Older, Wiser and Pregnant
What it means to have a baby at an "advanced maternal age."
by Ondine Galsworth
May 3, 2007
As far as an actual father for the baby, I managed to find one, a good one, not
a husband (I tried that in the '90s), but a boyfriend/companion-like person who
was number one on my sperm-donor list. Yes, I made a list. I needed to know the
father, to see him, and hopefully to engage in the "act" with him.
I asked my boyfriend first and he sort of made a noise that was more yes than
no, not exactly a dialogue. More like I asked half-jokingly, "You in?" and
he acquiesced half-jokingly. And I'm glad he did, because if he hadn't, I would
have met baby-daddy number two in time for my ovulation. This may sound a little
cold and calculated, but all I can say is, it was not cold. It was boiling hot.
I already had a burning passion for my baby. I had so much love for my child
it became like an object, like a big Panda lying in my hallway that I tripped
over every day. I needed to give this love to my child, but where was the child?
I could calm down enough to use the logical part of my brain.
Do I have good insurance? Check.
Do I have a willing sperm donor that is smart and kind? Check.
Do I have the means to move into a bigger apartment? Check.
Am I healthy and fit? Check.
So, there I was in my fifth month and there was no denying that I was really
with child. I'd gained twenty pounds and come to realize that a Quarter Pounder
with Cheese is a culinary masterpiece. I had yet to buy maternity clothes, afraid
that bad test results would be harder to deal with if I had to Until that ultrasound, I was in some sort of pregnancy purgatory
that women my age must experience until all the testing is over.face a closet
full of colorful twin sets from Pea in the Pod. It was then that I had my last
major test, the Level II Ultrasound, done in a hospital at the crack of dawn.
More goo on the belly, followed by a good half hour of silent scanning of my
womb. The sweet young thing running the scanner across my abdomen watched the
screen with a serious expression and took pictures of what I could only assume
to be my baby. She was just the technician and could not discuss what she saw;
for that, I had to wait for the doctor. It was a long half hour. Finally, the
doc arrived and was very kind, showing me the baby's heart, the legs, the
spine, the penis, the face. The fetus looked like a mini person, a hyperactive
person. He never stopped moving. Instead, he swam like a little silver fish in
a bowl, up and down, back and forth, around and around. Could that really be
happening inside me? I couldn't feel it yet. In the next two weeks, I would,
the doctor said. My son looked content, truly in his own world, busily enjoying
his brand new body.
He was healthy and it all finally became real. I'm not quite sure what
it was before, but it was something on hold, some sort of pregnancy purgatory
that women my age must experience until all the testing is over. And even though
I hadn't been able to wear any of my clothes for months, and had looked
absurd in my boyfriend's jeans and T-shirts, and even though I'd been eating
like a lumberjack and napping for the first time in my life, I only become officially
pregnant on that day, twenty weeks in.
I knew it was a common occurrence — females making babies. In fact, they
say it's been going on for millions of years, but it felt like a miracle,
like magic, like something greater than myself, my careful planning, my decisions,
my anxiety, my sadness, my own life. It couldn't be clearer, watching him
flipping around in my womb, indifferent to my concerns, my past, my lower back
pain. There he was, in his own translucent skin, on the edge of his own life.
His life, not mine. In the past, when I was much younger, this would all have
been impossible for me to grasp. But now I am as ready as a well-tilled field.
It's the gift of age.
©2007 Ondine Galsworth and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Ondine Galsworth is working on a novel about her experiences as a go-go dancer
and a book about her new addiction, the rodeo. A New York native, she now lives in
New Jersey.
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