Baby At 40

They say it is the very same thing that you ran away from, that will someday catch up with you.  For thirty-nine years of my life I was a happy-go-lucky, independent, career driven and enthusiastic young lady, with no plans of ever having a baby.  In fact, I had given up on the possibility that this would ever happen.  I can honestly say that I was not one of those ladies whose heart was dead set on having a baby and being called ‘mummy’.  Despite the many inclinations by several of the older folk whom I encountered in my lifetime to have a baby or two, I was quite comfortable with the life I shared with my husband and the freedom that came along with it.  I had no complaints nor regrets about not being a mother, and I was indeed enjoying life without a child in the picture.

I remember being at work one day and one of my now former, very religious colleagues approached me, placed her hand on my stomach, and started praying for the good Lord to enrich my ovaries.  I was so shocked and very highly offended by her bold and rude invasion of my space, that I immediately slapped her hand away from my stomach and let her know that I thought she was being rude.  I had never indicated to her that I wanted a baby, so I didn’t understand why she thought that she needed to do that.  I felt like she was doing some kind of voodoo ritual or something.  Little did I know that this prayer was to be answered someday. In fact, this was only one of the many weird encounters I had with some of the ‘baby happy’ older women in my life.  Those who weren’t bold enough to say outright “you need to get a baby to keep your company” or ask “wait what is wrong with you?”, were inspired to confidently declare that I will be bored when I got older without any children.  These comments only served to upset me more each and every time.  I couldn’t understand why people found it hard to accept that it is a woman’s choice whether she wants to have children or not and why was such a sin if a woman did not want to have any children. I was perfectly happy without and that was all that mattered.

This happiness in being childfree was soon to be short lived.  It was in March 2015 that I found out I was pregnant.  I had just turned 39 the previous year and was about to step into the life of the big forties. I remember that month I was feeling somewhat heavier than usual and hadn’t yet seen my menstrual.  Somehow I just knew something was going on in my body. I told my husband that I believed I was pregnant.  He thought I was going crazy, but suggested I do a pregnancy test if I was so concerned.  That same night by my insistence, we went to a nearby pharmacy and purchased a test. The test proved positive.  Of course at this point my husband was still not a believer, so he then suggested we should go to my OBGYN to get her verdict before we start believing the test, since these can sometimes be flawed in their readings. 

We headed to the doctor two days later and after the results of the ultrasound were confirmed, we received the unbelievable, life-changing news that I was indeed pregnant.  On hearing these words, my husband and I looked at each other and burst out with laughter at exactly the same time. My OBGYN was totally puzzled as to why we were both laughing.  She obviously did not understand just how funny the situation was.  Who would think that I could be pregnant?  I was in total shock and amused at this newly revealed fact. After laughing uncontrollably, the reality of the news seemed to hit my husband flat in the face and he suddenly exclaimed “Are you sure?”  I on the other hand, couldn’t stop laughing.

We left the doctor’s office that morning somewhat numb to the news that we had just received. It was when we got home that it all sunk in.  I was pregnant. It was then that we finally took good stock of what was happening and the pending impact that this would have on our lives from here on in. There was no doubt that we needed to make some major changes to our lives, so as to accommodate this new addition. We soon shared the news with our close family and friends, who were surprisingly all ecstatic about our expectancy. This was after-all the final coming of the long awaited, overdue child. 

Each day after that was a learning experience for both of us.  My husband, a forty-eight-year-old man, seemed amazingly quite comfortable with the news.  Two years away from fifty and he was about to have his first child.  He approached this new responsibility with incredible gusto.  I was truly impressed and fell in love with him anew every single day for thirty-nine straight weeks.  We were taking this new experience one day at a time and we were doing it together. Bi-weekly doctor visits, x-rays and blood tests were now a common part of our lives and we were shockingly adjusting quite well.

Remarkably, I did not experience any of the usual discomforts of morning sickness, irritability, bloating nor an excessive increase in weight. In fact, my pregnancy was somewhat incident free, at least up until the last two months.  This was when it started to get a bit frustrating for me, as I was grudgingly admitted to the hospital under heavy protests every two weeks. This was all as a result of a constantly high blood pressure reading, which seemed to always rise at every doctor’s visit. I hated my doctor visits and would always go with my bag packed, expecting to hear the news that I would be admitted for the next two to three days. Then as if fulfilling some prophesy, I was admitted every single time.

The day of my delivery was also somewhat of a breeze.  My labor was induced one week early as a result of the threatening high blood pressure readings. I swear that was the most intense pain that I have ever felt. I have never experienced anything quite like it before nor after.  It was unbelievable. I was in labor from about 8:10pm one night until 3:20pm the next day, and still only three centimeters dilated.  It was then that my doctor took the decision to take me to surgery, for fear that the baby’s health may be at risk.  I was hurriedly prepped for a C-Section.  From there on in everything happened so quickly.  I was awake during the entire procedure and noticed that there were about twelve persons, including my doctor, busying themselves to get me all ready for the surgery. I remember having the anesthesia inserted into my spine, which was shockingly more uncomfortable than painful. In a matter of minutes, a screen was erected blocking off my chest from the rest of my body.  My husband sat on a small stool next to me holding my hand the entire time, supposedly trying to calm me down; though I believe he was doing this more for himself. In no time I heard the faint cries of my newborn baby. I had never heard a more beautiful sound in my life and couldn’t retain my joy. I remember my husband moving away for a bit and coming back to my side and saying “he is so sweet.” I immediately asked him whether he was okay and if he had all his fingers and toes. His response to me was quite simply “he is perfect.” Tears streamed from my eyes uncontrollably at that point, and he steadily wiped them away with the most blissful grin on his face.  He was obviously very ecstatic that he was a father.

I gave birth to a bouncing five pound four-ounce baby boy. For me he is the most handsome and darling creature to ever enter this world.  I have never been more thankful for anything that God has given me and never will be. My son has brought me so much joy and unmeasurable delight than I could ever have in this lifetime.  Many people call him my miracle baby, but I see him as my second heart outside my body.  This unexpected blessing is now a welcomed new addition to our family.