It was just after midnight, some eight hours ago, when it occurred to me that I’m “supposed” to give birth to my first child within the next 20 days. I have proven wrong on all those lame little high school essays for which the topic was, “Describe how you see yourself in 10 years.” Could I have completely and irreversably missed the fork in the road of my life where I was supposed to turn onto Matrimony Road, cross the white picket fence to enter Blissful Family Manor, being greeted first by an excited dog bursting through the front doggie door, then cheering children as I open the door, then loving husband, patting Dodo’s meowing head as I cross the foyer? Have I forever missed the boat?

I quelled the bubbling internal panic by thinking of how I got on this alternative path. Times are a’changin’, I tell myself, agreeing with everyone else who have been telling me for the past 5 years that I’m a baby, I have time, no one gets married and has their kids in their late 20s anymore. Anyone whose education and career are worth a hoot do the fiscally responsible thing by setting themselves up first, preparing for their futures, BEFORE “tying down” their lives and finances with creating family, they tell me and I agree, mostly because I have to. Agree, that is. Oh yes, I’m like this by choice. Oh yes, I’m happy. Oh yes, the only guarantee I have is my own actions so it’s much better I rely only on myself and ensure my own future and make my own major purchases and select my own investments and pay my own bills. Yes, yes, there’s no guarantee a marriage would make me happy, that relying on a husband and having kids all with their own minds would provide any form of stability. I’m much better for having avoided major mistakes like marrying the wrong person.

But then I look at my parents, who see themselves as aging, reminding me that time ticks by. I hear my mother’s assumptions uttered so presumptively as I grew up that they had become my own assumptions. “I thought of having another child, but I thought forget it, I’ll just wait to hold my grandchildren.” “I’m saving this for your kids.” “I recorded these stories on cassette tape for you, when you no longer want to listen to them, save them; one day you can have your own children listen to their grandmother tell them stories when I’m too old to read the books these came from.” “Do you want your old storybooks? I have them in a box so you can read them to your kids one day.” “I packed all your childhood hair things. You’ll have it for your own daughter’s use.” “Haha, how’re you going to cook for your kids when you’re so impressed with this dish? Come over earlier so you can learn how to cook your favorite foods for your own family.” It is unnecessary for her to ask questions of my future, hinting that I should be getting my life “started” now; it’s not like I’d been pushing the issue back in my own head because I’m unaware it’s there. But she asks, and I push.

My life has been stagnant for the past 6 years, my last accomplishment being the purchase of this house. I don’t care to celebrate 31.