Thoughts On Dusty Eggs and Still Having It
This weekend I became 1 year closer to turning 30. Looking back on the past year I have a lot to be happy about. This was the year I graduated and got a job with grown up benefits. I have not had a lot of negative thoughts on turning 30. I know this can be a hard year for some people, but for me 26 was a hard year. As a child that was the year I imagined myself married and with a child of my own (or more than one). I imagine 30 as more of a year I will do something incredible. Like have my ovaries crumble into a pile of dust. Let me 'splain...

Every year I have dinner with my friends. This is a celebration I treasure. Usually. This year brought a little something special. I have a friend who suffers from diarrhea of the mouth (let's call her McGee). It's an unfortunate disease but she is able to keep it under control most of the time. She is older than myself, and struggles with the expectations from her younger years. During dinner someone asked me if I was nervous about the upcoming 30th. I asked if I should be (trying to be funny and keep it light). That's when McGee broke in and said that most women are terrified about turning 30 because that's when they know they've lost all the good child bearing years. She then went into detail about how old and decrepit my eggs would become in 363 days (as she was talking I swear my eggs shriveled a little in horror of their impending doom). She then asked if I ever thought about donating or freezing my eggs. At least if I donated them, she said, I would get some cash. I looked around at my friends (who seemed strangely silent to me--which is a side effect of her disease) and stated that everyone was welcome to join me at the egg clinic (if such a thing exists) for my 30th. We could have a picnic as I unload my damaged goods.

Needless to say this got me thinking. Am I becoming old and decrepit before my time? Am I dusty? But at dinner the next night I found out I still had it.* As I was trying to find a table to have dinner with my father, I told the waitress I could sit anywhere. "Anywhere you say? This girl (yes he called me a girl-hee hee) is going to sit right here (pointing to the space between himself and another man)." Sure the man was 65 if he was a day, but hey, that's my flirting demographic. I laughed and told the gentleman to have a nice evening. Happy to be 29. Because the 28 year old would not have attracted a man who could afford to eat at a restaurant (my previous flirters were also homeless). I think this will be a great year. I say bring it 30, My eggs are prepared to dust themselves off and dance a jig. Or even a cool dance like the running man.


*I lost it two days later when someone at work asked when I was expecting my first child. But it was sweet while it lasted.