I have Less than 4 Months Before I Officially Have Geriatric Eggs & I am Okay With That
Let’s start by acknowledging how random af I am. I was supposed to be in Hartford, CT right now turning up showing my entire ass at the Lizzo and Meg Thee Stallion (and some other people this old millennial doesn’t know about), but our girl Lizzo cancelled the damn show…but that’s neither here nor there (I STILL STAN FOR LIZZO). All was not lost, because I was actually in desperate need of some self care. While engaging in a little R&R…letting my mind wander, I had a random thought — 35 marks the year where science says you have geriatric eggs. Well hell, come on 35 wit’ yo funky ass!
While I am in no form or fashion a conservative woman, I do have a unyielding ardor for marriage…a loving partner…babies…all that shit. However, being single for so long with no children, it is really difficult to fathom life being responsible for someone else. What I have mastered in my walk of solitude with God is the DOPEST knowledge of self.
My peak of self-awareness occurred at age 30 — I finally understood not just who I was, but who I wanted to be. I grew up like many black girls, go to school, get a good government job, get married and have babies. I honored my parents’ wishes for the most part, but once 30 hit, I really started to question: “Is this what I want?” In my 20’s, I was focused on what I was expected to do, but put very little effort in exploring what I truly wanted in life. I am grateful for the time of solitude where I had an opportunity to get to know myself, get pissed at myself, forgive myself and fall in love with me over and over again.
Pacing is a blessing. I am so grateful that I have the privilege of pacing in life. The beauty of life’s ebbs and flows are indescribable. The ability to love, hurt, heal and reflect is one that I don’t think I would be able to do with the full on responsibility of a life partner and/or children. I definitely know some bad ass black women who are out here woke af while excelling as wives and mothers, but guess what…in all these years of singlehood, I know myself. I have learned the difference between happy observance and wishful thinking. I can be happy with observing things that I may want, but not beat myself up if its not happening right now. Being single has helped me to be more appreciative of God’s perfect timing. I have made way too many mistakes to name rushing God as opposed to waiting for what I deserve…waiting on God’s promise.
Me and my old ass eggs have both matured — growing more saged each day. One of the aspects of maturity that I enjoy the most is being free af within my own duality.
Love is the recognition of oneness in the world of duality. — Eckhart Tolle
Life is interesting…as small children you are praised for your curiosity and receives praises for being so precocious when you express your creativity and carefree approach to navigating the world. But the older you get, the more one-dimensional you become. I reject that shit…me and my geriatric ass eggs are not about that life. Hell, I am dope as hell…why should there be one of me? The universe is gon get ALL of this black girl magic — the good, the bad, the ugly, the ashy with a bonnet on…ALL OF EM!
Me and my auntie ass eggs haven’t necessarily figured out everything that I want, but that’s okay, because what is most important to me is that I know what I DON’T want and what I absolutely need. Going back to that self-awareness piece, its okay to be fickle (because I am indeed that), but it is NOT okay to get other people involved with you fickle, indecisive ass. There have been many opportunities in my love life where I have allowed fear of the unknown cause partners to become distant. With time, I have learned to just chill and just go with the flow, mane. On the other hand, I have also experienced dealing with fuckshit that I did not want at all but expected it to change. Fruit that is already ripe will become more rtten than it will ever become more ripe. The only old ass fruit I want is some wine — miss me with that other old ass shit.
Geriatric ass eggs also come with a deficit of fucks — you have no more of them left to give. I remember in my teens and twenties wanting to look perfect — full face daily strutting my thick ass around all day in at least 4 inch heels (which have ruined my chances of a lifelong dream of Meg Thee Stallion knees). When I tell you at 34.75 I don’t give a solitary fuck. Who ever the universe has paired me up with is the most turned on when I have taken off my bra after a long day and put on my bonnet…PERIODT!
Although it may sound cliche, things do indeed get better with age. Me, my old ass, geriatric eggs are booked, busy and blessed. SO BRING IT ON 35…LIL BITTY BIH.