Mission Statements

I paused on the title of this post because the last vibe I want to throw into the universe right now is that I am on a "mission" - for some reason I feel like boldly using the word would jinx me to failure. Nevertheless....

As you all know, I turn 40 in less than two weeks.  And as I have indicated in past posts, I am starting to get just a wee bit sensitive to the slings and arrows of seemingly well-meaning people when it comes to the decisions I am making around my fertility.  So let the catharsis begin:

I am not too old for this.  I can have a baby after the age of 40.  This is not some ridiculous notion, plenty of women do it.  My eggs may be on a path of shriveling up and dying, but there's still a chance that a good one is in there somewhere.

I am not scared to change diapers again. Actually this is the last thing I am afraid of.  I can take care of an infant in my 40s.  I am a fitness instructor for fuck's sake, so it goes without saying that I'm healthier than many women in their 20s out there.  I don't drink, I don't smoke, I eat my spinach.  Niblet had COLIC and I still survived somehow. 

I will not dwell on the potential age gap between my children.  My need to procreate again isn't just to give niblet a playmate.  This isn't all about her - though I should add that I don't want her to feel forced to be a lifetime live-in baby-sitter in lieu of her own life when she's older.  But in reality, the potential age difference, if I can be so lucky, could work in our favor.  We won't have two kids in daycare.  We will have staggered college costs.  My kid can pee on her own unassisted, which frankly is the dream of every mother I know who has more than one. 

I cannot spend endless hours of time energy worrying about bad outcomes (birth defects, another miscarriage, etc.). I was in my 30s - a socially acceptable time to procreate - when I carried a baby in a placenta covered in cancer-causing tumors.  EVERY pregnant woman is freaked the fuck out about the world of horrifying reproductive possiblities out there.  How about your fears? Should I live in fear of getting into a car accident because of a texting driver?  Or getting mauled by wild dogs? Incurable illness?  There's a world of scary shit out there.  Being as neurotic as I am, I could conjure - quite literally - MILLIONS of freakish scenarios of doom in my brain.  But this would be a pretty horrible way to live.  Statistically speaking, if I can get pregnant, I have a better chance than not of having a healthy baby. 

In short, I want to live my life.  My life includes trying for another baby.  Period.