I give myself three more years before I freak the fuck out completely.

I imagine that’s enough time for me to come across someone who’ll fall in love with me and want to go half on a baby. I don’t care about ever being married again, I don’t require the M-R-S title. However I will be broken-hearted if I never become M-O-M. I blame my stupid biological clock. It doesn’t matter if my face still looks 25, the reality is my fertility rate is declining as I age.

I figure 35 is a good year. I figure 3 years is sufficient, a lot can happen in that window of time.

I’ve been on a hell of a roller coaster in the past of the 3 years, nothing of which I could have ever predicted. I’m not so much on a thrill ride these days, I’ve been on a steady positive track, but I’m waiting for some highs. Hopefully love-induced.

I’m also screening sperm donors for worst-case scenarios. You know me, guys… Backup plans on lock, always. Applications being accepted, once approved we can discuss the methods of actual sex or artificial insemination.

I’m joking. Lightweight.