Lately, one of the hardest things for me to sit with is this deep, almost all-consuming desire to have a baby. I’m 35, and something about this season of life has unlocked a part of me I can’t quiet anymore. It’s baby fever—real, intense, and strange.
I catch myself falling into daydreams about baby names. I scroll through tiny clothes for fun. I build dream nurseries on Pinterest just to pass the time. There’s something about it that makes me feel peaceful—but also completely unsettled. Because while the dream feels so close, the reality feels so far.
The truth is, for me, having a baby isn’t a simple decision. I live with Hashimoto’s Disease. I’ve had pre-cervical cancer surgery. Statistically, I know I’m high risk for complications. I’ve heard the medical warnings. I’ve done the research. I carry this fear that I might not be able to get pregnant, or that if I do, the journey could be incredibly difficult. I worry about premature labor, and about all the things no one dreams about when they’re picking out baby names.
And as much as I wish it wasn’t part of the equation—there’s also the financial weight. I’ve spent a lot of my adult life living with the “money comes and goes”, “YOLO”, and “you can’t take it with you” mindset. I’ve spent to feel good, to have fun, to survive hard seasons—especially after being laid off twice. And now, I carry the lack of a solid savings account with me. It makes me question- Will I ever be able to afford starting a family?
And because I’m a lesbian, family building isn’t something that just “happens.” It’s deliberate. It’s doctors, fertility clinics, sperm donors, appointments, injections, medications—layers of planning and costs that can feel insurmountable before you even get to the part of taking an actual pregnancy test.
Recently, several of my closest friends have welcomed babies—some are even on their second/third child. And as much as I love celebrating those moments with them, it stirs something in me I wasn’t prepared for. It’s this quiet ache. I’ll see a new baby photo, a birth announcement, or a post about those sweet newborn snuggles—and without warning, I find myself in tears.
It’s not jealousy. It’s longing. It’s also confusion.
I say confusion because the last few years, I felt completely at peace with the idea of not having kids. I have truly not felt ready, or have had a desire for the life commitment they bring. So, for this feeling to come about (and so strongly) has been a mind-fuck.
And if you’re here, reading this, and you’ve felt this too—I want you to know you’re not alone. I know so many of us are in our mid-thirties still figuring life out. Still chasing stability. Still learning how to navigate the gap between what we want and what feels possible. But that doesn’t make the emotions easier to carry.
Saying this out loud, putting it into words, has been one of the only things that helps lighten the weight. It makes me feel less isolated. It makes my emotions feel real. It makes them feel valid. It reminds me that I don’t have to pretend this is easy.
So here I am—sharing this tenderly, honestly, and with cautious hope.
Maybe one day this will be part of the story I get to tell my future child. And if it’s not, it will still matter. It will still be part of my story—a reflection of who I was in this moment: a woman with a big heart, carrying big questions, with just enough courage to say it out loud.
xx Courtney
