Three years later, and I'm waiting. Waiting to see the sonogram that says I didn't make a huge mistake. Waiting for the genetic testing that will almost guarantee everything will be ok. Waiting for the miscarriage that the doctor seems to think is very likely. I'm 46, which means it is nearly impossible for me to get pregnant naturally. Yet, here I am, six weeks and one day pregnant.
There is no joy at this moment. There is no celebration. When I peed on that stick and it crossed lines, my heart nearly exploded out of my chest and I immediately burst into tears. There was panic, dread, fear...but no happiness. This is the way a 46 year old woman reacts when she finds out she's pregnant with a third baby.
Actually, fifth pregnancy, if you count the two miscarriages I had prior to my first son. The feeling of being pregnant, for me, is a non-feeling. I have no memory of every having any discomfort, even when I bled for days. And carrying my two boys to full term was no issue for me. I was one of those mothers who didn't have anything to complain about. Aside from some very slight nausea, I was the annoying pregnant woman who actually enjoyed being pregnant.
But today, I feel nothing. I am forcing myself to feel nothing, so I don't die of fright. I'm fighting off the feeling of complete terror. When I have a moment to think about it, I am afraid for myself. I know the risks all too well, because I googled Geriatric Pregnancy when I was 41. Now, at 46, the odds of problems, genetic abnormalities, and health issues are so much more real to me.
I don't want to be attached to this baby until I know this baby will be ok. And when it is ok, I will hopefully, possibly allow myself to feel joy. But as of now, I don't want to set myself up for a horrible, terrible fall.
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