My Biological Clock Is Ticking, But I’m Still In No Rush To Have Kids

The constant reminders from well-meaning relatives and friends that my biological clock is quickly edging up to half-past old-ovaries-o’clock don’t change the fact that I’m not in any rush to have kids right now. I want them very much, don’t get me wrong — I’m just not ready quite yet.

I barely know how to adult myself.

 I don’t excel at the grown-up thing. When my wife goes off on a business trip and leaves me alone for a few days, I rarely change out of my pajamas, I subsist on Ramen and frozen pizzas, and the house is a pigsty until approximately two hours before her return. How am I going to take care of a tiny human being? L’il Robinson isn’t going to hang out with me when Mom Squared is away, eating pizza rolls and playing Grand Theft Auto. Well, not until s/he’s at least four, at any rate.

Having a baby is a thrilling prospect, but being pregnant scares the hell out of me.

This is why I’m happy to allow the wife to go first, in spite of my aging eggs. I’m scared to death of pregnancy. I’ve watched Grey’s Anatomy for 12 years now — I know how many things can go wrong. Also, I have so many horrible habits and I’m not sure if I have the willpower to give them up yet. That makes me feel like a horrible person, but what can you do?

Do you seriously poop on the table?

 For real, does this happen? My mom – who is both a nurse and a mother, obvs – swears that not every woman poops on the table, but I think she’s just telling me what I want to hear because she wants grandchildren. I don’t want to Google it because the truth is that I don’t really want to know.

I legitimately fear vaginal prolapse.

I know it’s unnecessary. I know that and it doesn’t matter. This is the scariest thing and what if it happens? What if my baby makes my vagina prolapse and then I resent my child forever?

I’m not entirely sure who I am yet.

I’m still figuring out who I am and what I want. I’m still trying to improve myself. I’m not my best self at this present moment. Would I be doing a disservice to a child if I have one while I’m still all over the place?

There are still so many things I want to do.

Traveling. Learning. Adventures. Do I want to share any of that with a tiny child or do I just want to share those experiences with my wife? Until I figure it out, it’s probably best that I don’t gamble on that and end up resenting my life as a parent.

Newsflash: I’m kind of spoiled.

That’s like saying that the sun is kind of hot, by the way. I genuinely worry that I’ll be jealous of the attention my parents give my children, for example. Actually, that’s the only example, but the very fact that I think about it horrifies me and makes me think I’m not mother material at all.

I don’t know if I’m selfless enough to give up everything for a tiny person.

I know that I give my all to my wife. I know that I give my parents anything they ever need or want. I don’t know why I’m worried about being selfless with a child, especially when all signs suggest that this comes naturally, but there it is.

Sometimes, my wife and I accidentally lose our dogs.

It doesn’t happen often, and I don’t mean we lose them in that they run away or anything. Still, sometimes one of them sneaks outside, and we don’t even realize it until we do a headcount. We always find a doxie or a chi waiting on the porch, whining pitiably. What if I do that with a kid? Jesus, what if I leave the baby in the car?

Part of me likes my life the way it is.

This goes back to that selfless/selfish thing, I guess. I like my life. I like my little family just the way it is, with the wife and the dogs and the antisocial cats. In the interest of full disclosure, I admit that I worry a baby will disrupt my vibe.

I still haven’t decided what I want to be when I grow up.

Fact: I have five different goals at any given minute. There’s a book in the works. There are school plans on the horizon. I just feel like my crap’s nowhere near together enough, you know? There’s plenty of time for kids later down the one once the rest of my life is together.

What if I screw it up?

I love my parents so much, and I adore our little trio, but they were dysfunctional AF when I was a kid. Granted, they were young and I’m sure they worried about messing up, too, but what if I repeat patterns? What if there’s this little life under my care and I shape it the wrong way? God, that’s terrifying.

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