterday. I even gave my friend a high-five as we celebrated the fact that we made it another year child-free; and I was quick to tell anyone who assumedly wished me a happy mother’s day, “oh no, not me.” However, something in me thought it wouldn’t be so bad to be on the receiving end of those wishes legitimately. Someday. Maybe. Like when I’m 35.

That’s my happy medium, compromise and have a kid age right now because there are some things I have to do first, like save (a ton of) money, find a man, fall in love, get married, have several years to ourselves without babies running around, and probably a million other things I can think of accomplishing before incorporating chil’rens. However the fact that I’m even thinking about having any—and had the nerve to write about it—is sort of tripping me out, along with my best friend who went silent when I shared this sentiment with her earlier since we decided we’d have to have kids around the same time or our friendship would be ruined. So basically, I’m secretly hoping I run into one of the worst kids I’ve ever come across in life today so I can go back to my zero tolerance for children policy and live childlessly ever after.

As far as the old chick in the club thing, I’ve just decided to hang out with older people so I can be the young one in the group again. Kidding! I’m pretty sure my cougar paranoia was an isolated incident magnified by the fact that a 25-year-old seemed to be the only decent specimen where I was, and if I was going to be serious about having at least a family consisting of me and a male counterpart I had better find some new places to hang out. At 27, I’m not really the old chick in the club, however I have seen 40 in the club and I’m telling you right now, I refuse to be her or the woman I fear I’m about to turn into, which is a 27-year-old single lady dreaming of babies spitting up on me and keeping me up at night. (If I bring up the bad aspects of motherhood it helps me cope.) Either way, I’m hoping I’m not alone in this struggle and some of you have hit that age where you suddenly start wanting things you never thought you did before. Or, you just feel plain old. Either way, share por favor!

Did you get the itch for a family or children after you turned a certain age?

Brande Victorian is a blogger and culture writer in New York City. Follower her on Twitter at @be_vic.

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