baby brain

High disclosure warning: New year brings new opportunities for navel-gazing + pondering of life, the universe + everything (as it centres around me). Anyone who’s not interested in the intimate + somewhat warped workings of my brain may like to depart Planet Claire now, because I’m about to go off on a self-indulgent rant.

I’ve been thinking.

I’m at an interesting point in my life. The first of a series of mid-way points I guess, where I realise that one phase has passed + wonder what the fuck comes next. I’m 30; I’m single; I live in a small slightly shitty city; I have an abundance of friendship + good fortune. On lots of levels I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, even though nothing has gone to plan + I’m nowhere near where I expected to be. I know myself + for the first time I feel a modicum of fondness for this person I seem to be. I could plod along like this for decades I reckon, hanging out with me mates, exercising a little creativity from time to time, earning a keep. I think I could even learn to enjoy the single life, even though I’d dig a little love + affection on a regular basis. The one big question mark is kids, + I’ve been feeling it pretty acutely over the last couple of weeks.

Aunty Ruby was late in visiting after Chrimbo. (Sorry Weeze, there was a basis to the “So what would you do if you were preggers right now?” conversation.) I had to think the whole scenario through again + I realised that I’d keep the baby if I was preggers right now. I’d be scared witless, but I’d do it. My biggest fear is missing the opportunity to have a family. And if I regret anything of the last 12 or so years of my life it’s that I didn’t pop out a bunch of sprogs early on, like I always thought I would. Now I find myself at a point where I’m over-ready to start a family but have no conventional means to do so.

Late periods have a way of kicking you in the guts + mine came straight after I’d a) spent ten bucks on the kit, + b) run into Erin in the baby-stuff-aisle at Coles. Erin is a friend-of-a-friend who is newly pregnant via donor. I found this out in the aisle mere moments after concealing the kit in my trolley. It felt like a sign that the whole thing could be done… until.

Of course the whole thing can still be done. I would like to find a way of creating the life I want for myself, preferably without slutting it around town. (I don’t think “Hey baby, wanna be my sperm donor?” is going to work for me anyway.) It blows my mind to think about the permutations + customisations that occur, the power we have to re-shape the concept of family + give it our own meaning. There’s no panic here. I’ll have my year of taking it as it comes. But at the same time I want to throw my desire out into the world, make my request of the universe (or however that hippie line works) + see what comes back to me. Keep an ear to the earth for me!