Tuesday, May 31st, 2011
You know what doesn’t do anything to make me feel better about possibly trying to get pregnant again? The term geriatric pregnancy. Which is to say, pregnancy over the ripe old age of 35.
My first pregnancy qualified. I have to say, it appeared as though baby-making and my advanced age played pretty well together. The first trimester’s tiredness was no problem, as my daily schedule was already built around napping. The pregnancy hormones that loosened my joints meant I could lay off the Ben Gay. And increased urination isn’t that big of a deal when you’re already used to wearing Depends.
Of course, I kid.
In all seriousness, though, my first pregnancy was fairly textbook, and active, too. I conceived quickly. I set the pace during hour-long power walks with non-preggo friends. I did headstands in yoga class into my ninth month. I even managed to make it through the birth drug-free. It was a healthy, spry, if geriatric, pregnancy.
Now that I’m over a year away from the (uncomfortable and painful) experience and (insanely) contemplating doing it again, it’s hard not to wonder: What happens when your pregnancy is even more geriatric? Knocked up—now with crumpled tissue always handy in shirt sleeves! And jazzy drug-store cheaters! If only the possible consequences were that superficial.