My Big Fat Over Fifty Pregnancy

It's Really Happening!

"My dad thinks we are stark, raving mad," my husband confided in me.  "He thinks we should be thinking about retiring now, not having new children."

Fortunately, we did not take a vote before we decided to embark on our journey of having a child together at our "advanced" ages.  The only vote that counted was the doctors.  They said I was in good health and there was no reason why we couldn't/shouldn't try. 

Having children at the ripe old age of fifty has risks - both physical and emotional.  There are some people who simply disapprove.  We've already had our shot at making families, albeit not with each other (since this is both of our second marriages). 

To be honest, I didn't think it could actually happen - which is not to say I didn't want it to happen.  I really did.  We each have three children.  But during my first marriage, I was a partnerless parent.  I remember once sitting on a plane with one of my children.  A father in a nearby seat was jiggling his infant daughter on his lap and playing with her all the way from California to New York.  Tears ran down my cheeks.  And then I looked at the matching tears on my child's face.  Neither of us had ever experienced the kind of love we were watching.  We both wished for that more than anything.  But it wasn't to be - not with that husband/father.

So when I first met my husband online and he sadly confided in me that he was really looking for someone younger because it was his greatest dream to have more children, I told him that I was willing to do whatever it took in order to make that dream come true.  We got married about a year later.  He decided to take me up on my offer.

I guess neither of us considered that it might cause an earthquake in the worlds we have already created.  Not only do we have parents to answer to, but we've got children.  Children who feel unnerved by the prospect of having half-siblings young enough to be their own children.

No one ever asks a three-year-old if he or she would like a younger sibling, and it never occurred to us that our older children, ages 15 - 23, might have expected us to ask for their approval before we decided to add to our family.  Nor, did we expect to have to defend our decision with our parents.  We did what most parents and children do.  We simply went ahead with our plans, hoping everyone would be on board.  We are six months away from our due date and still hoping that that will be the case. We are optimistic and look forward to having one big "happy" family - three of his, three of mine and, to complete the circle, ours.

Seeing Double

Being pregnant again after twenty years took some getting used to.  The swollen feeling, morning sickness, afternoon sickness, evening sickness, the disgusting smell of coffee or food - it was something I'd long left behind, but the day I went for my ultrasound, none of that mattered anymore.

We had seen a healthy heartbeat just one week before and I scrutinized the ultrasound as the tech zoomed in on the image of a teeny, tiny being inside me.  "There is the heartbeat!" I said excitedly, watching the little heart beating.  "Yes, and there is the other heartbeat," the tech responded.

"What other heartbeat?" I asked her, stupified. 

"Didn't you know you are having twins?"

Seriously?  How in the world was I supposed to know that I was having twins?

"Um, no.  I had no clue."  I was so elated - but plenty scared.  How in the world would I break the news to my husband who was at his pediatrics practice in an adjacent building?

I walked to his office and his nurses and medical assistants happily buzzed me in.  Ordinarily I would have dressed up a bit to visit my husband at work.  "Can I just see him in between patients?" I asked.  They planted me in a seat in the area where they all work on charts and I waited about fifteen minutes.

He was surprised to see me.  I never visit him at work.  "Is everything OK?" he asked.

"Want to see the pictures?" I asked him. 

We went to his office and he looked at the ultrasound prints.  When he saw the tech's notes "Twin A" and "Twin B" he looked at me in shock.  "How can this be?" He asked.  "G-d gave us an extra gift," I responded.

We hugged and I left him to go on to his next patient.  Then I went home and told my eldest who was visiting.  He was incredulous, concerned but very happy for us.  So was his wife.  We haven't told my three-year old grandson yet.  I do look forward to his face when he meets his new twin uncles or aunts.

 

How in the World...?

I'm pregnant.

"How did that happen?"

That is probably one of the most inappropriate questions you can ever ask a pregnant woman - and yet, because of my age, some people think it is a perfectly okay question.  Am I wrong in thinking that people have no right to muse about the conception of my children?  Would they ask a 25-year old how her baby came to be?  Wouldn't that make her blush and direct them to the nearest health education class or book on the birds and the bees?

I've also received some unkind and completely unsolicited opinions about how selfish I am and how my children will grow up with grief when I suddenly die and they are left with no parents.  Last I heard, no one has dibs on longevity - no matter what you eat, how much you exercise and whether longevity runs in the family.  Death happens.  Provisions are made.  And when we expect children, we hope and pray to spend many  happy years raising them.  It is something my husband and I thought long and hard about before we decided to have a child/children.  One family member even said that we should not depend on them to console our children, in the event that we die first.  Another is researching everything that could possibly go wrong at advanced maternal and paternal ages and calling us with updates.  Ouch.

Somehow this pregnancy opened us up to unwanted criticism and negativity, even amongst our nearest and dearest.

If we didn't believe that we were doing the right thing for ourselves, for these children and for the greater good of our Jewish heritage and beliefs, we never would have considered having children.  And now that I am pregnant, no amount of negativity will convince us to abort.  Anyone who thinks otherwise or who cannot share our joy, really should consider keeping their opinions to themselves.

Touring Labor & Delivery

The tour group congregated in the lobby of Providence Park Hospital.  There were mommies-to-be of every shape and size.

My husband, shuffled in, trying to be incognito in the hospital that knows him as Baby Doctor extraordinaire, and we both attempted to blend into the crowd.  Not easy when you are about twenty years older than most of them.  My belly, or BUMP, as they call it these days, gained me entry to "the club."  Jane, the LDR nurse who hosted the tour asked when everyone was due.  "January, January, January," were the answers.  I looked down at my belly - which was about the size of the largest January bump.  "March," I answered, sheepishly.  Then I explained.  "I'm having twins."

This raised a few eyebrows as the tour proceeded upstairs.  I made some nice friends along the way, as poor hubby held some books up in front of his face, fearing recognition among the nurses or patients.  I nudged him - "Hey, do some marketing - all these people are going to need pediatricians."

The nurse went through the protocols of the labor and delivery check in process and showed us the very comfortably appointed LDR suite.  As she explained the procedures, and that each baby gets a Vitamin K shot the day after birth, one father raised his hand with questions.

The nurse stared at my husband and said, "Why don't you explain it."

Caught only slightly off-guard by being outed by the nurse, my husband explained that it takes a few days for the baby's blood to begin clotting and the shot helps facilitate clotting just in case.  After that, he stopped hiding behind my ample girth and he even worked up the nerve to wave at some of the nurses he knew.

At the end of the evening we learned a lot, made some friends, and it was not nearly as weird as going through Buy Buy Baby with a registry gun to look at carseats and cribs.

Kitchen Bump Inventions

This week I had to give up doing dishes.  I hear the collective "awww" of all of you who feel sorry for me.

It isn't that I want to leave the mess in the sink, but it's reached a point where the pressure of sink-on-belly hurts me when I try to lean in to wash.  Thankfully, I married an angel who is eager to help and doesn't mind doing the stack of dishes at the end of his busy day. 

If this was my sole kitchen restriction, I probably wouldn't be too upset, but now I'm finding that even pushing myself in to the table is uncomfortable, which means I sit further back and inevitably get stains on my looming bump.  And I'm afraid to even think what will happen when that bump encroaches on the stove as I fry up latkes for Hannukah!

With this in mind, I'd like to propose a few creative options to enable pregnant women to keep doing things they would like to do in and around the kitchen:

1) An indented sink.  Someone please create a sink that allows me to lean in and get to the dishes, pots and pans. And while we are at it, how about indenting the stove as well?  Just leave the burners in the back and allow some "wiggle room" in the front.

2) A non-slip, soft and fluffy kitchen rug that can be placed between the tile and my poor beleaguered feet that are charged with holding up all the additional weight.

3) Some kind of long pincers to enable me to pick up the rug and move it from indented sink to indented stove, without having to bend.

4) A shortened table leaf that allows pregnant women to sit comfortably surrounded by table.

5) Maternity smocks designed to protect the pregnant body from spills and splatters. And...

The last item is one I already have.  It is alightweight folding aluminum chair that I keep in the kitchen. This chair, a gift from my cousins Shulamit and Yehoshua, is a G-dsend.  It allows me complete access to the fridge - while sitting.  It also works really well when I am walking long distances and need to get off my feet, or when I am "sitting" in line just about anywhere.  I highly recommend it.

 

Selfish?

I was delighted to see that I had comments on my (Pregnant) Grandmotherly Advice for the Pregnant Princess     http://www.huffingtonpost.com/judith-lederman/kate-middleton-grandma_b_2244119.html.  It seems that people have read my article and it sparked some discussion.

While many were supportive, I was shocked that some lambasted me.  Take Tricia, for example:

Why are you having babies at your age? Or did you have your own kids so young that you arent really grandparent age? I became one at 38, yes I had kids young, obviously. I would never have another child in my 40s, knowing full well that the child could end up parentless alot younger then is fair. I dont go for the excuse "anyone can die at any time!" . There is an age when commons sense tells you it isnt fair to do it.Maybe you needed some advice before you made such a selfish choice?

So, to answer Tricia, and others who feel that they know best:

I am having babies at "my age" because children are a gift from G-d and a gift from spouse to spouse.  Yes, I do have a grandchild - and I love him and my children very much - which perhaps is even more of a reason to want more children.  I enjoyed having them, nurturing them and raising them and I always get great joy out of my grandchild.  And I am equally thrilled to be pregnant with our twins. 

I have no anticipation of leaving any of my children parentless but if and when that day comes, I will make provisions to care for them. Life is temporary by nature.  We are here briefly and I believe we are meant to make the most of our capabilities and of every minute that G-d grants us.

My choice may not be right for everyone, but it is right for me.  Your choice to stop having children at some point was right for you - and I respect that.

The selfish choice, Tricia, for me, would have been to choose not to have my children.   Every minute I share with them will be a blessing.  For me and for them. 

Redefining the "Sandwich" Generation

Mom just got home from rehab.  She was in and out of hospitals for three months.  She is in a wheelchair and has to relearn how to walk, get out of bed, sit down and stand up.  My father has Alzheimer's Disease.  He spends his days wondering what he is supposed to be doing and has to be watched carefully as he negotiates his way around the small apartment.

From 500 miles away, I find myself consumed with my parents' care--immersed in heated negotiations with social workers, agencies, physical therapists, home health care aids, geriatric care specialists and doctors as I try to find my way around the Medicare and Medicaid system in another state.  It's practically a full time job.

I check in on my parents several times a day and try to facilitate things.  Then there are managing their finances, bills and taxes--a job that neither of them can handle anymore.

I don't usually mind managing things for my parents, but I can't help but wonder how am I going to do this when I have two growing babies to care for? 

My mother didn't realize how funny she was when she told me, she would be thrilled to come to Michigan and "help out."  The thought of trying to get her up and down my basement steps, or of my having to run to help my dad keep his balance on his way to the bathroom while nursing, diapering and caring for my babies in a sleep-deprived haze made me smile.  I told her, as much as I appreciated the offer, I didn't think it was going to work - even if we had a full-time aid for them.  Just getting them onto an airplane would be challenging these days.  She was disappointed.

I remember when my first son was born, twenty eight years ago January.  My mother picked me up from the hospital and shuttled me around in her car to buy diapers, wipes, baby clothes and items I needed to care for him.  Then she came home to my apartment and helped cook while I cared for the baby.  I had no other help and she was an absolute G-dsend.  Now, she needs the care.  And so will I - and my babies.

I guess I am hoping and praying that at some point very soon, everything will balance out for my parents.  The home health care aids will settle into the job instead of constantly disappearing, my mother will begin to walk again with the help of a walker, and their household, which seems to be held together by scotch tape and safety pins, will get into some kind of organized shopping, meal planning and delivery routine.  Hopefully life will stabilize.  And maybe by then the twins will be old enough to fly to New York and I can give my parents the joy of meeting their newest grandchildren.   

How Are You Feeling?

"How are you feeling?"

That seems to be the question of the moment as my belly protrudes more each day.

I volunteered at an event last week and after standing on my feet for a while, I took a breather, sitting down.  An old lady smiled at me as she sat nearby.

One of my friends rushed over and greeted me.  "How are you feeling?" she asked, staring at my belly.

I thought about how tired I was, and how my hips were cramping, my legs were aching.  I didn't think I wanted to tell her that I was developing an umbilical hernia.  I wondered if I should let on that the indigestion just never ends and that the babies keep me up all night long, one when I turn on my right side, the other when I turn on my left.  I get that question all the time.

The little old lady seemed to read my mind.

"Just say, Thank G-d, I've lived to see another day,"  she whispered.  "That's how I answer that question whenever they ask me."

"They don't want to hear about your aches and pains - and believe me, I could give them an earful.  They just want to let you know they care."

I gave the lady a big grin, looked back at my friend and said, "Thank G-d, I've lived to see another day!"

A Helpmate At Last

I remember when I was long-distance dating my husband.  I followed the rulebook and never called him.  Why play games, you might ask.  I wasn't playing games.  I knew he had a crazy busy schedule - and that sometimes his after-work hours were consumed with going to lectures or being with his children.  I didn't want to impose.  And I respect him so much for his priorities.  So I waited for him to call me.

I anticipated each phone call and every visit with him.  My heart rate would accelerate just a bit whenever he would call.  We would stay on the phone until one of us was falling asleep - or until one of his children needed his attention.

We have now been married over two and a half years.  I have to say - I still don't call him randomly.  I respect and admire, and sometimes even encourage his busy schedule.  We joke that when I go into labor, I had better page him because otherwise he might miss the call and the birth.

But being with him still makes me happy all over.  I pull myself out of bed each morning, no matter how tired I am, to make his coffee and breakfast, find him some leftovers for lunch and to sit with him for 15 minutes or so as he eats.  That quality time with him keeps me grounded for the entire day.

He always calls me to let me know he's on the way home and his voice still makes my heart do that little skippy thing. We don't get to spend a lot of time together, but the time together is special - no matter how mundane our activities.

When we fight, which isn't very often, our communication is productive and respectful.  I value everything I found in my husband - a gentle man who looks at the world with a good, fair eye.  He sees the good in people and is a keen listener.  He is constantly working on building himself and is a wonderful parent--fair and understanding to his children.  He is truly a gift from G-d.

I wonder if things will change when we are juggling two screaming babies.  My firsthand experience dictates that sleep deprivation and screaming babies can bring out the worst in a person, providing the worst is there to begin with. The pregnancy brings me flashbacks of being a Mommy the first time around.  Remembering the workload - with just one colicky infant at a time - when I didn't have a gentle, supportive helpmate, makes me frightened.

One particular time when I left my weeks-old baby for the first time, with my then significant other, because I had to run a quick errand, I came back to a screaming baby in an empty apartment.  My ex-husband was nowhere to be found.  Neighbors were clustered in my hallway at the locked door, worried.  I quickly ran inside, found the baby crying hysterically in the bassinet, but OK, except where he had banged his forehead on the cradle in agitation.  "Where WERE you?" I asked my ex, who strolled in after about an hour.

"He was crying and I didn't know what to do so I left," was his response.  "I took a walk."

I know that my current husband will not leave screaming infants in their cradle.  I also know that, even though he is busy, his children are always going to be the center of his life.  He has his own horror stories of days of yore, coming home after working long shifts at the hospital to wash piles of dirty cloth diapers and take over with his babies.  We will not use cloth diapers - and I will work hard to continue to respect his schedule as best I can.  It won't be easy and we will need help - but I will do everything I can to preserve the feelings of love and respect in our marriage, even while we are nurturing our babies.

I realize that I've never before experienced having a husband who delighted in my pregnancy and who anticipated with excitement the birth of our babies. Each night he says the Shmah prayer with his hand on my belly so the babies can hear it.  It's taken us a long time - the second half of our lives to find each other - and to really experience pregnancy, parenthood and a respectful, loving marriage - in some ways for both of us, for the very first time.

Pillow Talk

Because sleeping has become such a challenge, I decided to buy myself a present - a body pillow that is all the rage on the pregnancy websites.  It's called a Snoogle.

The first time I tried the Snoogle, I wrapped myself around it and tried to sleep.  I think I had it on upside down.  It was very uncomfortable.  The second time I tried it, I had it right side up.  I curled myself around it with the tail between my legs and the top under my shoulder.  I fell into a deep and blissful sleep.  Then I woke up and tried to get up and go to the bathroom.  I couldn't.  I fought with the pillow a bit to no avail.  It was wedged around me like a cobra.  I tried some of my jujitsu moves, but those are hard to do when you are seven months pregnant and fighting with a pillow.

Finally, I managed to untangle myself and I made a beeline for the bathroom.

The next night I decided to use the Snoogle again but my husband didn't appreciate the gigantic pillow that divided our bed.  He volunteered to be my Snoogle.  So we retired the pillow to the guest room.  He was much more comfortable and warmer too.  Plus I didn't have that problem of trying to unravel him.

So much for my review of the Snoogle.  It's great for pregnant women who sleep alone.