I just got some “good news/bad news” regarding pregnancy. The good news is that my friend is pregnant. The bad news is she’s 49 years old and her husband is 60.
Let me just give you a second to let that sink in.
When she told me, I laughed because I thought she was joking. But when I felt the heat from her dagger eyes burning holes in my face, I knew something was not quite right.
“You gotta be kidding me,” I said. “You do know where babies come from, right? How could you let this happen?”
“Of course I know where babies come from!” she spat back. “As far as I know I’ve been infertile for the last six years. And Lenny (not his real name) has a low sperm count. It’s been so long since we’ve used protection I can’t even remember how to spell I.U.D.”
Apparently she was not as infertile as she thought, and Lenny’s swimmers had at least one ringer that kept in shape. As miraculous as this against-all-odds union seems, their pregnancy is not welcome news. They already have two kids, ages 22 and 25, so in a weird way this third one will be like giving birth to their own grandchild. Except they won’t be able to hand the kid back to its parents when they’ve had enough, because they are the parents. Plus, the 22-year-old is still in college incurring expenses they were looking forward to getting rid of next spring when he graduates…just about the same time this determined little third wheel is due to make his or her grand entrance.
I can’t even wrap my head around her unexpected pregnancy. My kids are only 15 and 18, but the thought of starting over right now gives me a migraine that borders on an aneurysm. I’d have to spend the next 21 years heavily medicated. And not in a fun way.
It’s not that I don’t like kids, I do! In fact, I love being a parent, especially now that my sons are old enough to do things like move furniture and give me rides to and from the airport. However, parenthood is kind of like being in high school. I learned a lot, had tons of growth, and met people as a result of it that will be friends for life. But I don’t want to keep repeating the 9th through 12th grades, especially if I already graduated a while ago. There comes a point when everyone involved just needs to move on.
Pregnancy Gives Birth to Serious Thought
I’ve been divorced the better part of a year now, and even though I have no boudoir prospects on the horizon, my baby-making parts still function like they were the inn-keepers of an enthusiastic hen house. I guess these over-achievers didn’t get the memo that after 40 they need to prepare for a going-out-of business sale.
This scares the hell of out of me.
My friend’s pregnancy gave me that slap-in-the-face clarity that prompts the crazy little voice in one’s head to say, “Yes, Virginia, there really is an insanity clause when it comes to playing Russian Roulette with your midlife birth control. Except the bullet in this case is this cute little blob that shits its pants in crowded elevators, and spits up down the back of your only good blouse just as you’re about to go into court to contest a traffic ticket you got for making an erratic lane change on the freeway while trying to bottle feed your screaming baby in the backseat.” Um…not that I would ever do that.
Even though I like to joke around that abstinence is not a lot of fun, I have to admit it does have its upside. And although I firmly believe that my overnight guest status will change someday, until then I’ll save a lot of money on condoms and home-pregnancy-test kits. Not to mention I have nothing to worry about if I happen to be late. Hell, if this dry spell goes on long enough nature will take its course and the problem will solve itself.
Pregnancy Lacks a Sense of Humor
I looked at my friend with complete and utter sympathy than bordered on pity. “What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she replied defeated. “We’re Catholic.”
Oh, god. This just gets worse by the second.
“Say something funny to cheer me up,” she pleaded.
“Well…” I paused, struggling to find the lighter side, “just about the time this kid gets out of diapers you and your husband will be needing your own…”
She crinkled her face like I’d just shot a fire hose up her nose. “Okay, it’s time for you to go,” she said matter-of-factly.
I gave her a sincere hug, confident in knowing she’d get through this just fine, mainly because she has the coolest, most supportive husband ever to say, “I do.”
As I drove home I thought how ironic that my friends and I had to think about birth control at this point in our lives. Because, it seems, accidents can and do happen. But for now, it’s not an issue for me because as far as I know nobody ever got pregnant from a party of one.
Which reminds me, I need to stop and get some batteries on the way home.
Did you like this post? If so, please click on the banner below to vote for me as a Top Mommy Blogger on TopMommyBlogger.com. I don’t win anything except a higher search engine ranking, plus bragging rights to my kids that I’m not as dorky as they think. (Okay, well maybe I am that dorky, but at least I’ll be easier to find on the Web.)
Stacy Dymalski is the host of the hilarious TV talk show “Mother Bloggers” on FirstRun.tv. She’s also an award winning keynote speaker and stand-up comic who gave up the glamorous life of coach travel, smokey comedy clubs, and heckling drunks for the glamourous life of raising kids (who happen to be bigger hecklers than the drunks). This blog is her new stage.
For more of Stacy’s comedy check out her book Confessions of a Band Geek Mom available in bookstores and on Amazon in paperback and Kindle.