I'll be 40 late in the year this year, and I'm struggling with the decision whether or not to get pregnant again. We have two amazing kids already - a boy, nearly eight, and a girl, age two . We went into this marriage thing thinking, "Definitely two kids, maybe three, (heck) no to more than three." Everyone around us was having zero trouble doing the pregnant thing, so we never considered we would. In fact, the experience of most everyone we knew went a bit like this: "Hmm...okay we're ready to have kids. We want to have a baby in August, so that means we need to get pregnant in November." They start trying in November and bam! Baby on the way after the first month of trying. So why would it be any different for us?
Apparently we don't have good baby-making karma. It took us a year of trying and three early losses to finally get our beautiful, healthy boy. It was SO HARD. But I know that we appreciate our Mini-Maven so much more because of the miracle he is. When he was about 18 months old, I was nearly crushed under the weight of depression. I don't know if you can call it postpartum depression because it hit so long after he was born, but whatever it was, it was ugly. Maybe I'll share those details some other time. Well, that bout of depression lasted so long and was so bad that we got off our "schedule" of having kids. (We apparently never learned our lesson about telling God what our life plans are.) Once Mini-Maven was born, we figured we'd have a second baby about 3.5 - 4 years later. Well, three years came and went and we still hadn't started the task. Once we finally decided it was time, I had new health issues crop up which threw another wrench in the plan. Another year and one more (awful, terrible) miscarriage later, we were finally sent to a specialist. My clock was screaming at me at this point. Mini-Maven would soon be five and starting Kindergarten. This was not the plan! We had to wait over a month for our appointment, of course, and then the day finally came. We sat down with the doctor, who had diagnosed me as having idiopathic infertility, basically "we don't know why you can't get pregnant, but it seems you may have infertility issues." We scheduled appointments for the first round of testing, and went home with a bit of hope and at least a plan. The very next day, I thought to myself, "Well, I know it's not possible for me to be pregnant, but they didn't even test me at the doctor yesterday. I need to make SURE I'm not pregnant before we start all these tests," so I peed on the stick. I will never forget that feeling, when I realized the line was solid, bright pink. I was excited, yes, but more than anything, I was scared. Only once before, out of five times being pregnant, had it actually worked. Only once had it ended with a healthy, live baby to hold and to keep. My odds were not good, in my head at least. Of course it was 4:25pm, and the specialist's office closed at 4:30. Would they pick up the phone? No, of course not. So I spent an entire day being terrified to move, terrified to do anything that might jeopardize the chances of keeping the tiny life just starting inside of me. Terrified that the morning would bring blood and another heart-wrenching loss. I couldn't take it. I called my husband at work, sobbing and hiccuping into the phone; he couldn't tell if I was happy or sad. Neither could I, to tell you the truth. In the end, we were blessed with another miracle, Mavenette. But there were 5.5 years between her and Mini-Maven - not the plan! So that meant if we were to have a third baby, he or she would need to come just 2.5-3 years after Mavenette, because I had decided I didn't want to be older than 40 and pregnant. I didn't like the idea of having kids that close together (maybe I'll share those reasons some other time too).
So here we are again. My "window of opportunity" has just recently passed - if I wanted to have a third child before age 40, I needed to have gotten pregnant two months ago. So what do I do? Do I really want another child? Or am I just lamenting the loss of that part of my life? Would I be a good mother to three kids? Or am I just selfish because I love being pregnant and don't want to never experience that again? Mavenette still, at nearly 2.5 years old, does not consistently sleep through the night. In fact, I think Mr. Maven and I got three hours of sleep total last night. At 3am on any given night, I'm pretty confident I do not want a third child. But then I think of how selfish that seems, to make the decision not to have a child because I don't like giving up my sleep, and I wonder if it's the right decision. On the other hand, my track record at staying pregnant is not great. And the facts are, the older I get, the more likely it is to encounter problems. And what about my best friend, who had a child with Down Syndrome when she was just 36? What a struggle that has been for them all from the beginning. But then again, I feel selfish--her baby girl is so loving, so happy, so sweet. She's truly a blessing. Is it awful that, even though her little girl is so special, I hope I never have to go through the same thing? It's because I know I'm not strong enough. I'm not made out of the same stuff as my best friend. She's amazing and I'm just barely treading water with the two I have. And there's another issue right there: quality. I want to be the best mom I can be to my kids. I don't think I'm willing to sacrifice quality time with any child. I want to give each of them everything I can; can I do what I want to do when my attention is divided between three?
I think it all boils down to facing my mortality. My mind still thinks I'm in my early 20s, although my body says, "You're delusional!" I've never really cared so much about age; it didn't bother me to turn 30. I've not really ever spent much time thinking about it, and I've never been one to really be overly concerned about my looks. So it's like middle-age has sneaked up on me when I wasn't looking. It never occurred to me what it would be like when I was too old to procreate. It never occurred to me that that day would actually come! I think I'm more upset about the decision to have another baby being taken away from me by time rather than me consciously making the decision myself. I think that's the crux of it. I find myself wishing we had started earlier in life. If we hadn't waited until age 27 to get married, then we could have had our first baby way before age 31, and then maybe we wouldn't be racing against the clock now. But then, I know I wouldn't have been as good a mother as I am now if I had started in my 20s. I just want the decision to have or not to have baby #3 to be my own, and not time's. I just want to be 30 forever.
What about you? Do you struggle with the same issues? Do you lament the loss of your reproductive-ability (if that's even a word)? I know plenty of folks have babies well into their 40s, and there is no hard and fast rule that 40 has to be my cut-off. But I hope you understand my fears, based on my experience with loss and the grief that comes with it. I think if things had not been so hard for me all along, I would have no problem being an older mom. But it is what it is, and that's why I feel the way I do. Thanks for bearing with me and reading this far. I want to hear what you think.
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