Just last year, heady with my new-found financial independence and single-woman empowerment, I boldly declared that if by the time I turned 35 I had still not found a suitable partner to start a family with, I was going to have a baby. On my own. By hook or by crook.
I have since then changed my mind.
Parenthood is hard enough to adjust to with a supportive partner, let alone flying solo. There is absolutely no way I'd be able to do the single mother thing. And my hat is off to the courageous women who have managed to pull it off - whether by choice or by necessity.
Don't get me wrong. I love kids and babies. I won't deny that I experience some twinges of baby envy when I see most of my really good friends with their cute little progeny. I wouldn't be averse to having one or two in the future (assuming my eggs meet the deadline) despite my abject fear of the enormous responsibility surrounding raising them. I just don't think I could do it by myself. Well, maybe I could if I had to, but at this point I don't think I really want to.
I really admire women who are able to strike a balance in their lives and pull off "having it all." At this point in my life, I can barely deal with what's happening at work and being able to stay on top of my laundry. Maybe that makes me a shallow single person who refuses to grow up, but chronologic age does not necessarily reflect psychological maturity.
Maybe I'll change my mind a few years down the line, when I've gotten a handle on what it is to be a responsible adult and a better concept of life balance. Until then, I'm happy to borrow my friends' babies for my cuddle-fix - because I know I can easily return them when they become fussy or need a nappy change.