It’s one thing that can happen when you tell women to hurry the hell up.
The author of this post is known to Mamamia, but has chosen to remain anonymous.
Women everywhere sighed yesterday when another “expert” made headlines for telling women to hurry up and have a baby by the age of 30 or they may miss out. Is it worth just settling for the wrong partner in a desperate rush to fall pregnant?
I fell for the hype. The pressure, the scare mongering that I would be one of those who would miss out.
I fell for the statistics and the headlines.
I fell for the pressure and I wonder now if I was a fool.
Eight years ago I was aged 30. I had a successful job that made people want to talk to me when I told them what I did. I was fit, healthy and desperately, desperate to have a baby.
I believed, you see, that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have a second chance. I believed that after the age of 30 my fertility would decline so rapidly I would be left floundering. I had an ache so raw that when I saw a newborn baby that I had to hold my breath for fear I would groan out loud with a visceral need to hold her.
When friends told me they were pregnant I felt bitterness and envy. Bile and sadness.
It wasn’t me. It was never going to be me. I had had a series of relationships, all mediocre. I was in one at the time it was barely past mediocre.
We’ve all heard it haven’t we?
How could you not? If you aren’t shacked up and up the duff by the time you blow out the 30 candles then it’s a one-way ticket to the nearest IVF centre.
Eight years ago, the media was obsessed with the ticking time bomb women were carrying around alongside the eggs which were shrivelling and dwindling daily. We saw charts and diagrams, we read feature articles and watched current affair shows all designed to make us realise that if we didn’t hurry, we would miss out.
It was like being given a death sentence. The death of your unborn babies.
And I fell for it. At the age of 30 in a dead-end relationship I decided that the only option for me was this. Him. There was no time to find anyone else. He was nice enough, he was into me, he was educated and responsible and had learnt to control his temper. He had a job and enough hair and decent genes (and jeans) and I had to suck it up as this was it for me. My chance.
I was pregnant first time round. Success. No more worrying over timelines or time bombs. Two blue lines had delivered me from what I had feared was my fate.
A barren woman.
Instead I was to be a mother, with surprising ease.
This woman had triplets at the age of 66. Post continues after video.