I'm 40. That would seem not-so-elderly to some, but in fertility world, that is geriatric. If you get pregnant after the age of 35, you are considered a "high-risk" and you are given the very flattering term "geriatric pregnancy." No kidding.
So at 40, my husband has been dropping big hints about trying again, saying stuff like, "I definitely want our child to have a sibling." He sucks at subtlety.
And to tell you the truth, at 40, I've been thinking, "Hmm, I better get to steppin'. I have no time to waste." It's pressure like no other. It's so much so, that I block out everything else that should worry me about having a second child and just obsess about HOW I will get pregnant and IF it is even possible at this point.
I'm so obsessed, in fact, that I don't even think about how little money we have for a second baby. I don't consider at all the idea that we have no place to put a second baby. I don't dwell on the fact that a second baby might be a horror-storm of colic, crying and basically the complete opposite of what we have now.
I don't waste a minute thinking about how dangerous it is to be pregnant at 40, gestational diabetes, miscarriage, the ridiculously high risk of Trisomy. I don't ponder the terrible things that the odds tell women my age. And it certainly doesn't even cross my mind that I have to go back to work soon, and that if I'm pregnant, I'll be pregnant...at work...and I'll be tired. The kind of 40 year old tired that makes you want to die in your sleep.
So we started trying. It's official. I'm off my rocker. Literally, because I'm THAT old.
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