Babies, babies everywhere and not an egg to spare… This has become my mid-twenties mantra. Sometime in the past two years there was apparently a massive snow storm, everyone’s power went out, and the entire Southeast woke up pregnant.  Who knew what a firestorm of fertility those high school friends were? Remember that wild woman from college who drank her breakfast and consumed Mentos for lunch? She’s popped one out and cooking another.  Don’t drink the water and watch where you land. It’s a jungle out there and George has lost his loin cloth.

If I sound irreverent, it’s the insane jealousy speaking. While listening to Pandora Radio at work yesterday, the song, “With Arms Wide Open” by Creed came on. I shed a physical tear. I cried to Creed. Yes, Creed…Scott Stapp…the worst thing to come out of an otherwise delightful decade. The only thing that would have induced more self-loathing would have been for me to have warbled along to a Nickelback ditty.  Other things that have sparked the water works in the past week include a two year-old’s birthday party, tiny socks, and a touching father/son moment on NBC’s “The Biggest Loser.” I have lost my mind.

Something else has occurred which pains me greatly. I now have to mentally steel myself upon logging into Facebook. It goes something like this: “Well, today’s a Tuesday, and it’s 11:03 in the morning, so someone is sure to be pregnant. That’s ok, though. That is their prerogative, and does not reflect on me or my failure as a woman. I am awesome and could most definitely be pregnant if that was my intention. That is not my intention, though, because I’m only a quarter of a century old, and there’s plenty of time as long as I live to be 100 and never go through menopause. I’m totally ok with waiting another 12 years while we save more money, pay off the car, plant bushes and learn to play the bagpipes. I’m sure that my eggs are not committing mass suicide every additional day that I’m not pregnant because that would be a scientifically sound assumption, and what has science ever gotten right?!” Once I have gone through this pep talk with myself I usually summon the courage to type in my password and hit enter, to which I’m greeted with the ominous, “Susan has updated her About Me!” Yay, Susan.

The question that we (my husband and I) keep coming back to is “when will we be ready?” I think that the only plausible answer is “never.” There will never be enough money. We will never be free of all bad habits. The back room will always be full of crap, and no one’s ever going to learn to play the bagpipes. As Death Cab for Cutie so eloquently states, “Plans are just tiny prayers.” So where does that leave us? “Where the sidewalk ends and before the street begins?” Yep, I think so.

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