Sounds kinda scary and intimidating, doesn’t it? That’s the big label on the box they are trying to stuff me into with my pregnancy. I was 35 at conception and I’m turning 36 during my pregnancy (today, actually! Yay, Happy BDay to me!). In the medical world, apparently, this is enough to warrant an added sense of urgency to my prenatal care.
To translate the Latin preggers terminology into laymen terms, I’m an old lady having my first kid after 35.
I want to argue and protest and say, “But I’m fit and healthy and I feel much younger than what my birth date adds up to!”
I feel like a spring chicken and not at all 36. Am I in denial? Aging sucks!
I used to take myself way too seriously back in my early 20’s. In retrospect, it was bordering on ridiculous. Back in my college days, I used to nanny to raise cash. I used to look at women who had their first children at 36 and wonder how that was even possible. They seemed to be so old for babies. And now, look at me!
I stopped that whole taking-myself-seriously nonsense around the time I was 27. That’s when I got divorced from my first husband and my world, including my self-perception were forced into a whirlwind of change.
Talk about being in denial! I was in a dysfunctional relationship with an emotionally unavailable man and yet I refused to admit that the relationship had no business staying alive. I fought for it. I was so angry for so long…
Eventually, as I progressed through the appropriate stages of grief and my anger slowly subsided, I came to realize that the change was for the better. And the best thing of all is that I didn’t have children with that man. That in itself was a blessing.
I gained the freedom to discover who I really was on my own and which direction I wanted to take in life. This included making a long list of traits and attributes I wasn’t willing to put up with in my future partner/mate.
I wasn’t in a rush. I relaxed. I rebounded. I lived as a single unattached chick and discovered how awesome it was. No responsibility for anyone else’s actions but my own. I shopped and cooked for one and ate whatever the hell I wanted. I could stay up into the wee hours and run around buck naked in my apartment.
I thoroughly indulged in my singleton lifestyle. When I was ready, I joined Chemistry.com and started dating for the first time in my life.
Three years after my divorce was final, just as I was almost completely fed up with the whole online dating scene, I gave it one last chance before going on a cleansing hiatus from what was a run of dates that ranged from just ok with no sparks to mediocre to horrifying. I went on one last date and ended up meeting the man who would become my husband.
There was no rush. I was 32 and happy. I was only interested in building a healthy, mature and reciprocal relationship. I wanted a real connection. Nothing less would do.
And that’s how I ended up here, post-35 and pregnant with my first baby.
The first time I saw that classification, it took me by surprise. Me? Elderly?! No way! But now I don’t care. Fingers crossed, my husband and I are anticipating our little guy’s arrival in September. They can put whatever label they want on me. As long as I feel like I’m a young mama, I shall remain in good spirits and continue to be healthy, fit and happy for my baby.