If you guessed it was me, you were right. Mark and I had lots of fun together for many years and we finally created our son when I was 38 years old. As his family won’t hold back from saying, he’s a Peach. Then my neuroses took over. Parenthood was scary and doubts clouded my mind. There was no more baby luck. Six months ago, when my child was 7 years old, my darling husband asked, out of the blue, if I had considered adoption. He apparently was still thinking there needed to be more people living in our house sucking up our love and resources.
I was shocked. He was sounding like he'd given up. We’d been “trying” but honestly, I felt like I was waiting to give up too. I dismissed the adoption as too costly as I had dismissed any clinical “help” for our endeavor. And I briefly entertained pursuit of foster care options. But I agreed in my heart. We had more room in our lives to love.
This summer, I finally banished the last artifacts of baby having from the attic. The diaper genie and changing pads went to a yard sale. All that remains is a crib mattress. An attitude of live and let go of my aging body’s capabilities moved into my heart. And I tried not to dwell on what I lacked as I enjoyed my long-awaited loss of ten pounds and a new career as writer and blogger extraordinaire.
And On July 6th, after noticing that my body’s timing was off, a sudden case of super-smell, and suddenly feeling sick before breakfast, I purchased a pregnancy testing kit and discovered that, if you create opportunity, sometimes it will come knocking at your door. Two test sticks proved that I still got it. And so does my husband. Surely he’d been worried about that too.
I am 45 years old and I’m pregnant. Preggers. In the family way. Knocked up. Holy Cow. Not as uncommon these days but still I was surprised it was me getting an opportunity to be this statistic. Shock set into us for a day or so. And the nausea was an instant reminder this was the real deal. We’ve eschewed the old school three-month wait to tell thing and told the family because something bad can happen at anytime during the pregnancy, why wish it into existence.
The ‘big brother’ to be is excited. In my mind, he’s really one of the most important reasons to have made this happen. He needs someone to complain about his parents to later in life. And his repeated requests for a baby sibling were guilt provoking to say the least.
So many moments and feelings from my past four or five years rushed me. Jealousy of the women all around me making their babies. My contemplation of the end of hope when I’d throw an Irish wake for my fertility. The inappropriate questions asked in the grocery store about when I’d have another. The arrogance of some women extolling how easy it all was for them to get pregnant. And the thought of letting my husband down even though he’d argue that I hadn’t.
This was a fairy godmother moment, a reprieve. I wish everyone just one in their lifetime. A chance to take something back or create opportunity that was thought lost. I have gotten this and, although it’s going to be a bumpy ride, I am not afraid. I have faith that it’ll all turn out better than expected. It already has. Keep in touch and I’ll keep doing the thing that I do; making sense of my daily existence in my wacky creative way.