Sunday, March 21, 2010


Someone asked me recently if I’m worried or anxious about my pregnancy. It was an interesting question, and I had to stop and think about it before I answered. And my answer was “no.”

In the first 12 weeks, I was pretty much waiting for something to go horribly wrong. At my age, the miscarr.iage rate is so much higher than it is for younger women (I am, after all, of “advanced maternal age”—hee! That’s like seeing “spinster” on your mortgage paperwork—it’s a real feel-good moment) that even after I saw a heartbeat I was cautious and not particularly optimistic.

Once I passed the 12 week mark, though... I don’t know. Believe me, I understand all that could still go wrong, but once I moved out of the first trimester it just became simpler. I’m not that worried. I’m sure a lot of it is that I continue to feel reasonably good (heartburn, busy bladder, and interrupted sleep aside). I haven’t gained a lot of weight, I’m still able to exercise, and while I’m going to be very happy to not be pregnant any more (and am even more happy that the odds are good I’ll never be pregnant again), it’s all pretty much sort of OK.

I have some worries about labor and delivery (who doesn’t?), and am starting to worry about the sheer overwhelming quantity of things I need to get done before the sproglet arrives, but I simply haven’t had a lot of concerns about the pregnancy itself. I’ve felt... well, not serene, but as if it’s all going to be OK, and that there’s nothing to really worry about pregnancy-wise. I feel, oddly, as if everything’s going to be fine.

It’s unusual for me NOT to fret, honestly. But... I’m not.

Saying this out loud probably means that Big Horrible Problems will immediately surface. :) But truly, that’s where I am right now.

I have a friend on another continent who’s due within a couple weeks of me, and she’s having a terrible pregnancy. She has far more preexisting medical issues than I do, and they’re all ganging up on her in full force; as each week goes by, she’s having a tougher and tougher time. She’s been told it’s only a matter of time before she’s totally disabled and on bedrest until she gives birth. I’ll tell you, I think of her when I want to bitch and moan about the heartburn or the poor sleep or about how I’m slower already.

Now, ask me about my post-pregnancy worries, and I can give you a list. A list that’s a mile and a half long, and getting longer every day.

I like to project months and years into the future. That is not a great idea right now-- I should probably make plans to survive infancy before I start worrying about her teenage years, hm?

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