If you’re in your thirties, waiting for all of the stars to align – that promotion you have your eyes on, finding the perfect house, one last trip to Europe – before you get knocked up, I have news for you. There’s no “perfect time” to get pregnant. Trying to knock off a list of personal accomplishments, financial goals and vacation destinations before you attempt to conceive may do more harm than good.
Life is funny. For me, the twenties was liberation, fun, finding myself and what exactly it was that I was interested in. I didn’t lay too much groundwork for future security in those years. I spent them working my ass of all year so I could frolic around Europe in the summer. I found photography and started showing my work. I made friends. I hung out. I had fun. They went by fast. But not as fast as my thirties.
At thirty-two, I got pregnant. We weren’t planning on it, but we figured, “What the hell?” We were in love. We were adults. We wanted kids. Then I miscarried. For the first time, I realized that having children may not be as easy as I always thought it would. After you’ve spent your entire adult life trying not to get pregnant, you tend to assume when you are ready, it will just happen. Unfortunately, for a lot of women it just doesn’t work that way.
We spent the next five years trying to conceive. The first miscarriage was followed by an ectopic pregnancy and another miscarriage. We weren’t planning on starting to try that early, because by pretty much every measure we weren’t “ready.” But all of a sudden I was really glad that we did. I had no idea it would take us five years to get a pregnancy to stick.
If you were to look at the life we were leading at the time, you would probably say, “These people are not financially ready to have kids.“ My husband is an actor and a musician. Occasionally he would get a big ticket job that would set us up for a few months, but we usually relied on an endless series of small gigs that took a lot of hustling to get. Before our first child, I was working as a bartender at a very popular bar in Brooklyn. The money was pretty amazing but there is no maternity leave involved in the service industry. No 401k. No planning for the future. Once the baby came, I could no longer work the necessary 12 hour shifts to bring home the bacon. Our income plummeted.
We had to seriously adjust our lifestyle to accommodate having a child. Since we didn’t have the income to afford daycare, we shared total care-giving responsibility. This usually meant me watching our son all day while my husband worked, passing the baby off when he got home and heading out the door to work myself. It wasn’t ideal, but we did it. And guess what? We have a happy, healthy, well-adjusted toddler now. All while living in the second most expensive city in the country.