I recap how much I've eaten over the past week. Then I start going off alcohol. In a big way, because alcohol now has an unpleasant, metallic taste. My partner notices, as I can't help noticing, that I haven't had a period for a while. Sweetly he puts an arm round me. By now, I am thinking, I hope it is an early menopause because I have a nagging suspicion it is quite the opposite. Now, I know where babies come from, really I do.
I have four children already, the eldest, Sam, is 21, then there's Maddy, 18, Tilly, 10, and Lydia, eight. My partner and I were enjoying the freedom of our children growing up one having left home and one about to go and their burgeoning independence. So I hadn't been cavalier about contraception, no more so than most middle-aged women.
I had thought I was less likely to get pregnant at 47 but I was still pretty careful. Not, it appears, careful enough. I can't bear to tell my partner at first. We go to the supermarket and I try to lose him so I can buy a pregnancy test but they are all security-protected and to buy one unobtrusively is impossible. I abandon the plan and decide to tell my partner when we get home. He takes it rather well, perhaps because he thinks I'm mistaken. He goes off to buy a pregnancy kit — I'm too embarrassed — and when he comes back I'm amazed to see how these days you don't have to wait for a thin blue line; the test spells out "pregnant" and tells you how many weeks you are.
I've hardly put the spatula down when it screams "pregnant" at me, with six weeks in neat writing next to it. I flourish it in front of my partner, horrified and impressed in equal measure.
I feel ashamed that I am ambivalent in the face of a biological triumph. I immediately try to downplay the significance of the result. I turn to look at him, to gauge what he wants to do about "it". He looks inscrutable; he certainly looks surprised, but he doesn't look appalled. In a rush of hormonal feeling I love him for this because I know that however I feel about this flickering foetal life, I don't want him not to want it.
My overwhelming feeling is that I wish this baby hadn't happened, but I don't think my legs will carry me to a place where I can get rid of it. This is life, part of my life now, and I have to see it through. We'll take it one day at a time, we agree, like Alcoholics Anonymous. Occasionally it seems funny, but that doesn't last long. Having trained as a doctor all I can think of are the potential risks of being pregnant — to me this is a medical condition not a natural, rather amazing thing to have happened.
In fact, women in their early 40s were the only group with higher birth rates in , up 2 percent from the year. Getting pregnant without intervention, however, can be an issue. Not exactly betting odds.
Some scientists are hard at work to change all that. According to an article in New Scientist , a Greek fertility clinic is a trying to help menopausal women get pregnant using their own eggs by injecting their own platelet-rich plasma directly into their ovaries and uterus, with the goal of repairing their reproductive systems.
Until unconventional methods like this become conventional, Minkin says if a healthy woman in this age range wants to get pregnant but is unable to make eggs on her own, she could be a good candidate to have a donor egg fertilized with sperm in vitro, and have the embryo implanted into her uterus.
The losses took their toll on me and my partner. Wrecked by grief, I would rely on the part of me that loved freedom to cope. After all, life with no kids is easy. You can do whatever you want whenever you want. There is no college fund to save for, no schedule to keep. It was hard, but I made peace with my choices. I decided to harness our double-income-no-kids lifestyle for all it was worth.
I sat down with my beloved to coauthor our book. We labored intensely, enjoying the fact that we could. There were no dependents to care for. We could throw caution to the wind and spend all day and all night writing for a full year. Ironically, on the same day I turned in the final draft, I noticed I felt a little queasy. My periods had been wonky for a while. At 47 years old, I assumed I was hitting perimenopause. But once the nausea set in, I knew something was up. And sure enough, I was pregnant again.
But instead of joy, Justin and I both felt dread. However, there are certain risks — for both mother and baby — that tend to increase with maternal age. Related: Health concerns for new mothers at Even with the risks, some 17 percent of pregnancies in the United States are to mothers who are over You might also want to ask if certain preconception testing might be helpful.
You can get blood tests that check your hormone levels, thyroid function, and ovarian reserve number of eggs you have. Other tests can check for any abnormalities or damage to the reproductive organs themselves, like the uterus and fallopian tubes. Related: 9 questions about infertility treatments to ask your doctor.
Make a preconception visit. Understand your odds and the risks associated with pregnancy at whatever age you find yourself. Other options include:. And then life happened. While the rule you may have heard says you should try for a year before seeking help, this timeline becomes expedited as age increases.
This includes reaching a healthy weight through diet and regular exercise and kicking any unhealthy habits with drugs, alcohol, and smoking. Being AMA means you may have additional appointments, tests, and ultrasounds. Understand the risks, but also understand that each woman and couple is unique. Infertility and pregnancy complications can strike at any age.
Today, the average age of a first-time mother is That age has been steadily increasing as people postpone parenthood.
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