I was out with a lovely young lady for lunch today who asked me when my biological clock began to chime. She, concerned that she wasn't as "baby crazy" as her peers, wondered if it was normal not to want to pop out infants in multiples during her early 20s.
I assured her it was.
Last week, I joked that my friends were once convinced that my biological clock was digital. It make no sound, it sounded no alarm. For years, while girlfriends dated, engagified, married, pregnacized, and baked cookies, I dated, wrote, worked, traveled, and ate out. I didn't really "climb the corporate ladder" as much as I dramatically cascaded along bookshelves on a wheeled one, like Belle in Disney's Beauty & The Beast belting out a musical number. I wasn't opposed to children, I just didn't have time for them. They weren't a priority, and neither was domesticating.
On my 25th birthday (to the day), I felt the urge to go home, home to Toronto, like a migrating bird. I wanted to nest close to my family. When I met up with Andrew I experienced the unnerving sensation of being with the person the I was going to be with for the rest of my life, which added to the drive to settle down. But once we were two years married and looking to start a family did I begin to suffer the phenomenon of Everyone-Is-Pregnant-Itis*. Pregnant bellies bulge everywhere I go. They bump me on public transit, they delay the elevators, they waddle throughout the supermarkets, they post ultrasound pictures on Facebook.
I am convinced that the "settling down" chip, implanted in us from birth, implements whenever and however it is made to - each according to its host. Some people make effervescent younger parents, either on purpose or by surprise, and some become refined older parents, again, not always according to script.
When it does, all of a sudden, things like this will make you all quivery inside:
* Similar to Everyone-Is-Getting-Married-Itis, which generally strikes those looking to find a special someone.
