August 16, 2012, 2:42 pm
Filed under: when I grow up


Of my close friends from each phase of life, no one has yet knocked out a mini model. Peripheral friends have had a couple. Everyone I’m not friends with from high school could not, apparently, wait to board that train. By the time I get around to it the next generation will be making out on the basement stairs.

There was this couple in the town I lived in who had their third while I was there. About 30 years old. I saw them out one night after a formal event. They were grinding and flirting. It was weirdly very romantic, which I wanted to say and didn’t.

I’m not ready.

I will be, I think.

It may be like marriage. I remember thinking “after college” was the defacto get-hitched time as I meandered through undergrad. I sized up relationships at twenty with so much seriousness. The latent fear of getting a bad draft pick for lack of scouting hung heavy. Things like meeting parents were big markers. In short, much time that could have been spent on being a good friend, making more bomb mix tapes, throwing crazy parties and/or doing something with my perpetually messy hair was consumed by a deadline that would eventually pass without notice. Hair, still messy, music, still disorganized.

With babies I guess there are a few clocks. The after-35-science-says clock, the one that reads you want to spend a couple years with the baby daddy prior, the career ladder mess-up timer. Late twenties me can’t say if some or all of these are reality for my situation.  Late twenties me was too busy last Friday loving a dubstep electronic whatever set to be thinking about procreation or noticing the time running down.

(That is actually not true. It may be the sense of time running down that makes life sweet right now.)

I write this after thirty more conversations about my next move.
The odds are against it being “have a baby”


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