Dusty Eggs

I do not have a hang-up about my age. I do not face my birthday with dread. I do not, by any means, think I am old.

But today, when I woke-up on my 35th birthday, something in me felt slightly sadder than the day before. I don't feel any older, I don't look any older, but today, I officially have "dusty eggs." I am well aware of the fact that millions of women, many women whom I know and love, have babies well past their thirty-fifth birthday. But, these women are not me. I became a "high risk" mother the minute that Miss Gracie was born. I held my breath through my entire pregnancy with Preston because I knew, much better than I knew before I became Gracie's mommy, how easily nature can go off course and what a miracle it truly is for a healthy baby to be born. Today I woke-up in the "general" high-risk category simply because of my age (or rather, the age of my eggs) and today, I felt a twinge of unexpected sadness.

I do notice the increasing little lines around my eyes and smile, but I try to remember that I've earned them. I do have many grey (actually, white) hairs peeking through all around my hairline, but I am grateful to be blonde enough still that only I really notice them. I laugh when I meet someone whom I think I might be a "few" years older than, only to learn they've just graduated college and I've got an entire teenager on them. Usually, I am completely grateful to be past all those years and where I am now... more confident, more self-aware, less caught-up in the opinion of others. Today, though, I was keenly aware of their young eggs and mine that are, per the medical world, starting to gather cobwebs like forgotten items in a dark attic.

Perhaps what was a ticking clock yesterday sounded more like a gong today because these days it's completely terrifying to imagine adding to our family (and we'd really like to). Preston is going through a really rough (and rotten) stage - - one that's totally normal, but because Gracie is often on the receiving end of his terrible two wildness, it's really impossible to walk two feet away without worrying that he's going to pounce on her. She's too fragile and little to defend herself and often doesn't even see (or hear) him coming. Don't get me wrong... he's still so sweet and loving toward her, too. This is, my mom keeps reminding me, a phase. Nevertheless, it's impossible to imagine adding a newborn in the mix. At the same time, I feel like, "It's now, or never." I wouldn't want a huge age gap between Preston and a third child, I don't want to be too much older... tick, Tock, TICK, TOCK...

I know that my age is young. I know that despite an achy back and years of terrible sleep, I still feel relatively young. I know I am being completely dramatic and a little self-indulgent... "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to!"
I laughed a bit as I told my girlfriends today about my egg issue and admitted that I was being slightly ridiculous. My dear friend, Becky, told me as we hung-up, "Put some party hats on those dusty eggs!" Thanks, Barecca :-). I'm working on it!