Shouldn't my biological clock be ticking by now?

I'm twenty-eight and a half years old. So I'm no spring chicken. All I see around me are people with offspring. Naughty, noisy, snotty nosed children. When I see a woman walking past me on the street pushing her over sized, three-wheeled stroller am I supposed to stop her and stick my nose in and say "Aww, how sweet. Your baby is beautiful"? I don't want to. My gut reaction every time I see a lady with a pram, is to cross over to the other side of the road to avoid the whole situation. I am not interested in children. I don't care what your little angel does, what they eat or how much they poop. I'm just not that kind of girl.

I'd rather have grown up conversations relating to the news of the world and celebrity scandals. I'd rather talk to my non-breeding friends about the hot guy she pashed over the weekend or about the bargains she picked up on her recent shopping trip. Children do not interest me one little bit.

Some of my friends from high school - males as well as females - have begun the whole procreating thing. Some started not long after we left school, others have waited until now. All I see and read on facebook are updates like "My kid is so cute, today he asked Mummy......" and "Today little So and So took her first steps." It makes me wonder what made them suddenly decide they wanted to become Mothers and Fathers. Was their first born an 'accident'? Were these children planned? If they were planned, did a switch in their brain flip and put them in 'Mumma Mode'?

It makes me wonder if the switch will ever flip in my head. Right now I'm finding it hard enough to get a regular root, let alone find a decent enough bloke to settle down with and start a family! I don't have the time, energy and money to look after myself and a dog, let alone to bring up a tribe of children. And let's face it. A few of the men that I have been with in recent years are married and some have children. I am their escape. An oasis if you will.

There is one exception to my rule of child hating. Two really. They come in the form of my cousin's two kiddies. Little Miss that is just over two years old and the Little Dude that just turned three months old. Those kids melt my heart. It might be because they are related to me, so I feel that family bond with them. It might be because they are both the cutest kids I've ever seen. These kids should be models! If I've had a bad day all I have to do is go and spend an hour with Little Miss and her paint set, play dough or help out by getting splashed to death at bath time and I have a smile on my face and my worries from the day have melted away.

I'm still not so keen on the Little Dude, I find him a bit boring, and he spews a lot. Though I am sure that when he gets a little older and stops vomiting on me, I'll get more joy out of him! I love those kids, but even spending time with them, two kids that I adore - does not make me clucky at all. One of my girlfriends - who is my age and single - has a one year old nephew. She gets clucky just by mentioning his name. I don't get it.

Maybe there is something wrong with me? I'm sure by now - as my eggs are slowly turning to dust - I should feel something. I don't. Perhaps I will someday, but for now, I'm just happy being me. Twenty-eight, single and living life large in Melbourne town.