Advanced Maternal Age = Breastfeeding + Menopause

The title is all I really need here, don't you think?  

A good number of people in the world likely don't even know the term "advanced maternal age".  Usually reserved for we lucky members of the infertility world or the OB that threatens his or her patient about their impending child-bearing doom as they approach the ripe old age of 35.  

I've found plenty of blogs focused on losing babies, struggles to build families, and raising children.  While I haven't outright looked for blogs reflecting on what it is to be in your mid-forties or fifties while raising young children, I haven't run across them in the way I have all the others.  Which leads me to think that I don't have this in common with the women I hang with (or want to hang with) and the women I feel most connected to.   And you know what?  It's true.  I know all of two other women  within 2 years of myself who have children age 3 or under.  Both of them are women who lost their first child at birth.   Neither of them do I see more than once a year.  If that.

I like to think that hanging out with the women in my life and raising a young child at this age will keep me young.  It might.  But I gotta say, the 6 years of pain and intense anxiety that preceded C's birth aged the hell out of me, so there's some making up to do!   The age thing doesn't really bother me in the sense that I don't regret being a Mom (at ALL) and there's nothing I can do about it.  But I think about it daily.  Multiple times a day, actually.  It's hard not to when the general public gives you "What a cutie.  You must be having fun with her, grandma!" or "Are you mom or grandma?" once a month or so.   Looking in the mirror is a harsh reminder.  Cheeks are sagging, jowls forming, age spots darkening, gray hairs invading like crusaders bent on defeating the coloring gods.   There's the bifocals that are actually making this post VERY hard to write (damn blurry letters), an eyesight event that happened in literally over the course of a single year (I've never worn glasses prior to last year, and went straight from reading glasses to bifocals.  Oof!).   And my body is certainly letting me know I've got to get on a serious maintenance schedule or it's going to strike.  No longer is just "not doing anything to injure myself"enough.  Now just existing is causing my body to break down.   

But the one thing that brings the whole situation into sharp focus?  Hot flashes while I'm breastfeeding. Every time.  Several other times throughout the night and day too, but always, always soon after my milk lets down.  

And I think…how messed up is this?!  How many other women are experiencing this?  It's so telling, how we're going against nature's laws with infertility science.  Women my age aren't supposed to have children C's age.   20+ years ago…I wouldn't.  Probably 10+ years ago, I wouldn't.  Donor egg science was just coming around then.   

I also wonder if she's getting crazy hormones through the breast milk and if this will cause her to mature prematurely or hurt her in some other way.  (Hence the push to actually, really, truly be done breastfeeding at age 3.  But oh, I'll miss it.  So will she.)

It's messed up.  Aging alone is messed up in the sense that it's truly shocking at a certain point!   All was pretty good until the last 6-12 months and then…it's like all of a sudden your warranty runs out.  

Whoa.  

"Grandma", wrinkles, menopause, stretchy skin.  

Mom, giggles, her smile that lights up my soul, everything about her.

I'll take the former if it means the latter any day.

p.s.

(My concerns for her long term well-being with 'old parents' is a post unto itself.   Some day, as it were.)

C's First Prayer

We're not very religious people.  And we don't incorporate any beliefs either of us have into our daily lives on a regular basis.  But we're trying to give C a foundation so that she has a foundation for Christianity and the ability to compare and contrast belief systems as she matures, and decide for herself what she believes someday.

Brad has been taking her to church most of the time because I often can't stomach it.  She's taking it in because she often wants to role play - "I'll be Jesus, and you can be the people" (waving palm fronds as he enters the city on Palm Sunday) or "I'll be Jesus, you be Jesus' Daddy" (passed.  Playing God is one I just can't do, even in pretend).

The kicker, she's been the one reminding us to do grace at dinner.  We hold hands, close our eyes, Daddy goes first.  Sometimes I then must pray immediately after, sometimes we have a few bites and then it's my turn.  Until last night she demurred from praying herself.  And in two minutes that melted my heart all over my soul, with her eyes shut tight, prayed her first prayer.

"Dear God,

Thank you for my Mommy and Daddy,

and my Baby Anna.

And then she died-ed.

And for kitty Grace.

And she died-ed.

And we were sad.

But they are in our hearts!

And they all died-ed.

And we were sad.

Amen."

With(out) An Older Sister

When you have an older sister that you've never held or touched, that's never cried or screamed or laughed in your presence, it's hard to understand that she was ever real.

When you have an older sister who will forever be younger than you, it's confusing to know how she fits in the family.  Or how you do.

When your older sister is just a small black and white picture next to an even smaller white box in your room that you say good night to every day, it's hard to understand she was a person.

And when you are two and your older sister is dead, all you really know is that Mommy keeps talking about this nebulous thing called "your sister Anna".    You know that baby Anna is that picture on the shelf.  And you know that for some reason that picture makes Mommy sad, because when you see Mommy cry and ask her why, she says, "Mommy is sad because she misses your sister Anna."

____________________________

Having Cate understand who Anna is in our family is harder than I thought it would be.   I'm not very good at consistently saying good morning or good night to Anna's picture and ashes with Cate every day, and the other day when I asked her what her sister's name was, she couldn't tell me.  Didn't know.  Didn't truly associate the picture and any talk about Anna with Anna actually being her sister.
Yet Cate understands what it is to HAVE a sibling.   I know she does, because a few weeks ago I told her I was looking at papers that would hopefully get her a sibling (adoption paperwork).  I asked her if she'd like a brother or sister and she looked at me for several seconds, squinted her eyes just a little and then stated with confidence, "Broder!"

I hate that Anna is such a wispy, misunderstood figment for her.  My heart aches that she hasn't yet associated the name "Anna" with "sister".  I feel like I'm failing my role in making sure Anna is recognized as a valid, real member of our family.  Failing Anna, failing Cate.  Mostly I hate that Anna is such a wispy, severed part of our family.  I want Cate to claim Anna as her sister and yet don't want her to try and understand what "died" means.
Cate is a smart cookie, she grasps most concepts quickly.   If I say, "Anna died when she was a baby" or "…when she was born", I seriously think she may quickly understand the gross concept of 'dead' and become afraid she or any other baby she knows might die too.
So how do I promote the idea of having a sister who isn't physically here without introducing the concept of death?

I welcome input.

How are you other mamas doing this??

5/12/13 Best. Mother's. Day. Ever.

Not to state the obvious, but I’ve waited a long time for this.

Thanks to my husband and my sweet girl, today was everything I ever wanted.  

Except for the girl I can’t have.  Again, obvious.

Still, it was the best Mother’s Day.  I got to sleep until 10:00 (not as glorious as it sounds because I was up at 4:00 and 6:00 and 8:00 with Cate, but I’ll still take it!!); Brad make me cinnamon french toast, turkey bacon, coffee and mimosas - AND cleaned up; gave me wonderful cards from himself and Cate (complete with her unique signature); and several hours to work outside in the sunshine pulling weeds, cleaning up the patio, fertilizing some plants, moving some others, etc.  Felt so good to be out there again knowing I had a wonderful little body and personality waiting for me inside with Daddy.   They came out to watch a few times and I was rewarded with giggles and waves and grins when I called to her from the grass.  The Best.

AND my fab husband completely surprised me with a brand new Burley biking baby trailer!  We took it out for a spin tonight and it’s super fun.  Fun for me to be “that mom” who’s (supposedly) active enough to warrant a bike trailer to haul her kids around while she gets her exercise AND cool enough to expose her kids to the outdoors and parks and picnics and all that comes with destination bike riding from time to time.   

I haven’t written here in ages, I know.  At least 100 times I’ve wanted to.  It’s a minor miracle I’m doing it now.  I don’t know if it’s my make-up, how I spend my time, or if being 44 really does mean I’m that much more tired than the Mom’s 10+ years younger than I, but I’m exhausted-amundo by the end of the day.  Blogging gets pushed off of the priority list, which is too bad, because I miss it.

Anyway.  There were teary eyes a few times this morning, as much for the girl I haven’t gotten to Mommy the last 3 years as for the glory of the girl I do, and the pure celebration that was My First Real Mother’s Day.  I didn’t go out to Anna’s bench.  Thought about it.  But there are soooooo many days I’ve done that in sadness, in melancholy, in missing her, in grief, in anger, in remembrance, to make a statement to Anyone taking note that she still matters and she’s still mine and I haven’t forgotten.   But today I didn’t want to be mad.  Or hurting and crying.   I think of Anna everyday, look at her pictures every day, wonder who she’d be every day.  Sometimes I let myself go farther and Feel.  It’s hard.  It hurts.  Today, I just wanted to... relish.  And I did.  I did, and I felt like a queen and we celebrated our beautiful and delicious Cate, who makes us laugh all the time.   She’s perfection and I’m so lucky to be her Mama.

Here’s to all my Mommy friends, may you have had a day worthy of all the work, exhaustion, trials and tribulations of parenting you’ve experiences the last year.  Here’s to all the women who want so badly to be Mommies - to living children, to any children.  I pray you get to have a Mother’s Day like mine as soon as possible.  

It doesn’t disappoint. 

1/11/13 Better, squared

I know, it’s been forever.  Same old story - I think of things I’d like to write here at least every couple of days, but if there’s an evening I would have a chance after dishes and straightening and all the responsibilities, all I want to do is NOT use my brain.  Is it because I’m 44, a new-ish mom, or both?  Whatever...it is what it is, as the overused phrase goes.

Cate is napping now, for two more minutes, for thirty, hard to say.  So I’m pressed to convey what I really want to - quickly.  Which is...this girl makes everything else better, richer, deeper, brighter.  Going to work is rather exciting and frought a little bit with anxiety being away from her all day, my impetus to get out on time suddenly turned On, my entire mood upon leaving work dramatically altered from what it used to be.  What used to be a certain amount of drudgery, heaving myself one place to the next and sort of an overall bleakness, is now brilliant anticipation to get home to see her.  Hold her.   Glory in her.   Her squeals, smiles, uncoordinated jumping, wondering if Dad ever changed her out of her jammies and did she poop today?   A few months ago I went to a movie with a friend while Daddy stayed home with her, and was struck by how even this felt so much different, knowing I had a baby to go home to.

I know of one woman who has traveled a very similar path to ours, and she has not yet had success in bringing a child home.  I wish I could tell her that life can still be good and rich without a child.  I know it can, for some.  But I think there are others of us who truly have children as our heart’s very desire, and nothing else comes close to filling us the same way.   Maybe it’s because I appreciate her so very much.  But if anyone’s asking, I’ll say it’s because I was built to be a Mommy.  Going through life without it would have been like being a bowl without fruit.  Intact, functional, maybe even pretty, but essentially useless and taking up space.   Or maybe it’s the other analogy, the Wizard of Oz one where now life is in technicolor.  

Either way, I love it.