In response to my last post, about having kids later in life, I received a sweet note from someone who lamented that she is 37, single and still hoping to have a family.   Been there.

By the time I reached my late 30s, I had dated a ton, but none of my boyfriends ever seemed like “the one.”  I would have been content to keep on keeping on, but I wanted kids, and I didn’t want to miss my window.  At some point, I started working on a Plan B.

I discussed options with my gynecologist (whom we’ll call Dr. Awesome because he’s been patiently listening to my problems for over a decade like a 2-for-1 therapist/crotch doctor).  Anyway, Dr. Awesome was supportive and even offered up an inspiring story:

One of his patients had reached her biological clock deadline and decided to go it alone, using a sperm donor.  She had a baby boy, and when that baby was about two she took him to the park to play.   An eligible man jogged by and was taken by the cuteness of the baby (and the mommy) and stopped to say hello.  Can you guess the rest?  They got married, had more kids and lived happily ever after.

I loved this story.  It gave me hope – hope that even if I chose to have a baby on my own, I could still have the fairytale in the end.

And then shocker of shockers, it turned out I didn’t have to have a baby to meet “the one.”  All I had to do was plan to have a baby.   Here’s how it went down.

New Year’s 2008, I visited Thailand with two girlfriends.  A highlight of our trip was visiting a tiger sanctuary and being allowed to spoon with a cub.   This sort of thing never happens in Los Angeles.

As we rang in the new year together (me, my friends and the tiger), I got reflective.  What had 2008 held for me?  Not much besides a kick-ass trip to Thailand.  My work was interesting but it wasn’t everything.  There had been some fix-ups and internet dates.  A dead-end fling (ok, booty call).  My life was fine but it wasn’t moving forward.  I was done wasting time.

When I returned home, I called up Dr. Awesome.

ME: This is the year.  I want to have a baby.  Will you do this with me?

DR. AWESOME: Aren’t you going to take me out to dinner first?

Did I mention he was funny?  He is.  Dr. Awesome reassured me if that if I chose to go the sperm donor route, he would help me get the job done, medically speaking.

Progress.

Later in January, I casually ended the casual fling I’d been having.

Clearing the decks.

Then in February, on Valentine’s Day actually, I agreed to go to a “wingman party” – that’s when you bring someone you’re not dating but who might appeal to someone else.  Sort of a trash/treasure situation.  I brought my male roommate, only he found a hockey game on TV at the bar and planted himself there all night.  If I wanted to meet any guys, I was on my own.

I scanned the room and immediately honed in on a really cute boy with wavy, dark hair.  I wanted to flirt with him, but I couldn’t catch his eye.  A foot taller than me, he seemed to be looking right over my head.   Finally, I bit the bullet, walking up to him and saying, “Hi.”  To my relief, he took over from there.

He was even cuter up close, and I liked his voice.  (For the record, he had shown up with a bunch of guys, unaware of the party theme.  Probably for the best.)

We chatted easily, at least until he asked me my most hated getting-to-know-you question: “What do you do?”  I realize this is a pretty standard line of inquiry, but when I’m trying to get my flirt on, the last thing I want to talk about is work.  I was tempted to give a joke answer, like Sears portrait photographer, but I went with the truth–reality television producer.  “Oh I worked on a reality show once,” he said.  “Popstars 2.”  Well of all the gin joints in all the towns…  We had worked on the same show together, way back in 2001.  How very When Harry Met Sally.

He asked me out.  We had really good dates, and so much in common I was worried we’d turn out to be cousins.  It wasn’t long before I realized this time was different.  This one could go the distance.

As Dave likes to end any story about us, “And now we have a baby.”

Remind you of anyone?

At the risk of sounding preachy or smug (I swear I am neither), I want to say to that lovely 37-year-old and anyone else in that boat (a boat filled with hot, smart women and not nearly enough dudes!) that it’s not too late to go after what you want.  It’s just hard to imagine exactly how you’ll get there.