Nicole Richie and Good Charlotte frontman Joel Madden have their Harlow. Christina Aguilera and her “Candyman” have their Max. Halle Berry and her model beau Gabriel Aubry recently became parents of Nahla (who more than likely joins the ranks of Most Genetically Advantaged Offspring with Shiloh Jolie-Pitt). And not to be outdone, J. Lo and Marc Anthony have their double dose of bundles of joy in Emme and Maximilian.

Jessica Alba, Cate Blanchett and Angelina Jolie are proudly glowing and sporting baby bumps. And rampant rumors are circulating that Britney Spears may be expecting (they haven't passed a law outlawing that yet? I can see it now ..... “Miss Spears, you are prohibited from being within 50 feet of any sperm, frozen or otherwise .....”).

The baby boom is on. It's like the latest celebrity fashion accessory. There have probably been more magazine covers featuring knocked-up celebs in the past year or so than ever before.

Even in my humble world of mere mortality, baby talk has become an everyday occurrence. One of my best friends had a beautiful baby girl in February, while my other best friend is expecting a boy in July.

Being single and child-free can make it that much easier to feel like I'm missing out on something.

Personally, I only think of marriage in terms of children. I know I want kids — the catch is, I'm just not so sure I want a husband (at least not yet). But marriage (or at least a life partnership) appears to be the most ideal and possibly most constructive setup, if I have any say, in which to raise my own brood. I'm not knocking single parenthood; I just think we'd all prefer to have someone around helping us out.

This is the predicament of many of us single and seedless folks out there, women and men alike.
I have many female friends whose snooze button on their biological clocks has a glitch. I have plenty of male buddies who can hardly wait to scratch that procreation itch.

But with whom? That is the question.

As a woman, I have the option of trotting down to a sperm bank and fulfilling my dreams of motherhood. But somehow that seems too impersonal — and personally, I prefer love (and sex, specifically) in creating a new life. It seems as if it'd be more satisfying on a spiritual level.

Recently, I saw my then-5-week-old goddaughter for the first time. She has the biggest brown eyes and the glossiest black hair. And is so well-behaved to boot.

But amid the enchantment were the sleep-deprived nights and the insurance premium increases.

And as I gave her a kiss I thought: I could settle for being the best godmother ever.
For now, at least.