on being ready for a baby

I remember a few {okay, maybe more than a few} years back, cleaning out the bedroom I inhabited during my high school and early college years. While sifting through my things, I found an essay that I must have written during my junior or senior year of high school. The prompt was to talk about where we thought that we would be in five years. {So that would make me 23-ish.} I predicted that my "grown" self would be married and on the way to starting a family that would have two or three kids. I would have a stable job, possibly something in the health professions. As I sat there on the floor of my closet and continued reading, my then 27-ish-year-old self dissolved into laughter. How naive I was when I wrote that, how young and innocent. There I was at 27, reading what my former self had envisioned for this life. I was 27 years old, 4 years past the "future self" I had written the letter to. I was engaged but not married, and not even close to being ready to start a family. Fast forward a few years and I've been married going on three years this December, still no baby in sight. It's funny how that works. We think we know exactly what we want, and then we grow a little, mature a little, and everything changes. The pressure for a baby has been everywhere lately. My mom wants to be a grandmother like it's the only thing she's ever wanted in life. My sister-in-law just had baby number two, making us now an aunt & uncle to both a boy & a girl. This has pretty much satisfied the grandparental urges of the in-laws for now, but they're still giving their subtle encouragement for a grandchild that can carry on the family name. My friends are popping out babies left and right, and many are on baby three or four. Through it all, I've remained with this feeling that I'm just. not. ready. The idea of having a baby honestly downright terrified me. Being responsible for the babies in my class for three hours at a time was enough of a challenge. Taking care of my camp friends 24 hours a day for a week exhausted me. How in the world could I be responsible for another life 24 hours a day, for 18 years? I couldn't explain it if I tried, but this month all of that changed. All of the sudden I wanted to have a baby, and I wanted to have one as soon as possible. {Talk about a complete 180.} It's funny how life changes. I'm grateful that the predictions my 17-year-old self made didn't come true on the time table I felt they would, but are coming true on my new {and improved} timetable.