Kristin’s Story

AT LAST…
As I handed my first husband the divorce papers, he said to me, “The one thing I feel kind of bad about, leaving you, is that I know you wanted to have kids, and you’re already… 33.”

I know I know I know, I was thinking in my head as I calmly said, “I’ll be fine.”  Despite my bravado, that comment set off a mini panic inside.  Tick… tick… tick…  As Marisa Tomei famously said in My  Cousin Vinnie: “My clock!  It’s ticking – it’s ticking –  it’s ticking!”

I met the man who would become my second husband later that summer, and married him two years later.  Swept away by romance and love, I silenced the clock and focused on our marriage for the first two years.   My husband started commuting to Texas for three weeks a month, and we knew we couldn’t start a family with that kind of schedule, so we made plans to move to Austin.   In November of 2008, we left behind my house and my life of ten years in Atlanta to drive halfway across the country to our new home.

A month later, we were pregnant.  When I tell the story, I like to say that all it took was for us to be in the same city at the same time.

It was New Year’s Eve on the day we found out we were expecting, two weeks after my 38th birthday.  I had purchased a pregnancy test the day before, and for some reason was holding onto it.  I decided to go ahead and give it a whirl that morning, and as I sat and waited for the verdict, the little “plus” sign appeared in the tiny window.  I goggled at it for a few seconds, and then a smile split my face and I tried to conceal it as I walked toward my husband in our new one-bedroom apartment.    I handed him the stick.

Hey, we’re having a baby!” he said, and hugged me.   And then, “Why am I holding a pee stick?”

The months went by, and when our son was born in September of 2009, I was nearly 39.   After months of gestational diabetes, my doctor sent me to a specialist for regular ultrasounds to monitor the baby’s size and health, considering my “advanced maternal age”.   I eschewed coffee.  I watched my carbs like a fanatic.  I exercised twice a day – gently, of course.  I took my folic acid and slept on my left side.  I dutifully read every baby book in sight and succeeded in driving myself crazy.

One week before my due date, I was feeling extremely anxious about my baby, wiggling and moving around every time I didn’t think he was kicking and moving enough.  My eyes begged my OB to tell me that we were ready to go.  She said, “Look, I think it’s time.  We can either induce you and you’re likely to be in labor all day and have a c-section anyway because he’s going to be a big baby… or we can go ahead and schedule the c-section now.”

I said, “Sign me up.  Whatever is best for the baby is fine for me.”

I was incredibly relieved to get to the hospital the next morning, and ignored the kvetching from my husband about the early hour.  Just wait, buster.  This is cake, I thought.

As soon as our son was born, I sang a lullaby to him and he stopped crying.  At that moment, I didn’t notice my age.  I didn’t notice anything but the fact that I had a sweet baby in my arms, just like any new mother.

It was the most beautiful day of my life.  For an old woman.

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Kristin is a mother of a sweet 2-year-old boy and wife to a fantastic 6th-generation Texan, living in Austin, Texas.  Loves: her baby boy, airplanes, airports, classic cars, sports, Italy, and dessert; not necessarily in that order. You can reach her via Twitter @AustinKVS or via her blog http://www.twocannoli.com