The Attitudinal Ambiguity of Pregnancy Test Results after Age 35: AKA “I want a baby, but not yet”

Some women may feel this way before they reach the ripe old age of 35, but I didn’t feel it until after. I don’t have any children, but I want some. I’ve always wanted five. At this point, I’ll be happy with just one. If I had the money I’d go for artificial insemination. I could always get a loan, or use a card. Putting a baby on credit. HA! That’s so plastic. Sounds like something from a futuristic movie about a dystopian and sterile future.

thMKBXGEKDI’ve had a few pregnancy scares in my life. The first was in high school. That’s what I get for being fast. In retrospect, it wouldn’t have been that bad if I had gotten prego as a teen. My kids would be grown now. I probably would’ve accomplished more sooner, because I would’ve been pushed to do so. My then boyfriend and I both had great, supportive families. Of course none of that was in my teenaged mind. I just thought my world was over. But then, on Thanksgiving, my period came. It was the first time I was ever glad to see it. Oh bless’ed period!

The next time was in my twenties. I was on the pill, and my period was coming like clockwork. I think I was on some antibiotics or something. I can’t remember exactly, but something interrupted my flow and I missed a month. “Oh god no!” Although I was in a serious relationship, I didn’t want it to lead to marriage. At least not back then. A baby would’ve caused our temporary situation to become permanent. Fortunately, my period came. Yes!

As I got older that clock started ticking so loud in my ears that I thought I’d go deaf. That’s where I am now. Damn near disabled by the ticking that has now become ringing. Two years ago, I thought I was pregnant and I welcomed it. That’s not to say that I wasn’t relieved when found out I wasn’t. But in the short time between thinking I was pregnant, and seeing the test results, I was in this weird space of acceptance:

So what he’s not the man I want to be with forever? So what he’s only an inch taller than I am? If I’m pregnant, it is what it is. If he wants to be involved I won’t stop him, but this is my baby. What if he wants to get married? Should I even tell him? I’m definitely home schooling. I wonder how tall she’ll be?

And so on….

Closeup-Mom-and-baby-African-AmericanAfter a few minutes of that, I opened my eyes and looked at my result. There was one line. Not two, just one. One means, relief. One means, I live without real responsibility for another day. I can still be selfish and just think about me. I’m not tied to him (PHEW!), I’m still single and free.

One line means, just one less version of me. One less possibility. One more month and one less egg. One line means…I still don’t have a baby.

The ticking, the ringing… the feeling of my mortality being on a tight time table that’s quickly winding down, is scary. Missing my window is not something, for which, I’d be able to easily forgive myself.

At the same time, I’m not ready for a relationship. I just got out of one, and I’m chillin’. If not for this unfair schedule, I wouldn’t be thinking about kids yet. But, I’m forced to work within the confines of nature. Of biology. I could freeze my remaining eggs, but I’m not financially on the freeze-and-store level. I expect I will be in the next two years, but then, that’s two years away. Anyway, I’d really like to get knocked up the good ol’ fashion way; during a drunken night with some cute guy-friend that I kinda sorta like.

Apparently, every human doesn’t feel the need to procreate, but I do. The force is strong in me! It’s not a social need. It’s primal. It’s hard to fight primal.

And folks, that is my attitudinal ambiguity about pregnancy test results, after 35. Craving a baby, unplanned or otherwise, while not really wanting to have one yet, but accepting that time is running out, so I’ll need to do something. Something natural or something scientific. Looking at the test results, hoping for the ultimate miracle, while being relieved when it does not come to pass.

I love being a woman, but the timeline of our biology is really sucky.

Side note: I just have to share this; When I was looking for pics of mothers and children, on Bing, I typed “black mom and baby” and a row of blurred porn pics came up. I’m guessing it’s either child porn or the internet thinks black moms with their babies is obscene. So, I typed “white mom and baby” to see what I’d get, and I got just that; wholesome pics of white moms with their babies. No blurred images. WTF Bing? With your racist ass algorithm. Google got it right.

Thank you for reading!

Peace.

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