I Wanna, Wanna, Wanna – by Cyma

I want to have a baby. The problem is that I’m over 50, am in that “time,” have two young children and two older stepchildren. I have, as they fondly say, a “full plate.”

But, something has stirred in me so deeply that I can’t just ignore it. In fact, it isn’t going away. My desire is even greater than it was 10 years ago when my husband and I tried, and tried, and tried to have children. Something is different. Unlike in previous years, when a pregnant woman entered a room, or walked by me, I now care. In fact, something stirs inside my belly and my eyes linger longer than I’d like on her protruding belly. I feel like I’m missing something. I don’t want to save it for the next lifetime. I want to have it all, now.

This is really unusual for me. Ten years ago, I may have wanted my own children, but I think that my own and my husband’s ambivalence made for a circuitous dance where the man and woman not only don’t touch, but they fail to even make much eye contact. What I mean is, when the sperm saw the egg, I think they fled in various directions, sometimes coming very, very, very close to tango-ing, but, instead, doing the herky-jerky. I say this now with humor. I refused to contemplate or truly investigate this then. We both believe that all things happen for a reason. We believe that God gives us what we need and can handle. We said that it just didn’t happen, and that was the end.

So, what’s happening now?
Working on my three- year project, a book about new mothers over 40, has helped instill in me a sense of confidence I never dreamed I’d possess. Add this to the complete and utter surprise of being not only a new older mom, but a good new older mom, and I’m almost haughty with confidence. I mean, I spent a lifetime believing that I was truly incapable of even being a mom; I always believed I was simply damaged goods. I didn’t want to hand this trait right over to my progeny; I certainly didn’t want people to see what a failure I presumed I’d be.

So, here we are.
My shaman/teacher/psychic says that I’m pregnant with hope; blossoming into my own. She’s also referencing my impending menopause as a benchmark for starting over. I believe that starting over won’t be after the fact, but what I do before the “after the fact” happens. You know what I mean.

Completing my project – surrounding myself with women of all ages who followed their hearts, their dreams and their passions – makes this topic harder to deal with. The old norms aren’t the new norms anymore. And, even for me – a traditionalist at heart – I often fail to see my iconoclastic ways (two generations of children; my youngest coming at age 48) as pushing the envelope, helping other women recognize that age is no longer a barrier to reaching for and catching hold of your dreams – whatever they are.

What I do know is that I always tried to be like everyone else. I really, really tried. And, in trying, I missed my footing, my desires and my dreams. I was lost. Now, playing catch up, I’m not sure how to proceed – except to follow my heart. Stay tuned………………………..