Smell the baby's head!

My dad forgot my birthday, and I awoke to a loud singing voicemail from him the next morning.

Happy birthday, Lisa D
You are no longer thirty-three
Here's a fact you can't ignore:
You are now thirty-four

My dad had it all wrong. This was my 33rd birthday. But my slightly fuzzy morning-after-birthday-at-a-brewpub-brain couldn't quite be sure. So I hopped on the Internet and Googled an age calculator, sure that my dad was the one whose brain was addled by age. But the calculator confirmed the hateful lyrics in my father's song. In a sad aside, this was also an unfortunate truth for my husband who doesn't remember his age but knows he's a year younger than I am, and was equally shocked to find out he's actually 33. So we both aged an extra year overnight. Thanks, Dad.

[If I was the tea-partying type, I would've at least had the comforting option of believing that this was actually a government/Internet conspiracy to trick me. Unfortunately, unlike Glenn Beck, I tend to let facts get in the way of my most cherished notions. Although...no one has produced a birth certificate validating the fact that I was born in 1976.]

Smell the baby's head!

Last month I visited my recently married friends, Chris and Jeff, for Mardi Gras. Another friend joined us for a parade with her 18-month-old toddler, Olivia. If cutie-pie Olivia doesn't make you want babies, nothing will. My slightly intoxicated friend Chris, married just under a year, sat next to me holding Olivia and tried to convince me I should have kids soon. "I'm just not ready. I need to find stable employment, and I'm probably going to go back to school," I argued.

But Chris knows that I'm just stalling. These are perfectly legit reasons - but you can always find a good reason why it's not the right time to procreate.

"SMELL THE BABY'S HEAD!!," Chris demanded, proferring Olivia to me. "It will OPEN your CERVIX," she shouted among the families enjoying the Sunday afternoon parade.

I explained to Chris that the idea that smelling a baby would trigger some kind of chemical reaction arousing my maternal instincts was utterly ridiculous. Plus, I had already tried it. Nothing happened.

Irrationality

Since I can't wait forever for those maternal urges to kick in, 34 years old means it's time for me to make a rational decision to just have the damn baby. But as my mother pointed out recently, there is no such thing as a rational decision to have a baby. Well-documented research shows that childless couples have happier marriages and experience about a 15% higher life satisfaction level overall. Also, they have a lot more money and the women have perkier boobs, to boot.

But my wonderful, patient husband really wants children. And I'm getting to the panicky age where I can't screw around much longer. It's pretty much now or never -- so I guess we're taking the plunge. But first I have a month to consume all the coffee, alcohol and mercury-laced fish I want. Cheers.