I heard a statistic recently, that I won't even try to fake, that said there are more women than ever who are choosing to have kids "later in life" (read, after 35). I found this news somewhat comforting. I believe that things tend to happen when they are supposed to even if Fate's timing may not align with my own. I didn't even get married until I was 36 and so, wasn't even sure I would have kids. I was however, determined to try. My husband was at first ambiguous about the idea, after all he had four kids already and his DNA legacy was fairly secure. Being a good guy though, he knew it was important to me and so acquiesced to my desire.Getting pregnant was not difficult for me at all. Turns out, however, that remaining pregnant was the challenge. Two devastating lost pregnancies later (and the discovery of hypothyroidism as a likely culprit) I found myself once again "in a family way" and under the watchful eye of three perinatologists as well as my Internal Medicine doc and my Gyno. Fort Knox is not that well guarded. I was appropriately throwing up every day and the Dr.s were ecstatic; blood pressure fine, weight stable (ha! lost some), no diabetes, etc. The pregnancy, for being "risky" for the first few months was sailing along. Finally one day several months in and after myriad monitoring and tests the Doc came in and said "I am proud to discharge you as having a normal pregnancy." No more specialists, no more bi-weekly visits, and an audible collective sigh from many people around me. The thing is, I could have told them that. There were some moments when I was nervous but on the whole I felt that things were good in there. I mean, she was part of me after all.
David and I strove to do everything "right" (riiiiiiiiight). We attended birthing classes, bought oodles of books on what to expect through the preteen years. I imagine nobody wrote anything on what to expect during the teen years because it might cause a dangerous drop in the birthrate. We had a baby food processor, wipey warmer, baby boppy pillow, bottle warmer, oh my the things we had. We were ready. Funny how even people our age could be so delusional. When the time came...and passed, back to the doctor's I went. After some discussion, they tried to induce me. One night in the hospital and lots of "discomfort" (men said that) later, still no kid. At the almost two weeks late point my doc decided to take matters into his own hands. He said she was way too comfy and had clearly no intention of coming out (true, no contractions - NONE - not even the fakey ones). So, Nora was brought into the world via c-section the day after my 41st birthday (best gift I EVER received). A perfectly formed (she had been in the oven as long as she needed), healthy pink baby girl of a miracle. So much for the birthing classes and the tour of the birthing rooms.
Skip ahead about two and a half years. Nora is an active toddler; playing, fearless, gregarious and all over the place. At the playground one day she met a little boy who was about her age and they were off, under their mothers' watchful eyes of course. Finally, the kids were trying to climb a skateboard ramp and the boy's Mom was helping him up. Nora instinctively reached for her hand too. The Mom reached out, but hesitated and, looking at me said "Are you sure it's all right with your Grandma?"............. Time stopped. Suddenly I was in the Tardis with Dr. Who and I was watching some primitive ape descendants playing with their children when I realized they were us, I mean me. I laughed (nervously? awkwardly? I want to punch her face-ishly?) and said "No, actually I'm her Mom." OK, poor young woman, she was incredibly uncomfortable but I am not sure if it was over what she said or the fact that she was with this doddering old woman who somehow thought she could be a mother! Or, there was the time that a (significantly older) colleague asked with a shocked look, if that was my daughter and upon me saying yes, he gave me this paterly look and said "Aww, good for you."David and I had discussed (ad nauseum) the challenges we would face as "older parents." We knew we would be mistaken for her grandparents when she graduated high school. We knew she wouldn't know her siblings as brothers and sisters but more like aunts and uncles. We knew that our so-called golden years would not likely be the quiet days of retirement that others might expect. Rather, we expected to work forever to get her through college, take lots of glucosamine to try and keep up with her physically and hope our good genes paid off in terms of longevity. I hadn't in all honesty thought, however, I would face these issues before she was three. Of course I shrugged it off and got on with the day but since then I have faced, let's call them annoyances, related to being an older parent that I hadn't really expected.
First and foremost was the realization that I wouldn't have another kid. I grew up an only child and while I have cousins I adore, it can be a lonely upbringing. I fully expected to have another baby within two years of having miracle numero uno. Alas and alack, nature had other things in mind and I remain grateful to this moment that I have what I do. Another surprise was the effect on my social life. I am not the most social of butterflies anyway and having a small child does tend to shape how that sociability evolves. Most of my friends have kids too, BUT they are much older than Nora. A college kid and a toddler don't make the ideal play date. So, I don't really spend much time with my friends unless at the occasional lunch or "girls get together". Additionally, I tend to be (feel?) much older than the "typical" women who have kid's Nora's age. Trust me, those years of experience count! In a room full of young parents at school functions the feeling is an odd mix of awkward hellos and sideways glances. Are we such an oddity? According to the stats I read, no. Ah, but we live in a small company town. Granted the company is the US Government and the town is made up of more PhDs per square foot than most anywhere in the world, but still, it is very, very small.ON THE FLIP SIDE (you knew there had to be one right?), being an older parent gives me something the younger ones may not so easily possess and that is perspective. Nora is fearless because we let her try things and make mistakes and get bumped and bruised and move on. I see young parents at the park hovering over their little ones like they are made of glass. On the contrary, letting them try stuff when they are still puny is advantageous because they bounce (kidding). I also think perspective drifts in to things like patience. So many things that I see bother other parents, just don't bug me. Whether that immunity is because I don't care what other people think or if I just understand that whatever little thing that seems catastrophic is minuscule in the scheme of things, I don't know. I thrive on the fact that Nora "cooks" by combining things like mustard, sugar, water, ketchup and a whisk, I know that no matter how muddy she gets, there is always a bath. I am confident that while one day she refuses to eat veggies, the next may see her subsisting on broccoli. It's all good. The best part for me is recognizing how precious these moments with her truly are and how swiftly they are flying past. If I had it to do over again would I have done it sooner? I can honestly say no, because then it wouldn't have resulted in Nora. Nora, our perfectly imperfect mix of Lattin and Bedell (and the rest of our family trees), fire and water, drama and peace and feet on the ground aiming at the stars.
Enough in this chair. If I don't get up now, I will be too stiff to get on the floor and play with the Noranator ;) .............. Indeed, all VERY good.
