extramonologue

GAME CHANGER.

Since I live in New York City and act at least -10 my age, I’ve always been under the assumption that I’d be capable of conceiving well into my 30s. And if, you know, for some reason that entire decade passed me by, too, I’d probably just get some fertility treatments, write about them in the New York Times (an essay in Modern Love or, if I’m really lucky, a reported feature—woven with a thread of personal experience—in the Sunday magazine) and eventually pop out a kid or two just in time to be able to afford preschool on my meager media salary. Typical, right?

Well, that was until I saw THIS absolutely TERRIFYING study. Seriously? It’s like all my friends’ moms got together and formed a 501(c)(3) to fund research that would light a fire under our collective asses, and gain them the golden ticket into Grandmaland. I am making a mental list of 30+ first-time mommies right now to drown out the sound of my deafening biological clock. Ughhhhh.