A few days ago, I was searching for advice on what is annoyingly referred to as a Geriatric Pregnancy (any pregnancy over 35), and what I found were mostly posts by women 10-15 years younger than me. I felt a bit alone out there in my late 40’s.  Not to say those posts and blogs weren’t helpful, but it’s a whole different journey happening here in this 49 year old body and I needed to talk about it. Quite possibly I’ll hit hot flashes as my kid takes his first steps.  And I know I’m not alone out here.  When I began this journey with my Ob-Gyn, Dr. Storck (seriously, you can’t make that one up), with Chlomid boosts to see if I had any viable eggs left a few years back (I didn’t) and then a miraculously affordable shot at IVF, she waved off my concerns by telling me she’s delivered to women older than me and that I’m a very healthy 49 year old using a very healthy (and fertile) 20-something year old’s eggs.

Pregnancy of course is a profound physical, emotional and spiritual journey and every woman goes through it differently.  But when you’re growing a human inside a body nearing 50, it’s a different ballgame than if you’re 25, 35 even 40.  Also there’s a psychic challenge in getting pregnant after having lived a solo adult life well into middle-age and then, bam, you meet your soul mate (or, single, you go to a sperm bank – whatever) and the urge to procreate that was never there before shows up as deeply as the lines in your face and the grey in your roots.  It’s amazing, don’t get me wrong. I couldn’t be more thrilled, but as I sit on my couch at 5 months pregnant, with swollen feet, heels experiencing sharp jabbing pains my chiropractor says is due to pregnancy-induced sciatica, it would be nice to be in conversation with some others walking this path (or, since my feet hurt, limping this path).

Let’s get real: “Geriatric Pregnancy” is a shitty term.  Facebook already targets me for AARP ads way before I need them.  And I wasn’t near menopause, nor even peri-menopausal and I count myself ridiculously lucky because I have friends who hit that stage in their late 30s.  But the celebrity photos of younger women like Kim Kardashian teetering in sky high heels in skin tight black dresses with a huge baby bump make me wanna eat more donuts and stay in my sweatpants and Uggs.  I’m too old to work that hard anymore.

So I’ll write. It’s a strange, new world and I’m a snarky poetic writer, so I’ll just write my way through it and, maybe, through it I’ll find some others on the journey.  It’s gonna be real. Like really real. Gas and all.

So, welcome to my new blog.  Now will someone go get me a cheeseburger?