These days, lots of women are waiting until they’re in their 30s (or 40s) to have children. For some, it’s a career decision, for others, a timing issue. And, let’s face it, many of us don’t find the guy we want to be our Baby Daddy until a little later in the game. I myself waited until the ripe old age of 33 to pop out my first (and so far only) daughter. I thought I was smart to put it off, but in hindsight? I wish I had taken that leap a little sooner. And here are seven reasons why.
You have way more energy —Back in the day, I could work for 12 hours, go to class and have a few beers with friends before finally hitting the hay in the wee hours of the morning. And when my alarm went off? I could rise and shine, none the worse for wear. And now? After a long night of walking the floor with Tori, I look like Frankenstein’s bride. Not pretty, folks.
You don’t know what you’re missing—Brian and I had ten long years to get used to luxuries like spontaneous Target trips, lazy weekend mornings and hours and hours of free time. So when Tori came along? The adjustment was, well, difficult. If we had made the switch from young married couple to tired parents earlier, we wouldn’t feel the loss of our freedom quite so much.
You’re used to being broke—I don’t know about you, but I spent most of my 20s being seriously broke. Once I got to my 30s? I was usually only slightly broke—and could even afford the occasional vacation. But now that there’s Tori, I’m back to being seriously broke (and it kind of sucks). Day care is expensive, yo.
Your body bounces back faster (or so I hear)—I’ve always yo yo-ed a bit, but back then, it was way easier to get off. Now, my metabolism creeps along like an old lady using a walker. It’s 17 months later, and I’m just now getting back into my pre-pregnancy jeans. Not exactly record time.
You’re less likely to get all those “childhood diseases”—This is just a theory, but I’m guessing the closer you are to your childhood years, the more likely it is that you’ve recently had whatever vicious virus is going around. I, on the other hand, only have to hear the phrase “stomach flu” to start puking my guts out.
Your body is way less creaky—Child-rearing? Is hard work. Your body is part jungle gym, part ladder and all support system. You’re constantly getting down on the floor, only to pop back up to chase a run away child. Then there’s the endless picking up and putting down. And the twirling, swirling and zerberting. Fun chores, to be sure, but when your knees are already getting crabby? There are times you feel more like a crotchety grandma than a young mom.
You’re less needed at work—Now, this might seem offensive, but think about it. The closer you are to the bottom of the ladder, the more likely it is that your tasks can afford to wait a day or two. Which is a good thing, believe me. Because when they can’t, and you get one of those nasty childhood diseases? You end up working from your couch, puke bucket at your feet. Again, not pretty.
I could go on, but I’m starting to feel like I should go ahead and apply for my AARP card, so I think I’ll stop while I’m ahead. Now it’s your turn. What do you think is the best age to have kids?