Kids keep you young? At 35 that’s hard for me to believe.
This pregnancy makes me feel old. Really, really old. Lately my purse is a portable pharmacy with giant bottles of Tums, Tylenol, various other meds, eye drops, tissues and Shout wipes.
Worse yet, my olfactory senses are disintegrating. That or my mental processes are on the brink. I won’t rail against the fact it might be both. Everyday – throughout the day – I catch a whiff of various scents: banana cream pie, fertilizer, salty pickles, poop on a shoe, or Earl Grey tea and milk.
Mind you, this isn’t related to my new, pregnancy-induced sniff-whiff power. (Which is mighty impressive.) These overpowering scents are pure imagination.
What isn’t my imagination are the gray sprouts and patches emerging in the outgrowth of my hair. It’s a drastic contrast the usual red-brown. Even sans my glasses I can see those ugly strands stealing my youth.
In the morning my bones creak. It takes awhile to get up and moving – and that’s with my heating blanket.
At the doctor’s office I’m given literature for geriatric pregnancies. Missing in the pamphlets are the images of vibrant, gorgeous, happy pregnant women. Instead the booklet is packed with explanations of various tests and the possible serious outcomes.
I have appointments to meet with geneticist, have a super-advanced ultrasound and an amniocentesis – all because of my age.
My pregnancy with Jay 15 years ago wasn’t like this. Yes, there were difficult months of morning sickness and later months of bed rest due to pre-clampsia – but between those, I felt like a glowing spring chicken. I scampered and dreamed. I nested and twirled. Life was grand and I didn’t give thought to being poor, what could go wrong or my age. I was going to be a mom – the rest would work itself out.
Today, I imagine the egg my middle-aged ovary released was as wrinkled as an over-dried California raisin. The only reason it sustained life was because an ardent sperm revived it with sweet talk and CPR.
Recently, I questioned the oldwives tale of children making parents feel younger to a friend. She had her children in her 40s and assured me that it was true — just not when you’re pregnant.
Who feels fantastic when they’re pregnant?
I’ll have to rely on her words of wisdom for now … and hope I don’t develop Alzheimer’s before the baby is born.
Kids keep you young? At 35 that’s hard for me to believe.
This pregnancy makes me feel old. Really, really old. Lately my purse is a portable pharmacy with giant bottles of Tums, Tylenol, various other meds, eye drops, tissues and Shout wipes.
Worse yet, my olfactory senses are disintegrating. That or my mental processes are on the brink. I won’t rail against the fact it might be both. Everyday – throughout the day – I catch a whiff of various scents: banana cream pie, fertilizer, salty pickles, poop on a shoe, or Earl Grey tea and milk.
Mind you, this isn’t related to my new, pregnancy-induced sniff-whiff power. (Which is mighty impressive.) These overpowering scents are pure imagination.
What isn’t my imagination are the gray sprouts and patches emerging in the outgrowth of my hair. It’s a drastic contrast the usual red-brown. Even sans my glasses I can see those ugly strands stealing my youth.
In the morning my bones creak. It takes awhile to get up and moving – and that’s with my heating blanket.
At the doctor’s office I’m given literature for geriatric pregnancies. Missing in the pamphlets are the images of vibrant, gorgeous, happy pregnant women. Instead the booklet is packed with explanations of various tests and the possible serious outcomes.
I have appointments to meet with geneticist, have a super-advanced ultrasound and an amniocentesis – all because of my age.
My pregnancy with Jay 15 years ago wasn’t like this. Yes, there were difficult months of morning sickness and later months of bed rest due to pre-clampsia – but between those, I felt like a glowing spring chicken. I scampered and dreamed. I nested and twirled. Life was grand and I didn’t give thought to being poor, what could go wrong or my age. I was going to be a mom – the rest would work itself out.
Today, I imagine the egg my middle-aged ovary released was as wrinkled as an over-dried California raisin. The only reason it sustained life was because an ardent sperm revived it with sweet talk and CPR.
Recently, I questioned the oldwives tale of children making parents feel younger to a friend. She had her children in her 40s and assured me that it was true — just not when you’re pregnant.
Who feels fantastic when they’re pregnant?
I’ll have to rely on her words of wisdom for now … and hope I don’t develop Alzheimer’s before the baby is born.