I had another 'scare' this week, although 'scare' isn't technically the right word. I was a week late and had managed to convince myself I was experiencing all sorts of symptoms - I had the full-on nausea, shortness of breath, cramps and boobage to be expected during the first few weeks of pregnancy. I took four separate tests. Four. €40 worth of tests. And each one that was negative, did it convince me I wasn't pregnant? No. The blood test finally convinced me and lo and behold, the day after, physical evidence arrived to prove convincingly that no, I am not pregnant. (I am trying to be delicate for the squeamish amongst you). My husband thinks it was a psychological pregnancy. I am afraid I sort of have to agree, although the strength of mind required to produce such physical effects amazes me.
It is my 43rd birthday next week and I suppose I am having to adjust to a totally new reality that it never occurred to me I would have to face. That of being a menopausal woman. I have so totally taken my fertility as a given that in spite of over-whelming evidence to the contrary, and reading something about older woman and fertility problems almost on a daily basis, it somehow would miraculously not happen to me. However, evidence has been mounting on my own doorstep and now it really is getting too strong to ignore. I am peri-menopausal, with all the implication to my body and psyche that that entails.
We women have a love-hate relationship with our fertility - for the best part of our lives, it is a bane and a problem to be overcome. Generally, for a very short period of time, it is either working for or against us as we decide we want to conceive and then, generally again, we go back to fighting against it. Due to the fact that I was classed as a 'mature mother' with both my boys - laughably young at 36 and 37 when I had them - I pretty much ran out of time when I decided that I would like one last chance at being a mother. After a surprise pregnancy earlier this year, I realised how much I wanted another addition to the family and when I miscarried at 10 weeks I was devastated, we both were. After overcoming the initial shock, we were so looking forward to introducing the new addition to our family. The miscarriage knocked us for six as we had had the boys with very little - ahem - effort on our behalf, arriving one after the other in such a felicitous way that they adore each other and play beautifully together - well, mostly, this isn't a blog written in Disneyworld, after all.
From then on, I joined forums for older women trying to conceive and the truth hit home - all those dire warnings about women leaving it too late to have children? They were right, would you believe it?!! There are page after page of heartfelt outpourings from poor women desperate for a child, or another one to add to their family, at an age where it is becoming physically almost impossible. So many of these hopeful women announce their pregnancy and then, so desperately sadly, announce a few weeks later that they have had, in many cases, yet another miscarriage.
And if I am honest, is 43 really an age to be bringing another child into the family? I took a look around at my youngest son's nursery parent meeting the other day and thought, I am already one of the oldest here. Is it right to have a child who will have a nearly 50 year old mother when they are starting primary school? Do I want to be surrounded by fit young women when I am starting to feel the creaks and groans of old age?
The benefits of being an older mother, which I am even having my children at the age I did, are legion. I never wish I had had them in my twenties, as my mother did. That would imply that all those years that I was living an utterly selfish life flitting around the world and having a ball would have been better served bringing up children. Woahhh there - I wouldn't hand those years back for anything. Nor am I such a subscriber to the, 'once they are grown up, you are still young enough to enjoy your life', theory because you are never 'free' of your children. Lord knows, my parents will tell you that, when yet another crisis hits and they are the first people I ring to provide a shoulder and some loving support. Once you have children, you can never go back to rediscover a selfish life because by definition, having children means that there is now someone in the world who is more important than you.
No, have children later in life, by all means, when you can dedicate your life to them without regret or a hankering to be somewhere else. Just please please, don't leave it too late. Because turning back the clock is not an option, no matter how good your doctors are.
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