First-time mum-to-be Louise Scodie on the joys and oys of expecting after 40…
I’d never had a massive yearning to be a mother and I’m not hugely maternal. So, it makes perfect sense that at the age of 40 I decided to fall pregnant with my first baby.
When my baby hatches I’ll be 41.
I’m as clueless as I would have been at 21 about raising a chid though, so does age really make any difference?
It all happened really quickly – both the decision to procreate and the conception. I met my husband, S, aka Hub-U-Like, just over two years ago. I certainly wasn’t looking for a sperm donor, so when I fell in love with him I knew it was for the right reasons: love, companionship, someone to take the bins out.
But later on, something changed. Weirdly for me, I wanted a baby. Cue a painfully honest conversation during an otherwise relaxing weekend away in which S and I put our cards on the table about the future. Marriage? Tick! Baby? Tick! Sorted.
Then I proceeded to change my mind about the baby, and change my mind, and change my mind again.
Last year, the day after S and I got married, I decided. “Let’s do it. Let’s have a baby.”
Then I changed my mind again, and again, and four months later I was pregnant.
I knew something was up. I’d been weepy and distracted for a while, culminating in a day forever known as F***** Friday (the family-friendly version of that being Frantic Friday). I started the day by driving over my brother’s wall instead of merely parking on his drive and ended it in tears yelling: “I want to kill everybody!”
The pregnancy tests I did the next day confirmed that I was going bats for a good reason. Despite my prior indecision, I was happy. Firstly, I’d made a baby with my phenomenal husband, and secondly, I could now blame my moods on something – the foetus! Au revoir, taking responsibility for my own actions.
Month 1 has been OK so far, despite Wallgate. No sickness and I’m feeling very smug about it.
I hope this lasts…
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