The Bold Soul™

Because sometimes it just has to be said

Men, you have my permission to avert your eyes from what I am about to say.

(giving them a moment to run and hide)

Ok. Deep breath. And...

IS IT FUCKING FAIR THAT WE WOMEN OF A CERTAIN AGE HAVE TO DEAL WITH MENSTRUAL CRAMPS AND TAMPONS, *AND* ALSO HOT FLASHES AND CRYING JAGS AND WORSE MOOD SWINGS THAN WE EVER HAD AT 16, ALL IN THE NAME OF THE MENOPAUSE YEARS?

And the only acceptable answer? Is NO.

I wish my body would get over the fence, already. Pick a side, dude.

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition

I get the distinct feeling I'm being watched.

Well, perhaps not "watched", so much as "wondered about". Yesterday, my mother called me at 5:30 am HER time, which even for her is a bit extreme; she said she woke up early, as she sometimes does at age 75 (she'd probably kick my ass from Paris to Prague if she knew I just told 100,000 strangers her real age) and was "thinking about me". Wondering if I was all right. Then in the next half hour she proceeded to ask grill me 3 more times how I was; was everything ok; was I feeling all right? No amount of my replying, "I'm fine, Mom. I'm great. Really great. Super great! Never better! I'm deliriously well and happy! I'M FREAKING FINE, ALREADY, NOW CAN YOU GET OFF MY BACK?!" seemed to satisfy her.

Sometimes, she gets that way. She's my mother and also a congenital worrier. So I chalked her Spanish Inquisition up to her just being Mom. But then I remembered that a few days ago, my best friend came right out and asked me the question I now suspect has been on the minds of millions thousands many at least a couple of people I know, but which they have been afraid to ask:

"So what's going on with this baby-making business? You still trying to have one?"

(That's what I love about my friend; no bullshit between us. We can say it all. It's the cornerstone of our friendship for over 20 years. Like how we kid each other about the time we got drunk at a bar in town and got locked out of our apartment... )

And I told her the truth: that we aren't preventing a baby. But we aren't really "trying" either. Because I suspect that ship has sailed, so to speak. For whatever reason, it ain't happening. And now, I don't think it's going to. I figured I might just as well come out and say that. Officially, we're done trying.

You'd think I'd be more upset about it, wouldn't you? But I'm very philosophical about things, and if something I want isn't happening, then it's for good reason. We knew it was a long shot to begin with. Georges and I already have a great life together and there are three wonderful kids already in it, one of whom is going to need us for many years to come even though the older ones are nearly at the jumping-off point (they will still need cash, however, and therein lies our one remaining source of power). It was disappointing at first but after a while, what I really started to feel was relief: relief from worrying that it wasn't happening as well as relief from worrying about what if it DID happen. As much as I truly wanted to have the experience of having a child with Georges and will perhaps always have some regrets that the timing just wasn't on our side, because of our ages and my own health risks and, well, my near-phobic fear of pain and losing sleep, I often had very mixed feelings about childbirth and motherhood. My relief at not being pregnant now exceeds my disappointment; the balance has shifted. And it's fine.

So, life will continue as we'd always planned from the beginning: we're together and more in love than ever, we're doing our fair share of enjoying and raising the three kids until they all have their own lives, and then we'll still be together and have time all to ourselves -- a very beautiful thing. Eventually (please, God, let it be a LONG time off, though) at least one of the kids will present Georges with grandchildren and then I can get my baby fix, but without the stretch marks, horrific pain and sleep deprivation. And now I can go back to wishing menopause would hurry up and get here, already, so I can get over those pesky monthly cramps and mood swings. The sooner, the better, thank you very much.

With that, we close the "baby experiment" chapter. No need for pity or sympathy, as we require neither. We're cool. All is truly well, Chez Us.

L'Avantage

One consolation for finding out I am not pregnant (yet again) this month... is being able to enjoy the ritual of the spring apéro that took place in our courtyard this evening.

I returned home about 8pm after spending a few hours with my new tutoring student (the young daughter of a friend of Georges who needs help with her English studies) to find our neighbors collected together in front of our maison, with nibbles and wine and beer, and of course soda and juice for the kids. Said children, about 5 or 6 of them, were enjoying the fact that there is no school for them on Wednesdays, so they got to run around in their pajamas and jackets, snatching taco chips and crackers in between chasing the gardienne's dog and each other.

The super hot temperatures of yesterday gave way overnight, after a storm, to a breezy and chilly evening tonight, but no matter. Still felt like the first "block party" of the summer, à la française. And I am feeling rather mellow after a few small glasses of wine, and making plans with my one neighbor for a taste-test, soon, of my favorite Australian Shiraz that I recently discovered in a wine shop for dirt-cheap prices (if you're in Paris, I found it in a Nicholas wine shop in the 13th, on Rue Bobillot; in the U.S. you'l have no trouble finding it anywhere).

There are definitely a few advantages to being sans bébé at the moment. I do enjoy a nice glass of wine... though I'd willingly suspend all such activities for 9 months plus (in case the Universe is listening).

Pluses & Minuses

I just took a look at my blog to see when I last posted something. It was on Friday. Today is now Monday Wednesday shit, what day is it? Tuesday. I am clearly losing track of the days. Time is slipping past me and I'm barely noticing, even when I forget scheduled appointments or nearly forgot to call my mother on Mother's day.

And why is that? It's because most of my brain cells seem to be focused on One Thing, and One Thing Only, despite my efforts to think about more important things (like how in hell did Joan Rivers win Celebrity Apprentice and whose stupid idea -- Donald, I'm looking at you -- was it to create such an idiotic TV show in the first place?). And that One Thing is baby-making. I have heard it said that when a woman is pregnant, especially as she nears the end of her pregnancy, that she tends to be distracted because the delivery is near and she's thinking about getting through it in one piece; my mother, a former nurse, calls this "turning inward".

But what about the woman who is trying to get pregnant? With rather long odds and a variety of risk factors? I think there's a turning inward here, too. My mind is noticeably elsewhere. Every so often, Georges will look at me and ask if I'm feeling okay and of course I am feeling fine, but I think he is looking at his wife who is a million miles away, wondering what is going on in her head. While she in turn is wondering what, if anything, is going on in her uterus which is not a million miles away but might just as well be, for all it feels like an alien planet to me at the moment.

Because of course I'm wondering. For two weeks out of every month for the past five months, I have spent the time just wondering. (For the other two weeks, I live normally and look forward to the fact that I can have a drink once in awhile without guilt.) I am on mental hold, so to speak. I go through the motions of everyday life, making the morning coffee, doing the food shopping, conversing with clients, even getting a bit of writing done (on my own book, too) at odd moments. But I am waiting, and wondering, with a stream of consciousness that goes something like this:

Am I pregnant? Will I just "know" like some women say they do, or will I have to wait until I miss a period or can't keep my breakfast down? Am I pregnant? What will it feel like to have a "baby on board" for nine long months? Am I pregnant? I'm afraid of pain; will I be able to cope with labor? Am I pregnant? At 48 (next Tuesday) I am already tired and achy; how tired and achy will I be when I can no longer see my feet or bend over to pick up that pencil I dropped? Am I pregnant? What will the baby look like... a he or a she, and whose eyes will s/he have (I'm hoping the baby will have Georges' eyes, he's hoping for mine). Am I pregnant? I love holding a baby. When was the last time I held a baby? Two years ago? What will it be like to hold OUR baby? Am I pregnant?

The wondering never really seems to stop, now that it's started. And then there is the monthly roller coaster.

The first month, January,  I really thought we'd done it. Seriously, it might be naive of me, but I really did. I mean, I was totally convinced. For one thing, my body completely "felt different" to me. So when I took that first pregnancy test, my disappointment was palpable and it's the only time so far that I've cried about it, seeing that big blue MINUS sign on the stick. I guess the "feeling different" was due to the changes in my body and cycle after coming off the Pill, because PMS and the early signs of pregnancy seem to have a lot in common. Oh well, we said, there's always next month.

The next month, February, first I got the flu and then Georges did, and at the worst possible time of the month for "trying". We did our best but the freaking flu was stronger than our desire to procreate. We were disappointed, but too busy trying to get over the flu to worry about it too much. Oh well, there's always next month.

In March, I thought we did a pretty bang-up job (pun intended) with the "trying" and that our chances were probably pretty good. I had hoped to be able to go back to New Jersey in April with some wonderful news to share with my family. But, nope, not this time either. In retrospect my calculations might have been off by two days or something. I found a different on-line ovulation calculator, one that seems to be more precise, or at least I hope so. Oh by the way, there's always next month.

April had a different sort of fertility challenge for us: how to get me pregnant when we're several hundred miles apart. Georges had a business trip and I decided to take some of the same time to visit my family in the States. Our conception window was slammed shut when he had to go to Montreal on one plane and I went to New Jersey on another, and by the time we were reunited it was too late (not that we didn't have fun making up for lost time, though). We had thought about me taking a turkey baster and a little jar of... well, you know... but decided against it because of airport security; can you picture me trying to explain THAT to a husky, suspicious, female airport security guard as she pulls me out of line for a full body search because I had my carry-on "liquid" concealed in a jelly jar inside a plain brown paper bag instead of in a regulation 3 oz. plastic bottle and clear plastic baggie? Well, bien sûr, there's always next month.

So here we are again: it's Next Month. This time, the window was wide open, everyone was healthy, we had no travels, and we even managed a weekend with a lot of alone time and no kids to take care of (the oldest one can feed and dress himself now. Usually.) And now, we wait. And we wonder. Because I know I am not alone in the wondering, any more than I am alone in the procreating.

We have "tried" our little hearts (and other assorted body parts) out. And I must say, we have had a hell of a good time in the process... one thing I have noticed is how this experience is bringing us even closer together on all levels. And here's a new discovery: our ages may play an unexpected role in making it a bit more challenging to conceive than a couple 10 years younger than us. Most people want to tell me that age is a factor because my eggs might be too old.

But no one bothers to tell you that after several straight days of "trying" you might, just might, be too old to CARE if you have sex or not. Even though you like having sex together and even though having sex is kind of critical to making a baby (and the Baby-Making Manual clearly states: Step 1 to Making a Baby - Have Sex. Step 2 - Please refer to Step 1). Yet because you are "of a certain age", there will come a moment when you will look at each other, realize you are both just too effing tired for effing, and sleep suddenly seems like a much better idea.

After all... there's always next month. Although I'm hoping not. Sure would be wonderful to see that magic little "+" and move on to wondering about something else. Like picking out a crib.

There is the rule, and then there is the exception to the rule

I received a very thoughtful and caring comment today on my announcement that we're trying for a baby, in which long-time reader Andrea (hello, Andrea!) felt compelled to warn me (and my readers) about the chances, statistically speaking, of a woman over 40 getting pregnant without outside intervention. I don't know what Andrea's background is in this area, but clearly she felt very strongly that she had a message to share, and I do appreciate that she wanted to take the time to warn me.

Let me start by saying that I realize that Andrea, and perhaps other readers, may be concerned about me trying to have a baby at my age, and that you genuinely want to be helpful. So I thank you for your good intentions, I truly do; it's nice to have people be concerned.

Having said that, the comment, as kindly meant as it obviously was, stirred up some feelings that I also now feel compelled to share. Mainly because I don't want to spend the next year (or however long we decide to try for the baby), having to be reminded of the fertility statistics and how grim they generally are for women my age in this situation. So let me get this out in the open, hopefully just this once, and then we can all move on:

I am aware of the statistics. Seriously. I've read it all. I don't need to be reminded.

And you know what? I don't care about them. Seriously. Because for every report, every article and every so-called expert that says it's virtually impossible, there is a woman out there getting pregnant anyway. And without medical intervention (not that there is anything wrong with interventions for those who want it and who can afford to pursue it -- we just aren't going down that road). The chances may not be huge for us, but a chance is a chance is a chance. And just maybe, WE are going to be one of those lucky couples who gets that chance. All we need is one good egg. ONE. And I feel it's premature for anyone to speculate on how good my eggs might be. Everyone is different. My eggs might be a little dusty from sitting on the shelf for so long, but that doesn't mean there isn't ONE in there, just quietly tapping its toes and waiting for the magic to happen.

I happen to believe in magic. In miracles. And in the power of possibility. Would I be here -- in Paris and having met the love of my life at 46 -- if I didn't?

I am someone who prefers to go through my life focusing on what is possible -- not on what is supposedly impossible. I believe I can be the exception to the rule. Not that I WILL be, but that I CAN be; please notice that there is a difference there. I believe that we get what we focus on, so if we focus on the negatives then guess what happens? Yep... buggered every time. Yet if we can stay focused on the positive aspects of a situation, and on what is possible for us, then we increase our chances of creating or attracting what we want. Call it a miracle if you like.

Consequently, as Georges and I go down this new path in our life together, we're choosing to be positive about it. We know there are potential pitfalls -- we are neither blind nor unrealistic -- but really, what good does it do for us to dwell on them? Is that really helpful? Will it help us make a baby? Will it help us sleep better at night while we're trying? I think not. We know that whatever is going to happen is going to happen in the end, and either way we will still be us, we will still be in love, and still have our life together with his three great kids. And maybe, just maybe, we will be blessed with a fourth to round things out and give us many more happy times and sleepless nights (and I'll have one person in the house I can speak to without a translator).

What I don't want is for this blog to turn into some depressing fertility saga (or even a "mommy blog", for that matter). And you know what? For what it's worth, I think that if something is possible for someone else, then it's JUST as possible for me. Why wouldn't it be? No doctor has told me, personally, that I can't get pregnant, and until someone does, then the possibility exists. And that's good enough for me as a "statistic".

Besides... I've defied the odds before, haven't I? So what's one more time?

A not-quite-pregnant pause

I've been debating long and hard about whether and what to write about this, but decided that I want to be able to write as openly as possible about my life experiences here in France and as a newly married woman over 40. So since some readers have finally caught on (I've only been dropping hints for weeks just to see if anyone would notice), I'll lay it out on the table:

Yes, Georges and I have decided to try for a baby. It is a conscious decision, not one taken lightly, and something that has surprised us both (since we neither of us thought of having a baby in the beginning) but something we are very much looking forward to. That's just how much we love each other.

No, we're (I'm) not pregnant -- yet. We were hoping it might happen this month -- would have been cool to drop that bomb on my family when I'm in New Jersey in two weeks' time -- but it hasn't. C'est la vie. Better luck next time.

Yes, we know we are both "of a certain age". And that as a result there are certain risks. And that it might not happen at all. And that if we are blessed with a baby, we will be sleep-deprived and exhausted for the rest of our lives. And we're OK with that.

No, we are not doing anything fancy to try and get pregnant, nor do we intend to. Either its going to happen the old-fashioned way (i.e., lots and lots [and lots] of great sex), or not at all; that's what we both feel is the right thing for us.

Yes, I am prepared to blog about what's going on (and Georges agrees), because I suspect that there are a lot of women out there who are in their mid-late 40s and going through similar things. I can't tell other women what to do, but I can write about my own experience and maybe by sharing it, it will help someone else in some way. So get ready for a new chapter in The Bold Soul's history: The Fertility Files.

Judging by at least one nasty commentor's recent (and completely insensitive remarks), I realize that some readers might have personal judgments about our decision to try and have a child at our age. You might feel we're "too old" for this. You might know someone (or be someone) who tried the same thing and had bad results. I can appreciate this is a hot-button issue for a lot of people; geez, look at all the negativity surrounding the "octomom" (which of course is a really extreme case and definitely involves some questionable ethics).

If you do have such negative judgments or horror stories to tell, all I ask is that you try to remain sensitive to the fact that while I'm choosing to write about this part of my life journey, this IS a personal choice and a very thoughtfully made one, for me and for my husband, with my doctor's full knowledge and participation. So try and be respectful of that, whatever happens.

I hope you will wish us well in our efforts to bring a new little one into the world. If we are fortunate enough to have a baby, it will be a baby surrounded by more love than he or she could probably ever conceive, and that's as good a start in life as any two parents can offer. And I promise to be as open as I can about how it's going for us -- either way.