Friday 28 January 2011


There was an article this morning's paper that screamed ‘Don’t Wait Too Long to Have a Baby!’ This paper is known for its fear mongering, I read it for sheer amusement. In short, the article explains that women over the age of 35 are putting themselves at risk for fertility problems and complications up to six times compared to their younger counterparts. And furthermore, doctors are now giving women stark warnings not to leave having babies too late. Cause apparently we don’t have enough to worry about…aging, finding a suitable partner, paying our bills, the imploding economy, that saggy bit under our arms…and oh yeah, your eggs are drying up and you’re going to have an android baby with two heads if you don’t watch it. But please, don’t worry too much and have a nice day.

I remember when my doctor gave me the ‘talk.’ In fact, after my 35th birthday – oops, I mean my 25th birthday :-) - he would gently ask about my personal life and then give me that look, and ask if I was thinking about having children. My response would always be, sure I was thinking about it, did he happen to know where I could buy one? This usually shut him up, at least until the next visit.

So here is the thing in regards to the insistent myopic medical community, it’s fine to tell a woman who has a partner that she may not want to leave it too long, but what about the women who can’t find a suitable partner to save their lives? And trust me, there a lot of women out there who have kissed more frogs than Miss Piggy (actually, she’s pretty loyal to Kermit). So what exactly do you tell these women? Listen luv, you need to have a baby, so this morning when you’re on the way to work be super nice to your bus driver cause he may be a suitable donor (and as good as it's going to get).

Talk about placing undue pressure on the female race. Is the message now to women everywhere that they are supposed to have children earlier with the wrong man, just in order to procreate? Hell any man will do apparently! Or perhaps women should start rushing sperm banks in a fertilization frenzy. Just think of it, it would be like the annual Ikea sale, woman throwing themselves at the glass windows out of fear and desperation, knocking over their fellow female sisters. ‘My doctor said I have to do it RIGHT NOW!! Out of my way you barren cow that sperm is miiiiiine!'

I was lucky enough to find the right man, but we still took our time producing the King; I’m not one that caves to pressure and of course greatness like his royal cuteness takes time. But moreover, I thank the universe every day that we did not rush things. Cause the King – as you know – is no walk in the proverbial park. Entering his kingdom takes every ounce of energy I have, and in my younger days I probably would’ve taken him to the pub and left him on the bar by accident. Okay, I may be exaggerating just a bit. I at least would’ve left a nice bowl of cocktail nuts beside him in case he got hungry.

So medical community, STUFF your fear. Women are doing just fine and the last time I checked, my street wasn’t littered with posses of two headed toddlers.

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