Money before baby?

“And . . . a little jealous,” I admitted. “Iwantababytoo!”

“I know,” he said with a laugh. We agreed that 2009 would be the year to start trying.

A few months later, in the summer of 2008, the economy tanked, but we weren’t too worried; our jobs seemed secure. As the year drew to a close and I prepared to ditch birth control, I felt a twinge of excitement. A tarot card reader at Heather’s baby shower had predicted I might be pregnant by the following summer. (Sure, she also told Heather -- due in two months -- that she’d have a baby soon, but I was willing to suspend my disbelief at the prospect of maternity.) Then one day, a week before Christmas, Devin came home from work early. “I got laid off,” he sighed. A month later, I turned 35.

Until recently, I’d never been the type of woman who craved motherhood. Still, six years ago, my then-husband and I decided it was as good a time as any to start procreating. Maybe it was all those marathons of TLC’s A Baby Story I’d been watching. I went off the Pill, and promptly launched into an early midlife crisis. I didn’t want a baby after all, I realized. I didn’t even want a husband. After nine months, we were still childless -- reproduction generally requires effort, and we weren’t really making any -- and legally separated.

My ex-husband will make a great father, but I know we weren’t meant to have children together. When I met Devin, though, I suddenly felt the unfamiliar, primal urge to procreate that had been missing until then. Although we were less concerned with marriage, it was a given that someday we’d have kids. But our relationship was new; it needed time to grow. We had moved in together just a year before he lost his job.

Now, the economy has slowed, but time is passing -- and our 401(k)s are shrinking -- at an alarming rate. Devin will turn 39 next month and is still unemployed. My OB-GYN tells me not to wait too much longer. I no longer have the luxury of another 10 years. I’ll be lucky if I have another five. The fact that nearly all my friends have easily gotten knocked up doesn’t soothe my concerns: In my cynical (and admittedly illogical) mind, that just means I won’t be the fertile one.

It would be easier if I knew I didn’t want children, if, like some women I know, I could simply laugh, “Oh, I can barely take care of myself!” But I do want to be a parent. I also, however, don’t want to become obsessed. It’s way too easy to play out various scenarios in my mind: I could support all three of us on my freelancer’s salary! Devin will make a great stay-at-home dad! Maybe we’ll have octuplets and get our own reality show to pay the bills! (Um, I’m kidding about the last one.) When one friend, a 40-something mom of two, assures me that babies aren’t really that expensive -- “just don’t skimp on diapers” -- I take that nugget and savor it like a fine wine. See, it’s possible! Then I remind myself that her youngest daughter just turned 20. Times have changed. (In fact, a new government report estimates it costs something like $292,000 to raise a kid to age 17.)

And so my sanity returns, and I remember what I told myself years ago: I will not become one of those women who lose themselves in the quest for motherhood. If things don’t change any time soon, if my biological clock runs down, well, that doesn’t mean we won’t ever be parents. There are other options -- adoption, foster care -- and if I truly want a child in my life, I will find a way. I have to believe that our son or daughter is out there somewhere, whether he or she comes from my body or from halfway across the globe. And when that child finally arrives, it will be to a financially stable home. For now, I’m planning a trip to North Carolina to see Heather’s new son. I can’t wait to meet him.

Jessica Cerretani is a freelance writer and editor based in Boston. Send comments to coupling@globe.com. Story ideas Send yours to coupling@globe.com. Please note: We do not respond to ideas we will not pursue.