I’m gonna say it, I’m broody af. I want a baby more than anything and I’m not afraid to share this with approximately everyone I meet. I have a recurring dream about finding a baby wrapped in blankets on my windowsill and keeping it and loving it more than anything (I bet a psychologist would have a field day analysing my dreams). I wake up heartbroken that my baby is just a figment of my imagination and feeling like a part of me is missing…
But don’t you know how much responsibility a WHOLE OTHER TINY HUMAN’S life is I hear you ask? Yes I know! But I also know I’d give up the social scene most 18-25 year olds crave in a heartbeat. I know I’d spend the equivalent of a new Gucci bag on nappies and baby grows. I know my days would be filled with poo, burps and breast pumps. I know uninterrupted sleep would be a thing of the past. BUT I also know that I’d love my tiny human more than I could ever love a night out at TimePiece with a Gucci bag and a good sleep after a night of embarrassing myself in Toptop.
Flicking through glossy magazines I’m reminded every week of my ticking body clock. Simultaneously, I’m reminded of the need to get a firm grip and start climbing the career ladder before babies are on the cards. I feel like I have so much to do, and so little time! My parents didn’t start expanding the family until my mum was 36. She did amazing things, traveled the world and worked hard to get her dream job. She’s pretty badass and has a life millions of women would be envious of, but she has always said her biggest regret is starting her family too late so she couldn’t have more children. Which now leaves me thinking about how soon I’ll have to start my family so I can use up all my favourite baby names!!
As I mentioned, I’m happy to share my baby fever with the world, and I think it’s contagious because as many crazy looks as I get, I also get a surprising number of people who end up sending me pictures of cute baby socks that they see in town because they too, are broody af.
Being a teenager is hard enough, then add in the whole university experience and I know I can hardly look after myself some days, (erhem… yes grandma, I love the nutribullet you got me and I absolutely do not ever use it to make frozen berries and vodka slush puppies). Perhaps starting with something slightly easier, like a goldfish, could be more sensible. But my ovaries are giving me other ideas.
My dream isn’t far from being a reality, all I need to do is have some sort of stable income, support from family and friends… oh yeah and the small matter of finding someone who wants to procreate with me, which could be tricky as I’m the biggest singleton in the universe.
If Kylie Jenner had a baby… why can’t I… ugh it’s not fair.