My biological clock isn't ticking either, but my wife's is. I am four years younger than she, and her 34-year-old clock is telling her that now is the time. She's concerned about health issues if we wait any longer.
We had always talked about and intended to have children, but I had always figured I'd be a yuppie suburbanite with a stable income, a home theater, and no credit card debt before we were ready to start. Well, when your wife says, "We need to do this now" and you think, "I'll be ready someday," one or the other must bend. Since age and health are a concern for her, guess who needs to bend.
It's hard to do it gracefully, though, 'cause (a) my biological clock is not ticking, damnit! and (b) I'm scared as hell of having a goblin baby or one of us turning into Parent Creatures from the Deep. I like my identity just fine, thanks; I'm not ready to change it so fundamentally. So I stare off into the distance, trying to psych myself up for something that I've always wanted, just not yet.
At work yesterday I was telling some of this to a coworker with two kids.
He said, "My brother --"
"The hippie?" I interjected.
He nodded and smiled. "He's just had a kid recently. Totally changed his life."
That was not what I wanted to hear!
I went home, ill at ease, and once again confided my fears to my lovely wife. She nodded, and hugged me, and decided that it was time to give me my birthday present a little early. She pulled from behind her back two books:
She's Having a Baby, and I'm Having a Breakdown
Babyhood, by Paul Reiser
I couldn't suppress the scream. She was only trying to help.
We're still working on it. Somewhere between this gulf of "let's do it now" and "let's do it later" is a bridge. Maybe, even though my clock isn't ticking, I'll be ready for this. Maybe I'll even survive it.