Pumpkin Turkey Chili

So number 65 on my list is to try one new recipe a month. I haven’t been so good about this, but I found this recipe for Pumpkin Turkey Chili and decided it sounded interesting, why not try it out. With the cooler weather hitting the east coast chili is always a favorite comfort food of mine in the fall.

Ingredients
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 cup chopped onion
1/2 cup chopped green bell pepper
1/2 cup chopped yellow bell pepper
1 clove garlic, minced
1 pound ground turkey
1 (14.5 ounce) can diced tomatoes
2 cups pumpkin puree
1 1/2 tablespoons chili powder
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 dash salt
1/2 cup shredded Cheddar cheese
1/2 cup sour cream
Directions

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium heat, and sauté the onion, green bell pepper, yellow bell pepper, and garlic until tender. Stir in the turkey, and cook until evenly brown. Drain, and mix in tomatoes and pumpkin. Season with chili powder, pepper, and salt. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer 20 minutes. Serve topped with Cheddar cheese and sour cream.  Yields 6 servings.

Since I’ve been trying to eat paleo, I used olive oil instead of vegetable oil and did not use the cheddar cheese or sour cream. In my opinion this recipe was missing some flavor. I added extra salt, pepper and some garlic powder to the first bowl I ate. Since this recipe yields six servings, I definitely felt I needed to spice it up a bit. Tonight I plan on adding in some cayenne and red pepper flakes to hopefully give this chili the kick it needs.

Guerilla Fitness

On October 18, 2011 I did something I’ve been considering doing for, probably the better part of 2 years, but never had the courage to try. I finally tried a Crossfit gym. Guerilla Fitness in Montclair, NJ to be precise. I didn’t walk into this totally blind, however, I wasn’t 100% sure what exactly I was getting myself in to. My friend Bridget Murphy and her husband Ray own a Crossfit gym in Atlanta. I would always read about it on her facebook, blog, and read any and all articles she posted. I always felt crossfit was WAY out of my exercise league. I remember reading one article in particular about a guy who thought, what’s the big deal with Crossfit? It can’t be THAT hard. He went to his local Crossfit, did the workout…and promptly threw up at the end of it. I’m guessing he went in cold and did like a super intensive version of every workout and I’m also guessing the trainers were purposly trying to get him to that breaking point. However, as I walked into my first fundamentals class on October 18, looked around and realized I was the only chick with five pretty fit dudes, the only thing I could think was “DO NOT THROW UP CRYSTAL!”

The first thing I appreciated about Crossfit was, as opposed to a typical gym, they don’t just take your money and throw you out there to figure it out. They have you take a two week fundamentals class to teach you how to do everything they’re going to ask of you, and they teach you how to do it right. The second thing that struck me about Crossfit is the community. I have NEVER seen a group of strangers band together the way the Crossfit community does. For a while I thought, maybe Bridget & Ray just have a really awesome group of members at their location. But, the more I read about Crossfit, and after watching the class before my fundamentals class, the more I realize, this is who these guys are. They are a community that supports. They support one another, as well as support amazing causes such as cancer research and their popular Fight Gone Bad.

I’ll be honest, when I walked in to sign up last week, I didn’t go to the free trial class they offer. I didn’t ask, what do you do? I walked up and saw what looked like an open garage with gymnastics mats covering the floor, steel pipes running from one side of the gym to the other, gymnastics rings hanging down, and what I could only describe as odd torture chamber belts hanging off the steel pipes. I am guessing soon I’ll know what those are for. So, I walked in, and started talking to a coach, who as it turns out, was the owner. We discussed what I was looking for, the goals I wanted to accomplish and maybe I wouldn’t have been so quick to sign up had I never known about Bridget and Ray, but I said, let’s do it. I signed up right then and there. Should I have done more research? Maybe. But after two years of thinking about it, I was finally ready to just do it.

After my first class last night, let’s just say, score one for Crystal I didn’t throw up. Score another for Crystal: I figured I’d be last in the group and I was ok with that. I just kept telling myself do not let the guys blow you away too hard core. They didn’t. For that I was proud. I don’t expect to be able to keep up with dudes, however, I don’t want to get blown out of the water by them either. What can I say, I’m a competitive b*tch. So, that was fundamentals class one. Oct. 20, fundamentals class two. I have to say, it sure didn’t take me long to drink the Kool-Aid. I totally dig this place. It was hard, but I think what I liked about it was it reminded me of when I was playing softball. The workouts our coaches used to make us do didn’t always make sense to me but they always made us better softball players. And they made us closer because we were always pushing and supporting one another. For someone who’s so not a joiner, look at me, I joined.

60 days

Two months into my 101 list and I finally did Paleo. Yay me! From the moment I woke up on Monday, September 26 to the moment I went to bed on Sunday, October 2, everything I ate and drank was in accordance with Paleo (I hope!).

So, here’s how my week of meals broke down:

September 26:

Breakfast:

2 eggs over hard

Coffee

Lunch:

Chef salad with olive oil

Water

Dinner:

Easy Mexi Chicken

Glass of red wine

September 27:

Breakfast:

2 eggs over hard

Coffee

Lunch:

Easy Mexi Chicken

Water

Dinner:

Grilled chicken kabobs with grilled veggies

Glass of red wine

September 28:

Breakfast:

2 eggs scrambled with green pepper and onion

Coffee

Lunch:

Grilled chicken kabobs with grilled veggies

Water

Dinner:

Hamburger (no bun) with lettuce and tomato; sweet potato fries

Water

September 29:

Breakfast:

2 eggs scrambled with green pepper and onion

Coffee

Lunch:

Grilled chicken; steamed broccoli and greenbeans

Water

Dinner:

Hamburger (no bun) with lettuce and tomato; sweet potato fries

September 30:

Breakfast:

2 eggs over hard

Coffee

Lunch:

Chef salad with olive oil

Water

Dinner:

Hamburger (no bun) with lettuce and tomato; sweet potato fries

2 glasses red wine

October 1:

Breakfast:

Coffee (forgive me I woke up late and didn’t see the point in eating breakfast!)

Lunch:

Chef salad with olive oil

Dinner:

Burger (no bun) with bacon on top and sweet potatoes

Water

October 2:

Breakfast:

2 eggs over hard

Coffee

Lunch:

Chicken salad with olive oil

Water

Dinner:

Tuna salad with carrots

Glass of red wine

 

I’m not going to lie, it was hard. Turns out I hate black coffee! I craved a soda at lunch. I didn’t pack myself any snacks for that 3 o’clock lull in the day because, well, partially I wasn’t thinking and partially I wasn’t sure what to pack. I’ve realized now I think a great 3 o’clock snack would be some fruits and veggies. I also struggled a bit with getting out of the habit of using certain oils to cook with (ex: canola oil). I found myself checking labels of things I thought would be ok and realized they were either made with gluten or I couldn’t believe how much sugar was in them. I had to think about every meal, what went into it and how I prepared it because this is new to me, but, the more I do it the more second nature it will become. I did it and I’m proud of myself for that and for being able to check something off my list. It took some planning. I had to sit down and come up with meals I wanted for the week. Being a single girl who lives alone, you may see a lot of repeats in my meals. This is partially because, well, I live alone so who else is going to eat all those left overs and shopping for one is hard. Remember the scene in Under the Tuscan Sun when Frances yells at the butcher because she only wants one chicken? Yep, that’s my life. I just want one chicken but I always end up walking away with five. This next coming week I will be in Toronto for work. I‘m going to do my best to stick to paleo this week while traveling, and going forward.

I have to give credit to my friend Bridget Murphy because without getting some tips and recipes from her, I’m not sure I would have been able to do this! So mucho thanks to her and for anyone in the San Francisco area check out her personal training Primal Fitness Bootcamp. If you’re in the Atlanta area, check out her gym Cross Fit Peachtree, and if you aren’t in any of those areas but want some yummy, healthy recipes, check out her blog Cross Fit Peachtree Recipes. And if anything on this list was wrong I’m sure (with love) Bridget will yell at me and I can correct it! J

As for a two month update on the rest of my list, I also now have a plant. I will not check that off my list as an accomplishment until I can say I did not kill it. My good friend Monica knew that owning a plant was on my list so she gave me one that she felt I couldn’t kill. Within two days my cat Zoe had nearly chewed off an entire leaf. I took the plant to work and here’s hoping I can keep it alive for the next under three years! Wish me luck. I’ve also placed a call into the local cross fit gym and after my Toronto trip will be checking them out and seeing about joining. And I’m in the process of saving for a down payment on my very first brand new car. Now, if only I had any clue what car I wanted.

Dear Mr. Big

Recently you wrote to me and I cried my eyes out. I cry every time I read it. And I have read and reread it countless times. However, I realized something reading that letter; I realized that although I said I would never let anyone break me again, I did, in fact, break again. I used to think breaking was a bad thing. I’ve realized this is a good thing. To break, you have to allow someone in to a place where you are vulnerable enough to break, where they quite literally have your heart in their hands. I let you in to a place in my life that very few are ever allowed in to. I’m guarded, I’m closed off, and there are good reasons for that. But, I let you in there. Some would say having broken before I should have never let you in. Some would say having broken again I should be angry and hateful. Well, am I angry? Sometimes. Hateful? No. Hurt? Yes. Happy? Sometimes. Are those people right and I’m wrong? Maybe. Am I right and they’re wrong? Maybe.

All that being said, I am choosing to do something you actually taught me, see the bright side to all of this. I learned from you in this whole crazy thing. In the beginning I wanted nothing you did, in the middle I wanted everything you did, in the end, I’m unsure what either of us wants. One minute I still want what we both wanted, the next minute I simply take comfort in what we had and cherish what once was, the next minute I look forward to what will one day be for me. So am I conflicted? Yes. Those questions you said in the letter I asked of you, yup, I continue to ask them, whether to myself, out loud to the universe, or to you directly. However, I’m starting to let go of those questions, day by day, little by little, because I know that I may never have the answers.

You have been a friend to me in a way I never expected or could have ever anticipated. I’m letting the good of that out weigh the bad of other things. You have been my very own cheerleader in so many things that I can’t even begin to say thank you. You also helped me to realize things I want for my life, for my future I wasn’t quite sure I wanted or how to get to, for that I also say thank you.

You say to me you don’t want to let go and you get angry when I say I am, but I don’t really see any other way for either of us to move forward, particularly when it seems looking on the outside in, you are, in fact, letting go. When we first started talking, we were walking in two different directions. I was going, quite literally, east, very Far East, and you were, well, staying west. Then, somewhere along the way, I stopped going east and I met up with you in the west. Now, I find us, once again, in two totally different directions. You are still here planted firmly in the west, and I’m, well, I’m hopefully going somewhere. I just haven’t quite figured out which direction yet, but I’m hoping its south.

I know not everyone will understand why I would be so positive about a situation such as ours, and believe me I have my good and bad days, my accepting days and my angry days, my sad days and my happy days. But my life is not for others to understand or even accept. My life is mine to live. Am I a perfect person, God knows, no I’m not. But, I’m me and sometimes in life there are things we need to learn to continue on the path of becoming and bettering ourselves. Learning to let someone in is a good thing, even if not right or not meant to stay; I needed to learn that lesson and you helped teach me that.

I don’t know what my future holds, but that’s equal parts exciting and scary. There are all these possibilities for my life. I know I’ll get out there and grab them. I wish you well in your exciting and scary future and I know you wish me well in mine. We will get where the universe means for us to get in our lives. But for that moment in time, we made a memory.

My vagabond life

I grew up in a 4 bedroom house with a great front yard and back yard. By great, I mean, room to run and play as a kid. This is an important fact to point out because, having grown up in Southern California most people have barely a postage stamp they can call a front or back yard…and they’re lucky if they get two postage stamps as opposed to just one. My childhood, by no means easy, was a good one. I won’t get into the whoa is me’s of childhood, not really my point. My parents moved to Southern California from Connecticut before I was born. They were sick of the snow and cold, hard winters. My father’s parents and younger brother and his family moved out to Southern California as well. When my father was a child his family moved around a lot. He hated it and vowed never to do that to us. My parents haven’t moved from their house since they purchased it in 1973. Maybe like baldness, the desire to move constantly skips a generation.

While I enjoyed my life growing up in Southern California, and hey, who wouldn’t living just 20 minutes from the beach, I wanted out. Although in a major metropolitan area, I felt like I was stuck in this tiny world and I needed to get out. I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go or how in the hell I wanted to get out, but I knew I wanted out. First step was studying abroad at 21 in Paris for a semester. Yes, Paris, France. My first venture out of mom and dad’s home and I step off the plane into a city that’s filled with as much smoke as a hole in the wall bar on a Friday night, is grey in an almost melancholy way, as if even the city itself was annoyed with the world, has a subway system I couldn’t begin to understand (but every time I got on I thought of that Berlin song, riding on the metro-oh), and oh, I didn’t speak a word of their language, except oui, s’il vous plait, and bonjour. I never believed in love at first sight, until that moment. I loved Paris. Did I get homesick? Of course. But I’d never trade a second of my time there for anything in this world. I got to spend time in a city in a way many don’t. I became a local, in a way. I knew my way around the metro, I knew where the non-touristy places were to hang out, and I reveled in baguettes, cheese, and a bottle of wine for dinner at night (ok, maybe that was totally touristy but I was a starving student). I did completely random things like go see the Mighty Mighty Bosstones in concert; walk the Tuileries simply because it was a beautiful day; go to Chili’s with friends and get completely wasted on their version of Mike’s Hard Lemonade (maybe it WAS Mike’s Hard Lemonade, I honestly don’t remember) simply because it was hot and we were homesick.

After Paris I came back to California and I felt stuck, so, I did the totally logical thing and went to finish my bachelor’s degree at the University of Wyoming in Laramie, WY, population 27,000. Totally makes sense, right? I’ll never forget when I first drove into Laramie. I was with my parents and as we came into town off of 80 East we drive right through downtown and made a left heading toward campus. I remember looking at the downtown shops. The sky was the bluest blue I’d ever seen but everything around me seemed brown, not dirty, just brown, and everywhere I looked I saw, what I called giant Christmas trees. The downtown area seemed to be all at once stuck in the past and perfectly situated for the current time. That night we went to dinner and drove around a bit. My first question was, where’s the mall? Where’s the city? My parents laughed and said you picked this place. Again, homesick in the beginning, once I gave UW a shot, I made some amazing friends, many of whom I’m still in daily contact with and visit often. As with Paris, I don’t regret the decision to go to UW. I loved the football and basketball games, the parties, and as much as I complained about the work I loved learning and I can honestly say I wouldn’t be where I am today had I not gone to UW.

After UW I moved to Denver. My time there was miserable. I hated my job, hated my apartment, all my friends were a two hour drive away, I knew no one in Denver. Looking back I learned a lot while I was in Denver. I learned that friends don’t just show up on your doorstep, you have to get out and look for them. I learned that your life is what you make of it, and while I was in Denver I didn’t make much of it. I left Denver and went back to Southern California feeling like a failure. I was 24.

After a few years back in my parents house and getting my life together, I finally had the courage to make the one move I’d always dreamt of…moving to NYC. I was 27. Ok, so I never actually made it to NYC, but close, I’ve been in North Jersey for the past 7 years (with a side note work deviation back to Southern California for 6 months). I took what I’d learned in Denver and did everything in NJ the opposite of how I did things in Denver. I think it’s worked out quite well for me. I have a ridiculous amount of amazing friends that sometimes I think, if I’d never have moved here I’d never have known any of these people exist. And they’re so important in my life I can’t imagine not knowing they exist. I would not be who I am today without knowing each and every one of them.

I’m struggling a bit though right now. I put down roots in January when I purchased my first home. 9 months into it and I’m already thinking, where can I go? In my 7 years living here I’ve now moved (if you count the trip to and back from CA) 6 times. The reason I was in California for work was I was waiting for a VISA to go and work in Dubai. That VISA never came through, which is why I’m now back in NJ. It bothers me sometimes that I didn’t get the chance to work in Dubai. I really, really wanted to do it. I’ve always dreamt of working internationally. I’m trying to say there was a reason I didn’t go and it will one day show itself to me. But I was ready, when I left NJ, I was ready for what I thought was the next chapter in my vagabond life and it didn’t happen. I wonder sometimes, am I running from or running to something? I love my home, I love my friends, I love NJ, but I feel this pull for something else out there. I just am not quite sure yet what or where.

Confessions of an online dater

Ok, so I’ve been online dating. As I mentioned before, it’s a scary world out there, the online dating world. But, I hear all these stories about so and so that met so and so online and now they’re in love, blah, blah, barf. I’ll be honest; as much as I’d like to I can’t classify the know someone who knows someone who met someone great online stories into urban dating myths because, well, I personally know someone who married someone he met online, and two others who are in serious long term relationships with guys they met online. So, they provide me the hope and I keep pushing through.

I recently went out with two different guys that I had met online. The first guy, we’ll call him Marine (original name, I know), was an ex marine, currently going to college, and waiting to get the call to head to the police academy. From the emails and phone calls he seemed nice enough, so we met one night for sushi. First thing I notice is he’s asking me if I want him to pick me up. Um, no, you’ve been trained to kill in I don’t know how many different ways. Thanks, I’ll take my chances and drive myself to the restaurant. Second thing I notice is we had decided on a restaurant, and then he says well, maybe we can go somewhere closer to you. The restaurant was nearer to where he lived. I suggest a sushi place that’s half way between the two of us, however, it’s BYOB. For those of you who don’t know, and believe me, this was a shock to me as well when I first moved to New Jersey, not every restaurant in New Jersey has a liquor license. Apparently they’re very expensive and hard to come by. So, many restaurants will get what they call a corking license. You bring the alcohol; they can open it for you. So he says, “Oh, no, I don’t want to go to a BYOB. I think it’d be odd walking in with a six pack for me and a bottle of wine for you.” I think to myself, how much do you plan on drinking tonight? Anyway, so I meet him at the restaurant and we sit down. Marine, being an ex marine, sits in a way so he can see the entire restaurant and if anyone is coming at him. Quirk of his training I suppose. We order our drinks and review our menus. Marine starts talking. I honestly don’t remember majority of the conversation, what I do remember is he talked. A lot. No, no, I mean He. Talked. A. LOT. For those of you who know me, I can talk, a lot. For me to notice that someone is talking a lot, means they were talking in a ridiculous amount. Here’s the funny thing about the date. I could probably tell you everything about Marine. Ask Marine to tell you about me, and I doubt he could tell you anything. I know that Marine was a sniper and Special Forces. I know that Marine has 5 brothers and sisters. I know that Marine grew up in NJ but then in high school moved to Las Vegas and then joined the marines and after that was over moved back to NJ. I know that his mother and step father and brother are still in Las Vegas. I know that his father and the rest of his siblings are here in NJ. I know that his roommate is currently living with him because he’s going through a divorce and could no longer stand living with his parents. I know that he is studying engineering but considering switching to psychology because a lot of vets need help after seeing what they see and that a doctor without having been in combat can’t give them the help the vets truly need. Side note – I thought this was cool of him.  Anyway, I also know that he scored a 98% on the police exam. I know that he was wounded (I don’t know how, this he didn’t tell me). I also know that he knows nothing about me. He barely asked any questions about me, barely let me talk when he did ask questions, and kept talking about my brother in the marines. I should mention a) my brother is not in the marines and b) my cousin is active duty military however, he is army. All of which I correctly (it’s my family, I think I would know) stated to him, however, he continued to talk about my brother the marine. By the end of the night I stopped correcting him and just would smile and nod when he talked about my brother the marine. By the end of the night I stopped doing much of anything except smiling, nodding, drinking my white wine and eating my sushi. At the end of the night Marine walked me to my car, hugged me, kissed me on the cheek and asked me out again, saying if I don’t have to take my roommate to his parents house (why his roommate can’t drive himself I didn’t care to ask for an explanation) then let’s hang out Saturday night. I said ok, I’m not really sure why I said ok, I guess I just thought what the hell. Marine never texted or called me again and I never bothered to text or call him either. Who knows why he never followed up, and honestly, who cares? Maybe Marine was busy driving his roommate to my brother the marine’s house.

Contestant number two in the dating game that is my life we shall call Granola. Granola emailed me and it was sweet, nice and he used proper grammar. So, I checked his profile. First clue I should have gone no further, he has a picture of himself with his VW bus. Second clue, he has long hair. Third clue, he likes camping and hiking and while every once in a while I will go on a nice hike, I’m not like an every weekend lets go commune with the woods kind of girl. So, I thought, well, you never know he seems smart and sweet so I emailed back. We chatted a bit over email and then texted a bit. We finally met up on a Sunday afternoon at a cute New Orleans style bar/restaurant. When I arrived he was wearing a plaid shirt and yup, he still had long hair, pulled back in a pony tail. Still not wanting to be rude we sat down. The place was packed with Giants fans. Hoping to sit at the bar where we could see the game, he asks the hostess for a table. We sat down and he asks me “Do you like football?” With hopes up, I respond, “Yes, you?” He says, “No.” Hopes dashed that was the end of that discussion. We start talking and he’s a video editor in TV and a great photographer. We spent about 3 hours at the bar and had good conversation and bonus points, he not only asked about me, but listened to the responses.  However, the more we talked the more I realized this guy just isn’t for me. The VW bus I mentioned earlier? He told me about it and how sad he was when it died and he had to sell it. He mentions a camping trip he went on recently with friends and said, “I am going to have to bow out gracefully on next year’s trip.” I ask why. He says, “Well, I knew this year’s trip was going downhill when they wanted to rent a speedboat.” All I could think was what’s wrong with that? Sounds like a great time to me. Then he says, “They’re talking about bringing a sheet and projector next year so they can watch movies at night.” Again, thinking, what’s wrong with that? And ends with, “These guys bring coolers filled with beer and finish them off when the weekends over.” Again, what’s wrong with that? I felt it was inappropriate to ask on a date if his friends were single and cute because their version of camping, IF I were to ever go camping, sounded WAY better than his version to me. Anyway, he also walked me to my car, hugged me, kissed me on the cheek and said goodbye. Later when I arrived home he texted saying he had a good time and let’s do it again. I said yes. I’m not sure why. I convinced myself because he was nice it’d be worth it, but, as one of my BFFs said to me, why force it? You’re wasting both his and your time. She was right.

Since these two dates I’ve been emailing with a few other guys online. It’s hard though. It’s time consuming to get to the first date only to find out nothing’s there. Scrolling through profiles, emailing only to not get a response back, or worse, getting emails from guys that are so off the wall or rude you’re like, really? You expect someone to respond to that? I have kind of come to a place where I will keep my profile up, and keep somewhat active, but I’m focusing on me here. I’m doing what I want, when I want, with whom I want, how I want. I have a list of things to get to and with or without anyone to do them with me, I’m gonna do them. I think the more I focus on me and living my life the easier I think finding someone to share it with will be. And hopefully he won’t only ever talk about himself or be in love with his VW bus.

Age is just a number

As the old adage goes, age is just a number, it means nothing. But, if it means nothing, how can it at the same time mean so much. Think about it? How excited were you to turn 16, 18, 21? How terrified were you to turn 30? I have a friend that will be 40 in a few years. We joke with her that we can’t wait for her 40th because we’re going to take a trip to Vegas to celebrate. She freaks out every time we bring it up. She’s says I’m all for a trip to Vegas but please stop talking about my 40th. I will be 35 in a few short months and it has brought up so many questions, fears, and anxieties I never knew were there, just lying below the surface, dying to rear their ugly head.

I have voiced my concerns to friends, but they’re younger and say, oh, you have time, it’s only a number. I have voiced my concerns to other friends, those turning 35 around the same time as me, or those older than me, but they have children already or don’t want children. I have yet to talk to someone in real life that is like me: 35 or older, single, and scared sh*tless. I don’t consider 35 old. I don’t look in the mirror and see myself as ancient. I think I look pretty damn good for almost 35. I actually don’t think I look almost 35 (maybe I’m delusional on that point, but, let me have that delusion). I’m quite happy with my life overall. I have a great family, amazing friends, a kinda cool job (even if I don’t love it), an awesome condo, have traveled to some cool countries, plan to travel to many more, and I have a fairly crazy but cool gato that I love. All in all, I don’t have a bad life. I look around and think I’m definitely blessed. But, I also look around and think there’s still more I want for my life.

I always knew I wanted children. Most little girls dream of their wedding day. I never did. I dreamt of the children I’d have. I wanted a house full of children. I never thought about their father, who he would be. I guess I just figured that piece of the puzzle was the easy part. Boy was I wrong. I also never thought I would find myself one day, frozen by the fear that not finding my children’s father will prevent me from ever having children. I’m faced with all these facts as I head toward my 35th year on this earth:

• The biggest obstacle for women age 35 or older may be getting pregnant in the first place. Fertility rates begin to decline gradually at age 30, more so at 35, and markedly at age 40. Women 45 and older rarely get pregnant without some kind of fertility treatment. Even with fertility treatments such as in vitro fertilization, women have more difficulty getting pregnant as they age. They also have more trouble staying pregnant: The rates of miscarriage and ectopic pregnancy go up substantially with age. (Baby Center, n.d., “Risks,” para. 8).
• The risk of having a baby with Down Syndrome rises from about 1 in 759 at age 30 to 1 in 302 at age 35, 1 in 82 at age 40. (Baby Center, n.d., “Risks,” para. 1).
• Women over 35 are at a higher risk of developing certain complications during pregnancy such as gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, placental abruption (in which the placenta prematurely separates from the uterine wall), and placenta previa (in which the placenta lies low in the uterus, partly or completely covering the cervix). (Baby Center, n.d., “Risks,” para. 5).
• Research shows that your chances of having a low-birth weight baby (less than 5 1/2 pounds) or a premature delivery increase with age. Some studies show that older women are more likely to need pitocin during labor, and most studies show a significantly higher rate of delivery by cesarean section. (Baby Center, n.d., “Risks,” para. 6).
• Researchers have found a higher risk of stillbirth and maternal death in women who give birth at 35 or older (though the overall number of stillbirths and women who die in childbirth each year has dropped significantly in the United States in the last few decades). (Baby Center, n.d., “Risks,” para. 7).
• On a positive note, more women are having babies later in life in the United States than ever before. In the year 2000, the rate of birth among women 35 to 39 years old was up 30 percent from 1990. In women ages 40 to 45, the increase was 47 percent, and for those ages 45 to 49, the rate was an astounding 190 percent higher. (Baby Center, n.d., “Risks,” para. 9).

So, I read this, and yes, it freaks me out. I never thought of myself as running out of time, until this past summer. This summer I finally admitted to myself things I never would admit to myself out loud. Oh, the feelings were certainly there, but I never would truly own up to them. I kept them buried, afraid that admitting them made me, well, I guess seem weak or un-independent. I finally admitted to myself I want to get married. I want to have children. I used to pretend that I didn’t care about those things, that if it happened, it happened. Somewhere along the way I stopped pretending and admitted, yup, I want that, too. Which leaves me sitting here, 3 months out from my 35th birthday thinking, now what?

I guess the thing is I do hear that stupid biological clock ticking. When thinking about marriage and children in the past I always felt, ok, well, I’ll find him and in time it will all just happen. But, 3 months out from my 35th birthday, I’m not so sure anymore. What if I don’t find “him?” I tell myself ok, well, then you adopt or there are other means to becoming a mother if this is what you want. But, right now I’m not in a position to be a very good single mother, so that’s not really an option. Maybe one day it would be an option for me, being a single mother, right now not so much.

I’m a person who works better with things when doing something to make them happen. But this is something that’s so beyond my control I’m unsure what I can do to make it happen and I ultimately think that’s what bothers me the most. That I can’t control this, I can’t just make it happen. Well, I could, but see above about not in a position to be a single mother right now. Whenever I think about it I like I’m a hamster on a wheel running and running but getting no where, I’ve come to no conclusions, no decisions, no answers. The only thing I can do is sigh, pull up my big girl panties, enjoy my life as it is right now and have faith that one day I will find “him” and have the family I crave. And until then I suppose I should sleep because from everyone I know who does have children that (and s*x) are the first things to go when the babies come.

Reference:

Mussalli, George (n.d) What are the risks of having a baby if I’m 35 or older? Retrieved from http://www.babycenter.com/. The numbers used on BabyCenter are from a reference book published by the Fetal Medicine Foundation: The 11 — 14-week scan: The Diagnosis of Fetal Abnormalities, by Kypros H. Nicolaides, Neil J. Sebire, and Rosalinde J.M. Snijders (Parthenon Publishing Group. New York, NY, 1999).