The Softest Kind of Panic

Realizing that the desire to become a mom hitting me in my early 30s is not the “too late” tragedy that I think it is

Growing up, I was an only child and I was surrounded more by adults than other kids. I was also neurodivergent, something that didn’t get pinpointed until about six years ago, a few months after I turned 26. Those factors combined made me one of those kids who felt like an adult stuck in a teenagers body in high school. The type of person that got along with their English teacher and was referred to as an “old soul”.

At the same time, however, my friends and I played with Bratz dolls until at least 2008. We graduated high school in 2011. I took a year off after high school, a gap year with no job or traveling. Just being aimless while I figured out what I wanted to major in at my local community college. I didn’t have a drivers license or even a learners permit.

I didn’t date in high school. Dating didn’t interest me. I’d had a crush on a total of 2 guys throughout my high school career: one of which was in my 9th grade English class, and I barely talked to him save for the one class we read Romeo & Juliet and as soon as my teacher picked him for Romeo. I almost launched out of my chair to read for Juliet. I was also the only one who had read Shakespeare before, so I had that going for me and got the part; the other was someone I was friends with from 10th-12th grade and I didn’t even have the nerve to tell him I liked him until after I’d graduated cause I couldn’t face seeing him again if he turned me down. He did.

I was never good with kids. Anytime anyone handed me a baby, I was sure that they were gonna suddenly turn into papier-mâché in my arms and I’d break them by looking at them too long or breathing in their general direction. I’m pretty sure there’s a photo of me somewhere holding one of my baby cousins like they’re a sack of potatoes. (To whoever that was, I apologize. I was probably 11 or 12 and didn’t know what I was doing.)

I’m one of those people where life has always felt like it’s happening around me and not to me. I didn’t seem to hit the normal milestones at the right time that everyone else did. It would feel impossible to catch up, like I’m simply going through the motions, playing an insane game of Hippo Hop and praying I don’t step on any snakes and just make it to the next hurdle alive.

(If you don’t know about or remember Hippo Hop, here you go. You’re welcome.)

So when, about a month ago, I got slammed with what can be only described as the sudden and almost soul crushing ache to become a mom? I thought I was losing my mind.

In what felt like overnight, I went from cringing internally whenever I heard babies or toddlers screeching in the middle of Walmart, to wanting to go over to them and comfort them when I felt like whoever they were with was taking too long. But, knowing that that is not a reasonable response, I simply soothe them via self soothing: I’ve caught myself several times rocking my arms against myself as if it’ll stop them crying from 20 feet away via telepathic vibes. It was as if some new part of my brain had gotten plugged in finally after almost 33 years. Babies no longer felt like something I simply couldn’t handle. They suddenly appeared to me like the most reasonable beings on earth. They are tiny humans, brand new to this life, have no concept of anything outside of what they’re feeling in any given moment, and they come with only one single form of communication built in and it is simply: “CRY”.

It’s hard for me to find words for just how strong the desire to be a mom is for me right now. The timing couldn’t be any worse. I live in the same house I’ve lived in since I was a year old. I’m still needing to get my learners permit again since my previous one expired. I work part time in retail. I am also, as previously stated, almost 33. It’s as if with every passing month I can feel my chances of motherhood dwindling with each cycle.

But then, on the other side of the same coin, the timing, somehow, feels perfect. No thought or idea has ever felt so right and so built into my bones like the idea of being a mom one day does. Sure, I’m filled with panic and worry and constantly running through “how could I even consider this” and “I’m almost 33 what if I’m too late already” in my head nonstop but then I take a second, pause, breathe, and imagine a little tiny baby asleep on my chest in the middle of the night. While they may only come with one form of communication, and they may only exist purely on vibes and basic bodily signals, the thought of a piece of my soul existing, alive and breathing and blinking outside of my body makes everything else feel redundant. Not to the point where I’m illogical or unreasonable or I’m gonna try to bring a child into the world right now, absolutely not, it’s not the right time yet. But instead to the point where the panic, for once in my life, gets overridden by logic.

I am stuck, but only to a certain extent. So much of this, if not all of it, is within my control. I can get a better paying job, I can get my drivers license, I can get a car, I can move out, I can become the person that I want to be—that I need to be—for the tiny little soul that I dream about constantly now.

I have plans. Next year, 2026 will be what I’m calling my “Seed Year” - that is, working on bettering myself and figuring out where I am in regard to if I’m even able to have children. That’s step one.

Right now I am in baby limbo.

The longing pulls me forward like an invisible string tied to a future that is still most likely years away, but not impossible, not yet. I don’t know how it’ll happen (be it natural, IVF, IUI, adoption), or when the day will come, but in the meantime, I will wander the baby aisles in Target and dream. And it’s in that dreaming and longing that I realize, for the first time ever, that the idea of holding a baby in my arms doesn’t give me fear.

It gives me peace.

xo grace