You're doing ... what?

I've been doing a lot of thinking about being a first-time (and, hopefully, second-time) mom over 40. No, never mind 40 ... that's still the age of spring chickens. I became a mom for the first time by adopting at 44, and now I'm hoping to become a mom for the second time through a pregnancy at 45. If it works, I'll be 46 when I have the baby(ies). Who does that? No one. No one, that is, except a few random crazy people in the tabloids, and my lovely 50-ish friend from work. Thank god for her, because the world I live in right now is otherwise a very lonely place.

Julie summed it up nicely in a recent post:

When you wait to have children, there can be greater consequences than your body's diminished capability to do so.  I'm not talking about not having energy to chase around a toddler, which is an oversimplification so laughable, it's almost insulting.  No, it's way bigger and scarier than that.  You miss a part of life.  I don't mean you delay it; I mean you miss it.  Your longtime friends leave you behind, either metaphorically or literally.  Your kids, if they do eventually come along, miss out on relationships they might have cherished: cousins their own age, aunts and uncles with time and enthusiasm for young people, your best friends' kids as members of a happy pack.  Your own parents die before knowing their grandchildren.  Your view of the other side of having kids — where you've seen them safely into a happy and productive adulthood and can enjoy their company as fully-fledged equals — recedes with every year of distance. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, wrong with waiting until you believe you're ready to have children, although most parents will probably tell you that the whole construct of readiness becomes richly comedic when actual live offspring present themselves.  But by doing so, even if you're also gaining something, you're sacrificing something precious.

She was responding, of course, to a woman who is blithely planning to extend her fertility by creating frozen embryos while she's young ... just in case. Interesting concept, I suppose, although trusting a wee bit too much in, well, the embryos being viable and surviving the thaw and nothing going wrong in the intervening years. Good luck, best wishes. That story aside, the losses Julie describes are certainly applicable to those of us who wanted kids in our 30s but simply didn't have the good luck or opportunity to procreate on what others might call a normal time schedule, and thus find ourselves parenting babies long after our peers have embraced middle age with a vengeance.

I've known my three best girlfriends since 6th, 7th, and 9th grades. One of them has a teenager and two tweens. The second has no bio kids but is in the process of adopting her new husband's teenage son. And the third? She's got a tween, a teenager, and her 20-something daughter is about to make her a grandma any second now. Suffice it to say that when I mention anything at all to these friends about my hope to carry a pregnancy, the silence is deafening. Don't get me wrong -- they're as supportive as they possibly can be. But it's a half-hearted support at best. I know them well enough to understand that they think I'm more than wee bit crazy. If I were in their shoes, I'd probably think the same thing. But the thing is, I'm not in their shoes. And therein lies the rub.

All of these wonderful people have had ups and downs in their lives, they've had sorrows and losses, just as anyone has. But for whatever reason, infertility wasn't part of their life story. They progressed right along, doing what they were supposed to do, marrying early or marrying on their own timetable, popping out kids or choosing not to, building their families or their careers, traveling the world, dealing with health crises and family dramas, spending time with their siblings' kids, easing gratefully into perimenopause, having hysterectomies, getting their tubes tied, growing older and being just fine with that because, well, when you do all that stuff on the normal timetable, you're understandably wrung out by the time you hit 45. Not a single one of my closest friends or relatives in my age group would even dream of becoming pregnant at this age. So it's naturally very difficult for them to come up with anything besides stilted polite questions when I speak of our plans.

Add to the conversation artificial reproductive technology, frozen embryos, embryos unrelated to us, embryos created using donated eggs, embryos whose donating family found us on the internet, embryos who -- if they survive the thaw, if they create a pregnancy, if they somehow miraculously become one or more living breathing babies -- will clearly be of a different ethnic background than the Mister and me ... well, the silence deepens, the jaws gape wider. An overwhelming aura of sincere yet suffocating concern permeates the telephone line. Every word I say makes it worse. Sure, they do their best to understand the process, they tease me about the possibility of twins but, in many ways, I get the feeling that they'd rather I didn't say anything more about it. The whole situation makes them uncomfortable because it's just so, well, strange. I get that, I really do. But that doesn't make me miss the response I might have received from these same folks 10 or 15 years ago. Their enthusiasm wouldn't have that patina of worry, that unspoken sense of "are you sure you know what you're doing?" We'd have been in the boat together. Not having them along for the ride is a real loss for me, and it's not because they're bad people. It's because they're simply past this. I'm the only one still living in this space, this "wanting to be pregnant, wanting another child" space. I'm the one who got stuck somewhere along the way. I'm the odd one out.

Our adoptive parent friends are a lot more understanding, and their day-to-day realities are a lot closer to my current life. Most of them ended up adopting because they focused on their careers first and waited too long, or struggled too long, or just never had a hope of creating kids who were genetically related to them. But my 40-something adoptive mom friends are, as I am, TIRED, and they are done. They've slammed up against the wall of exhaustion that is the reality of parenting babies in your 40s, and they know their limits -- or, they can't afford another adoption, or they can't face going through that long agonizing process again. Either way, their families are complete. They're not following me down this road.

And neither is anyone else. I work with a woman in her early 40s whose first IVF produced her now-16-month-old daughter, and whose second IVF resulted in her current blissfully-7-months-pregnant state. She's going to have had 2 babies while in her 40s. But it's not the same. I had two IVFs in my early 40s too. Neither one of them worked. Nor did my single pregnancy result in a live baby. She is both my sister and my enemy, the symbol of everything I struggled through and the example of what I never got to have. I rejoice for her good luck and want to strangle her with my bare hands. She's 5 years younger than me. She snuck in under the wire. When she's my age, her youngest will be in kindergarten. I don't know any other 45-year-old women who are planning pregnancies. Not a one.

Comments

[Bev]

I can't really relate, but my sister in laws story is very similar. In her 30s she was working and not ready to settle down, plus she didn't meet her husband until she was 39. Once they knew they were serious about each other they tried the conventional route, then IVF, ICSI and eventually overseas adoption. It took a very long time and she was 49 when she brought her daughter home from Russia.

Her daughter was 5, and my daughter was 4 so she is quite lucky in that she has a similar aged cousin. Unfortunately, they live in Germany and we are in the UK, so we don't see each other often and when we do the kids don't speak the same language.

I know I was worried about my SIL adopting at nearly 50, I was nearly 40 with a 4 year old and exhausted, and if I am honest, I thought she was mad. However, she is very young at heart, fit and healthy.

I don't really have any great words of advice, but wanted to let you know you aren't alone. There are others who become moms later in life. They are just harder to find.

[Almamay]

Hey Sister!!!! Did you forget about me? I think you are terrific and want your planned cycle to work for you. Really, really want it to work. Oh, and by the way, I'm starting back on the IVF treadmill again in the fall with my frosties. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

[Rebeccah]

SO FUNNY! I didn't forget about you at all ... I guess I wasn't counting my bloggy friends ... although now that I think about it, you may be the only one I know who is Exactly My Age (to the day!) and doing the same thing. So we can be batty old moms together : ) xxxoo

[Almamay]

If we are lucky enough with our cycles it will be great fun. I completely agree that there are things our children won't experience if we were younger mums but there are also many advantages. I feel happier and more confident than I was when we started trying for a family at 28. Because of this, I think I'm a better mother than I might have been back then.

There is no wrong or right way is there? If there is a right way I missed that memo. I feel so lucky and grateful to be a mother at all. It didn't look like it was ever going to happen for a very long time. I will never, ever regret the fact that I was 44 when we finally became a family. In fact, I'm very proud we got there in the end.

[Rachel]

While I don't have age counting against me (yet), I do think that all parents feel deficient in some way or another. I worry about the time needed for my career when the fusspot is young, our limited savings, and our need to move repeatedly. I know those are all different than worrying about missing out on having a good group of peer mothers, but I am sure that your caution (not exactly the right word, but the amount of time you spend worrying/thinking/planning for being an older mother) will help immensely.

And for the record, I am wowed by your energy having been recently entirely waylaid by exhaustion.

[luna]

I imagine you'd find better support in the blogosphere than in your every day life.

I'm in the camp of nearing my mid40s, blissfully exhausted, still want another child but can't afford another adoption and the hub can't imagine surviving the grueling process again. on some level, I suppose it's a sad relief that my womb is trashed beyond repair, or I might be crazy enough to try again.

[Mrs. X]

It is so hard when your friends who are your age are at a different stage in their lives than you are and you feel left behind. But, remember, you are doing what is right FOR YOU. And you will find friends who do know what it's like to do what you're attempting to do and they will give you the support that you need.

I hope with all of my heart that this works for you and that you get the experience that you so want.

[Tiffany]

My mom had her 9th child (my youngest brother) at age 44! I'm so excited for you and can't wait to hear about your journey!