If I Freeze My Eggs Will You All Get Off My Back?
It’s not my imagination. There are a lot of people out there who think I should have babies. And I think that if I freeze my eggs, that won’t bother me so much. Because no matter how awesome my life is, or how successful my career is, there’s always going to be that person at a party who says, “Don’t you want kids?” There will always be that fellow single friend who calls, post-breakup, to cry into the phone, “I’m worried I’ll never get married and have babies!” There will always be a news story on how childless women are more likely to get breast cancer. There’s a lot of pressure—of both the overt and insidious varieties—to breed.
Sometimes that pressure can turn up the volume on the little voice in your head that says, “There’s nothing better out there. And if there is, you don’t have the time to go looking for it. You’d better hold on to this one so you don’t end up a cancery spinster.” That sh*tty little voice has convinced me to make some pretty stupid choices: guys who just weren’t that into me. Guys who were really into me but still kinda married to someone else. Guys who lived in other countries. Guys who liked me but “really needed to be in a touring band right now.” And that all before I even turned 30.
Sh*t gets real in your mid-thirties, because that’s when the world starts to notice how OLD your ovaries are. I have a few friends who get to my age (37), panic about their ability to have babies, then take to the internet to arrange a flurry of dates. On the rare occasion that a date turns into something more, I listen to a lot of justifications for a guy’s flaws.
One friend will say, “He’s kind of messy, but that’s ok.” She means, “He’s a pig. But I’m not sure if it’s bad enough for me to start all over again. I don’t have a million eggs left, you know.” Another will say, “He doesn’t make a lot of money, but he’s working on his resume.” She means, “I hope he figures out how to make more money. I don’t have a million eggs left, you know.” And yet another says, “During dinner, he took a dirty sock off and smelled it to see if he needed to put on a cleaner pair.” She means, “I could have one egg left and he could be the only guy left on earth and we’d just have to end humanity. But I’m pretty irritated about having to go back out there to find another suitable option.”
Well thanks to science, you don’t need a million eggs. You just need a few frozen ones, and I plan to get me some. That way, if I date a stupid musician, it will be because he is HOT—not because I’m worried he will be my last chance at a making a baby.