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A Baby By Me

 
It’s kind of funny actually.

Ask any girl my age and she’ll confirm that there ought to be some sort of award out there for making it to the quarter-century mark without having to go shopping for a crib. Literally, most girls – myself included – will likely go through all of college and their early 20s playing Russian Roulette with a pee stick every now and then. Sorry moms and dads of America, I’m just keeping it real.

You would think avoiding pregnancy is easy, but it’s actually a lot harder than just wrapping it up or popping a pill. After all, these are the same years people tend dabble in extracurriculars like keg stands and same-sex makeout sessions. Those aren’t exactly the precursors for abstinence, people. In fact, as anyone who has ever taken a beer bong in an Abercrombie mini skirt would know, those very actions are more like the gateways to some serious pregnancy scares.

Well, flash forward a few years and a 401K later and I still dodge pregnancy like it’s a pothole, which is ironic considering how highly single I am. But this is not a post to go into my undatabilty, but rather to bring to light something I’ve kept to myself for over a year now.

Tune in.

Last year, I was at a routine checkup at the OBGYN. The visit was normal, I was in and out in a half hour and downing a Potbelly’s sandwich 10 minutes later. About a month after, however, I received a phone call from the doctor with some interesting news regarding my monthly cycle. I’ll spare the details for now, but the bottom line was she wanted me to begin some hormone therapy to try and regulate it.

Last Tuesday marked one year of doing this therapy and very oddly, no change in my system took place.

“Hmmm,” my doctor said in the exam room last week. “Well,” she continued, “you aren’t trying to get pregnant are you?”

“No, Doctor,” I replied. “Definitely not trying to get pregnant.”

“Good. Because, I have to be honest with you. If I were to guess right now, I would say you will have a lot of trouble getting pregnant. That is, if you can get pregnant at all.”

I guess I was so used to celebrating any combination of the words “Not Pregnant” that I didn’t give what she said too much thought at that moment. I simply got dressed, headed home and proceeded with my night as usual.

The next days proceeded as usual, too. That is, until I passed an elementary school near Division and Clark.

I was walking down the block, heading to my office. I was in my own world listening to my headphones as I nonchalantly passed person after person. Then, I saw a little girl, about 6 years old, walking towards me with her backpack on and an adorable pep in her step. She had as many colored barrettes in her hair as lip gloss tubes in my purse and I couldn’t help but wonder if her hot pink high-tops came in adult sizes.

We locked eyes and I kind of smirked, the way I would when passing a fellow jogger on the Lake Path. To my smirk, she responded with a full-fledged, bright white smile.

I knew that smile, as I have flashed something similar before. I recognized it as the same smile I shot at my mom when coming out of kindergarten and seeing her there to pick me up by the flagpole.

At that moment, it dawned on me that I might never get to see a ‘little me’ flash a “there’s my favorite person!” smile my way. And although what that girl showed me was far more satiating at 8:30 in the morning than any Starbucks latte, it was also a rough reminder that I needed to revisit the news my doctor gave me and come to terms with what it meant, despite the fact that I was far off from having to really dwell on its reality.

On one hand, I didn’t have to worry about that “whoops” situation all young adults dread. On the other, I couldn’t help but lose a little hope in the 35-year-old version of me that I pictured in my head all my life. I mean, sure it’s foggy, but don’t we all kind of envision our lives around that point as one with a significant other and maybe a couple kids?

It was like I had placed a stock photo of my future in frame, but didn’t have the rights to own the photo just yet. As such, there was a giant watermark “?” looming over the image of me and my future happy family.

Bummer.

Then I realized, I needed to not count out the 35-year-old me just yet. Life has a funny way of working out. Maybe seeing that little girl and connecting with her big, teethy grin was not necessarily the omen I thought. Perhaps instead of it indicating something I wouldn’t have, it was really a sign of something I will have.

Even though I forget it sometimes, I believe the key to a happy life is in perception and positivity. And when take a moment, pause, and put those two together, I absolutely know that the middle-aged me will be someone’s favorite person, standing by a flagpole, someday.

Until then, iStock can just be patient as I remain positive.