A Chronic Case of Advanced Maternal Age

When I found out I was expecting Mary (pregnancy #6 and child #8, for those of you who have lost count), I had reached the saturation point with snarky comments. I mean...yes, we knew what caused that; no, evidently we weren't done; not really working on our own baseball team; blah, blah, blah...never heard that one before! At best, I got a lot of blank stares, along with a side-order of whispered "Seriously?" whenever I would announce that I was pregnant. Again.

So when Mary was in-bound, we didn't tell anyone outside the house until I was fully three months along and really couldn't hide it any longer. And in-house, we only told Krystal and Kayla. Both hold masters' degrees in my pregnancy symptoms, so it would have been an exercise in futility to even try to keep the news from them...and besides, someone needed to help keep the plates spinning while I was in my nausea-infused coma. Besides them, we didn't tell another soul.

And then (sorry, Mom!) when I finally gave my mom the news, I told her in front of her grandkids...so they got to see her panicked initial reaction, followed by a quick recovery ("I am excited!"), with a qualifier ("It just scares me to death!").

I would like to let it be known to all in summary that, since then, I have had daughters reach their child-bearing years, so I have to confess that I totally get that now. Pregnancy, childbirth, bringing a whole new person into everyone's lives...that stuff all really puts you out there emotionally. And it's one thing to go through it yourself...it's quite another to watch your beloved child go through it. Kinda puts you on pins and needles in a whole new way.

So, again Mom...sorry I put you on the spot like that. Kinda. It was sort of funny though, right? Right?

But THEN my first public announcement was at a homeschool moms' meeting...at which, one of my friends literally took flight, did a backflip, composed a cheer on her way across the room, and threw a hug on me that I can still feel when there's a snowstorm brewing. Well--I thought to myself--that's more like it!

And so, for the remainder of the pregnancy announcement period, we assigned a grade to every response...using my friend's reaction to set the curve. This is totally not hyperbole like the backflip. I would--no kidding--actually look people in the eyes and tell them they got a C...or a D-.

(I knew a lot of folks with really poor GPA's though. They might need to enroll in a little remedial enthusiasm. Retake Social Graces 101. Something.)

But I'll tell you what I LOVED about my pregnancy with Mary: my doctor! (Well, Mary too, obviously...I'm getting to her.) Having had a wonderful Christian family doctor/OB in Minnesota, I absolutely could not bear the thought of not having one ready to go if (HA! IF!) I needed one in Illinois...and Sweet Jimmy B found me a winner! Not only is Dr. Polaschek a godly woman...she doesn't do anything at all related to conventional birth control. So I got to spend my entire pregnancy receiving excellent care (and with gestational diabetes and c-section deliveries, I require a little extra care) AND I never once had to fight to keep my fallopian tubes intact beyond the delivery! Wow...most doctors just can't stand the thought of leaving a fallopian tube alone "while they're in there anyway"! But if Dr. Polaschek's name is on your hospital bracelet, everyone on staff knows they don't even need to ask! Pretty. Much. Rocked!

I know...to a normal, sane person, that would seem like a fairly small matter. Please consider that, at 9 months pregnant, I'm neither sane nor normal...and I'd had to fight the good fight against the convenient tubal ligation too many times. I was worn out!

It didn't help that I turned 36 while I was pregnant with Mary, so I also qualified as being of "advanced maternal age," which was just what I wanted to hear. Dr. Polaschek tried to make me feel better by telling me she had recently delivered the healthy baby of a 47-year old! I didn't find that to be much of a comfort.

But, like they say, any landing you can walk away from is a good landing...and Mary and I managed to shuffle through pregnancy and delivery without breaking a hip, and she was (of course) stunningly beautiful!

Mary was what I will affectionately call a challenging baby. For a time, her nickname around Stately Bennett Manor was "Bully," if that gives you a little insight. I really shouldn't be allowed to complain because, per capita, I have had some of the best, happiest, most sleep-loving babies ever (with the notable exception of Jamie, who, you may recall, never slept). But most of you will probably forgive me when I explain that Mary brought something new into our parenting lives: Thrush and colic.

I'll give her a break on the thrush, because she was merely a fellow victim. It hurt her to nurse; it killed me to nurse. I'll save you the gory details, but suffice it to say that it was one of the most disgusting, horrifyingly painful experiences of my life. It was so bad, in fact, that even those closest to me--those most familiar with my absolute, unwavering, almost militant devotion to breastfeeding--suggested that maybe it just wasn't going to work out this time.

We both took our medicine like good girls; I pumped; she switched to bottles for several days...then we got to experience the trauma that is switching a bottle baby back to the breast. There was screaming and wailing...there was a hunger strike...and Mary was really, really mad too!

At one point, I may have looked into her red, squinched-up face and said, "Kid...we can do this the easy way or the hard way, but we're gonna do it!"

But we did work through it...just in time for the colic to hit. Almost made me look back fondly on the thrush.

If you know anything about colic, you are probably aware that it is based on the rule of 3's. In a healthy infant, where there are no other concerns, the doctor decides to call it colic if the baby cries for at least 3 hours a day, at least 3 days a week, for at least 3 weeks. No one is really certain what causes it, but it is most often attributed to the immature nervous system having a hard time processing the stimuli of life.

Yet, there we were...and since Mary was an over-achiever from the start, she decided to scream bloody murder every evening. Because anything worth doing is worth doing right.

By this time, Krystal (who was 19 when Mary was born) already knew she was going to be heading off to nursing school in the fall, with the dream of one day becoming an OB nurse. (I love it when a plan comes together like that!) So Krystal was my right-hand man (?) when it came to baby-care. And almost every night, she and I faced the colic together. One of us would walk around, bouncing baby Mary in a variety of holds, pleading with her to stop crying, while the other one of us read the colic passages of What to Expect the First Year over and over again. As if some new, magical piece of information would have appeared since the day before!

But the funny thing about colic is that one day, you just sort of realize that you haven't dreaded evening for a while...and that you seem to have plateaued at stress level yellow...and that you're enjoying your baby a lot more.

With thrush and colic in the rear-view mirror, my general quality of life had improved dramatically, but Mary still didn't seem like a very happy little person. Whereas Daniel had been content to just hang out and watch his big, crazy family do all their big, crazy things, Mary seemed...well...mad that she couldn't join in. I kept getting the feeling that once she was big enough to sit up on her own and play with toys under her own power--or once she was able to get around--she would be so much happier.

I mentioned this to our pediatrician during one of Mary's check-ups, really sort of assuming she would laugh at me--but we have a relationship that has lasted longer than a lot of marriages, so I felt pretty secure just throwing my concern out there. And not only did she not laugh...she actually agreed with me! She has seen hundreds of babies grow up, and she said that some are just happy being babies, while some are frustrated at being trapped in a baby's body when there are obviously better things to do!

It didn't make Mary any happier, but it sure made me feel better! And sure enough...about the time she could sit up and play, and then crawl around, it was like having a different baby!

But the funny thing (and by funny, I mean not really very funny) is that Mary continues to be one of my most challenging children to raise. I think it's because she thinks she's smarter than I am...and she may well be right. She comes up with some things that positively blow my mind! So I understand that it must be very difficult to maintain a cheerful disposition when you're being raised by an imbecile...and sometimes that frustration comes out as anger and pathological bossiness. (Bully...remember?)

But the flip side is that Mary is one of the most loving children ever! Don't get me wrong...all my kids are love-bugs, but Mary is over-the-top, fiercely demonstrative about it. And it's amazing how far that goes toward smoothing over some of the rough spots.

What's more, Mary has given me so many opportunities (ugh) to see myself--especially as I function in relationship with God.

It was so frustrating--and painful--to work through thrush and colic with Mary, yet how many times have I thrown a ridiculous, screaming fit over nothing...or over something that God was going to do with or without my enthusiastic participation?

How many times have I acted like Mary did as a baby: mad at the world and just plain grumpy that I can't do or have what I want...and right now?!

How many times have I railed against the constraints that are designed to protect me...rather than just be still in the loving arms of my Father?

How many times have I acted like I was so sure I was smarter than God...like I could come up with a better solution, in better time, with better results?

Pretty much every day. But unlike me, God didn't get to realize one day that things had improved over time. Nope...I've been a big colicky baby for 42 years!

But here is my hope: I hope that my love for Him--my desire to live in obedience even when the reality of my performance misses the mark--covers over a multitude of my flaws. (1 Peter 4:8)

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.

People who only have one child get alot of rude questions too. What? Only one child. Don’t you want them to have a little brother or sister or aren’t you afraid that they will be a lone in old age, etc. Of course we have four which is relatively acceptable in today’s world so we never got the rude questions. But I know a few families that have one child and the famous question to them is are you having more? lol.

Can’t wait to show this post to my wonderful wife! Who by God’s grace gave me 8 wonderful kids (all homeschooled - before it was cool) when I only asked her for 5 and she didn’t want any - or 2 at the most. AND she’s still a sexy size 4 - 6, and gets more beautiful every year. I’d post her pic but she’d never speak to me again if I did.

We’ve heard all the comments you have, I’m sure - except for one I doubt you heard: the best one and most unique and creative we ever heard (when others heard of our having 8 when she initially wanted none) was from another woman to looked me in the eye and said, “You’re either the world’s best salesman or the world’s best lover!”

Of course, my reply was, “How about both?”

They now range from 22 to 36, are all successful, wonderful Christians who touch others lives wherever they go, and we all still get together for extended family meals on Sunday nights running anywhere from 12 - 20.....so we “party” together every week and it’s a blast!

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