Ask anyone who knows me, I am stubborn and impatient.  I have many incredible qualities, but I am most aware of my crummy ones.  Up until last year I would have said my worst quality was stubbornness.  I was wrong.  It is my complete lack of patience that is crippling.

For all of my teens and most of my 20’s if anyone asked me about kids I would have said no, I don’t have that desire to make kids or raise kids-it seems like a lot of work and I don’t know anyone who has them that doesn’t complain!

I wish I could remember the day in my life that I woke up and decided to change my mind about wanting children.  What was it that I saw or thought (or both) that made me change my mind?  I am sure it must have been a gradual change-one would hate to think they made such a radical about face and been so completely un-self aware at that moment.  It’s not like I changed my mind about the type of laundry detergent I use-which incidentally I remember that day of my life standing there in the aisle-staring at Gain and then picking Era over Gain.  Damn you selective stupid memory!

I wish I could go back in time to that day-I would have made more of it- maybe lit some candles, gone to a church and said a prayer, done a native American dance, chanted some mantras, burnt some sage, swayed my body back and forth as an orthodox Jew would, then performed a Muslim  salah and finish up with a good ol fashioned prayer to baby Jesus, Tom Cruise and Oprah Winfrey (why not it worked for Ricky Bobby?) .  I would have come up with something, even if it took all day and night to get a prayer done in every form of religion out there (I wouldn’t want to accidentally leave one of the gods or powers to be out and have them be mad) if I knew what I was up against and how hard making a child would be.

Clearly at the time I HAD NO IDEA how much of an impact that about face was going to have on my day to day life now.  I know, I know, “hindsight is 20/20” and “everyone’s a great Monday morning Quarterback”  blah blah blah blah.

But seriously-what woman do you know in her 30’s now that wasn’t scared straight starting in 6th grade about getting pregnant too early?  “Trust me don’t get married until you are 30, you will regret it for the rest of your life.”   “Don’t you DARE get pregnant in high school, I will bring you to the clinic and you WILL have an abortion, you are too young to RUIN your life.”  These are direct quotes taken from my mom during my teens-I kid you not.  Our generation got it in school year after year and mostly from our parents (especially your mom) who more often than not felt that she had missed out on MANY things in life because they got married so young and immediately started a family.

Well news flash…Mother Nature, yeah, she doesn’t care that our generation has made career and the acquisition of “things” far more important in our teens, 20’s and 30’s than giving birth.

As a matter of fact-I think she is chuckling at us just a little bit.

Because no matter how advanced our society and times become, biologically our female bodies could care less.  They were genetically given their marching orders that are completely unaffected by society norms.  We are born with our eggs, and every year we grow older-so do they.  Resist as we may-my generation has passed its peak fertility days-and not just by a year-we’re talking a decade or more.

The average age your period starts is 13-scientifically speaking we are most fertile between 20 and 24.  For 21 years I have let egg after egg mature and up until a year ago, I had spent all 20 years trying to prevent one of those mature eggs (over 240 of them) from turning into a child.  Now I am trying to make an omelet with old eggs, very risky business-that omelet could turn out horrible and have to be thrown in the trash or it could be fabulous-you just never know till the eggs are cracked!

Now the race is on.  Tic Toc, Tic Toc.  5 years.  That’s only 60 eggs left-or in my world 60 more cycles to TTC.

TTC you may ask?

Thats Trying To Conceive.  Clearly you haven’t had reproductive issues, otherwise that would not need defining.  I know acronyms now, not only medical ones, but those that one uses to discuss the insanity that is ones life while in the middle of  “the game.”  You immediately recognize someone who is being beaten up in their own game because they slip up and call their husband dear husband instead of their first name while talking with you in person (DH is the acronym for dear husband that you use when talking on community boards instead of your husbands actual name to save anonymity) .

Some 14 years after my peak in fertility, I am smack in the middle of this horrid game with no rule book, where you can be beaten to the ground and left numb, only to muster enough strength to pick your head up just a bit and see the next kick coming while your still down on the ground.  You have no control in this game.  There is nothing you can do ensure victory.  There is no pre-planning or training regimen that can guarantee you a victory.  It is a consuming game-it takes every part of you.  And the saddest part?  My opponent in this game is my own body.

Mother nature isn’t teaching me patience.  She is JAMMING it down my throat!

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