Easy Roads

I still remember when my babies were in my arms nursing how they would look at me and reach their little hand up to stroke my cheek.  It made me feel like everything was right in the world.  I’d turn off the Law & Order marathon, put down the burrito, prop myself up against some comfy pillows and just enjoy the time doing something natural, simple and easy.

Except, getting to that point wasn't.  First, I almost missed the boat on the father of my children.  I didn’t want to get married young (by my standards, not Appalachian).  The Professor put up with years of dating, breaking up, living together in sin, and in therapy.  I finally did agree to be a child bride.  I was 28.

Then, the Professor was ready to start a family, again years before I was.  I had just hit my stride in my career and didn’t want to slow down.  He was worried we might run into trouble conceiving (Had he seen my hips?), having read somewhere it could take up to two years to get pregnant “naturally.”  I bought the logic, thinking we could avoid pressure if we got started early.  At any rate, I figured baby making might be more fun if it wasn’t a pre-scheduled activity, like a Body Pump class at the gym.  I got pregnant the first month off of birth control.  I was 30.

In between my two babies, I had a pregnancy that didn’t make it.  I carried our middle son for six months.  I’ve come to understand that miscarriages and terminations are part of motherhood.  We’ve come a long way from having children to help out on the farm, and making a few extra “just in case.”  We now know exactly why we can or can’t, will or won’t conceive, carry and deliver.  Scientific progress doesn’t make it easier.  I grieved heavily over the loss.  I was 34.

Charming Baby came along soon thereafter, thanks to ovulation testing kits.  There is nothing less romantic than telling a man he has to do it immediately when he gets home from his business trip because you’ve released an egg.  Conceiving wasn’t the part that was rough, though.  After a successful (albeit nauseous) pregnancy, my OB-GYN advised me to induce early.  My first baby was 10 lbs. 14 oz. at birth and while it was wonderful that I could actually push out an 11 lb. baby, it wasn’t advisable.  Where First Born Prince had been big and beautiful and pink, Charming Baby, who was forced out before he was ready, was thin and yellow and just looked like he wasn’t fully baked.  He was jittery and had jaundice.  I was mad at myself for listening to ill advice.  I was 35.

Some women make it look easy.  They have twins, with no household help, and casually nurse their infants, one after the other, without you even noticing.  Others act like feeding their one little baby is a military exercise and everyone should stop talking, round up burp cloths and stand at attention until the last gas bubble is gone.  I like to think I have had enough challenges achieving the title “mother” that I am not smug or unsympathetic.  But I am keenly aware of how extremely fortunate I am.  I hit the mommy jackpot with two strong healthy boys and am in the sweet spot of my journey.  I am 43.