I remember the exact moment when I became obsessed with the idea of becoming a parent. It was just before Christmas in 2007 and, because I went to a teensy tiny prep school that included kids all the way from pre-kindergarten to 18-year-olds, a group of us seniors were singing holiday songs to the littlest ones. They looked all excited as they listened, sitting cross-legged and grinning adorably. But then, they sang to us. Oh my, did they sing to us.
As these little muffins (I refer to everything cute as a muffin, my apologies) sang this high-pitched version of “We Wish You A Merry Christmas,” my heart began to positively melt. It was totally off-key and very out of sync, but somehow, that made it even more wonderful. I reached over to my right where a friend of mine was standing and silently grabbed her hand. She squeezed back.
“I know this sounds weird,” she whispered, “but–”
“I want one.”
We continued to clutch one another’s hands until the kids were done with their caroling, and somewhere, I thought heard a “tick…tick…” Lo and behold, my biological clock had begun ticking.