It takes two

I want a baby.
No need to be ashamed of it, and no need to make a big thing out of it. It’s normal, lots of people want babies, and it doesn’t make me some kind of freak.
Sorry, I had to write that down once, just to keep my sanity. ‘Cause here at home, I can’t talk about it. It’s the big “taboo”. It’s only my wish, and nobody else’s.
My hormones have been screaming “Reproduce!” for the past five years now, and believe me: ignoring them is getting harder and harder. Also, at 33, I mustn’t kid myself (no pun intended) : the clock is ticking. I look at fertility charts taking a deep plunge after 35. While the charts with all sorts of “complications” go up-up-up around the same age.
P and I have always been on different timelines. I wanted to live together – I had to wait (years). I wanted to get married – I had to wait (years). The problem with the baby-issue is that “waiting” is becoming less and less of an option. I don’t want to calculate, take hormone treatments, visit fertility clinics, take high risks for my baby (and myself), etc. I just want nature to take its course and do its thing – sooner or later. But I can want a lot of things. It still takes two to tango, as we clearly saw in Buenos Aires.