I’ll be a 21-year-old bridesmaid next summer. Twice. And not for an older sister, thrice divorced aunt, or former babysitter (the usual suspects), but instead, for two fellow Harvard gal pals. One graduated with the class of 2005, the other plans to walk with me in ’07. Your initial reaction, of course, is disbelief and despair: if the national divorce rate is pushing 50 percent, what are the chances a young couple could actually make marriage last in a society that entertains itself by watching “Desperate Housewives” and the Home Shopping Network. Don’t mind my pessimism—it merely serves to explain away my own status as a bachelorette. But honestly, a young bride seems so “Little House on the Prarie,” so “Spears and Federline,” certainly not the stuff of which successful relationships are made.

We were, without a doubt however, warned against this sort of young love. Mother, Oprah, and that same aunt (then with her second husband who owned a yacht in Boca) repeatedly uttered to us during family reunions, Florida vacations, and late-night talks on the summer house porch: “Wait, wait, wait.” Each would explain in initially self-righteous tones and subsequently half-veiled pleas that a woman just doesn’t know herself till she’s 30. They’d raise their voices and stare us down, one hand clutching a cocktail, the other at the hip, pointing out exactly how much we’ve all changed since elementary school—proof enough that when it comes to tying the knot, a modern woman should wait, wait, wait!

This argument was coupled with emphasis on career aspirations: climb the corporate ladder and then worry about children, in vitro, or adoption from China. If Charlotte could manage her own gallery before bringing up a daughter, so can you. If technology and female empowerment have given us anything, it’s the option of merging financial success with family stability. Listen young ladies, simply put the wedding bells on hold and you can have it all.

And I agree, we can have quite a bit: a 10-year career during which you’re constantly justifying paused motherhood, carpal tunnel syndrome (which I may have already acquired while editing this piece of work), a graying husband, a four-year period of needles and frozen sperm, a lower chance you’ll be able to chase your grandchildren around the yard, and much lower chance you’ll be alive to attend their graduations. Do I see the paint peeling on this white picket fence dream?

Leaving future bleakness behind, let’s return to poofy sleeves and engagement parties (two of which I’m somehow throwing while dirt poor and in college… is it tacky to collect donations at the door?). After my own initial dismay and poorly hidden shock in response to the happy news, I let the idea of child brides sink in a bit and discussed it with my best friend/roommate/conscience, who was equally confused. We pondered over possible regional differences, cultural norms, and the arguments outlined above, concluding that if there were a perfect age for marriage, a formula for success, a love potion #9, wouldn’t we all be taking it? Wouldn’t that be too easy? Wouldn’t the divorce rate have fallen this past decade?

The only thing to fall, however, is my faith in the “older is wiser” mentality. And I don’t think I’m the only young adult fueling the backlash against late motherhood. We were, on the whole, brought up by youthful, energetic mothers who are now exploring pilates alongside us, buying mini-iPods before us, and planning to be present for our childrens’ childrens’ bridal parties. I want to give that security and that vitality to my little Christopher, Abigail, and Jack (almost all the girls I know have already named their children, thank you very much).

If this means I must sacrifice a few years at Morgan Stanley or marry my partner several years younger than planned and mature along with him instead of before meeting him, so be it. I’ve seen more women successfully pursue a career later in life than happily begin childrearing at 45. But once again, if we’ve discovered anything, it’s that there’s no clear formula. Some women have made job first, John Jr. later work wonderfully.

So while I’m no expert on engagements (do I need repeat that I’m very much single?) and haven’t found my final self at a mere 20 years of age, I am pretty sure that when it comes to marriage, times are a-changing, again. We have watched and now question the new but older mothers around us, mothers who are spending their lives juggling the home and the office, torn between summers on the shore and summers in the shop, and shifting from Blackberry to ballet class. I don’t want this sort of balancing act, and much of my generation seems to agree. Bring on the boys, the vows, and the baby carriages.

First things first, though, I’m on the prowl for a bridesmaid dress. Make that two.

Victoria B. Ilyinsky ’07 is a romance languages and literatures concentrator in Leverett House. Her column appears on alternate Wednesdays.