I had always expected that once I was married and around the age of 30, there’d be some talk on the very delicate subject of the creation of those tiny human creatures that sort of look like you. Aka children. However, I was not warned that this is what all my girlfriends will ever wanna talk about, all the freakin’ time.

Last night, I had dinner with my friend Cat, who I haven’t seen since April. We hugged, she mentioned she was exhausted from a long week of work, I added that I knocked out for a freakish 12 hours the night before. She gasped. “Are you pregnant? Do your boobs hurt?” she asked. This was before we’d even gotten our menus.

No and no, by the way.

Literally every conversation with literally every one of my (married, 30-ish, still childless) girlfriends somehow turns to, “So when are you guys gonna have kids?” I’m not at all offended by the question as those who ask are typically good friends whom I like to share things with, and child-rearing just happens to be on their minds. I’m just, as I am in many other areas in life, confused. I never know how to respond, so I usually throw out, “Oh, like in a year, I think.” A year, to me, just sounds, I dunno, like a reasonable amount of time to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my reproductive future.

The truth is, we have no idea. Kids. Yeah. They’re really cute. And they’re all up in my Facebook news feed. I want one! Or a pair. It’d be fun to have a little friend to name and hug and dress up like lobsters and take to the Grand Canyon. (I’ve never been and Matt says we can go when we have kids.) Asians do make ridiculously adorable munchkins. But do I really, really want one? I do. I think.

Do I?

I do in my head, but it pains me that the desire does not rage in my heart. I’ve wanted jobs, boys, heck, even greasy pizza (OK, I was probably drunk) more than I want a baby in that visceral way. I think Matt feels similarly. Recently, we were talking about infertility, and he asked me: If we for some reason can’t have children naturally, would we go to great (very expensive) lengths to keep trying? We both didn’t know the answer.

For me, because I used to watch too many movies and too much TV (I don’t anymore because I’m crazy busy), I always just assumed that even women who don’t have that maternal rush suddenly develop it the moment the kid pops out, you know, like with Miranda in Sex and the City or Keri Russell’s character in Waitress. It will all suddenly make sense. So I just have to go for it.

But honestly, I’m scared. Could I possibly be a suitable mother? I drop a lot of things and I require a lot of sleep and I have a deep phobia of vomit (true story). And I love the way things are right now between me and Matt. Will a baby change that?

Also, I’m tired of life running me instead of the other way around. I want to want this. I want to be ready.

But how do you know when you’re ready?