Seriously? Baby Steps Toward Aging.

According to Redbook, the chances of me getting pregnant naturally is 20%.  I am too old.  What?  How did that happen?  I don't want another baby, at this point.  I am good with two step-sons, one girl child/woman, and one boy who is growing into his own stinkiness; however, I like knowing I could if I wanted one.  I guess there lies the rub. 

I have truly enjoyed my early 40s.  Life isn't that horrible, and I have a husband to thinks I am beautiful and kids who love me.  Yet, here I am, facing my own mortality because I may/may not be fertile anymore.  I wonder what is really bugging me:  age, my definition of womanhood, or not being in control of these changes?  Maybe it is the fact my ability to grow a full beard is right around the corner.

I have high school friends who are now grandparents.  Good for them.  They love their grandbabies and love posting pictures on Facebook.  I am not ready for that, at all.  For some reason, when I think of being a granny, I picture the other side of the mountain, and I am clinging to the peak, with every ounce of strength in me.  When my own granny met me, she was only forty-six, five years older than what I am now.  I wasn't her first.  My other grandmother was only in her 30s when she was called "Mamaw" for the first time.  Something about that just ain't right.

Different time; different expectations, I guess.

Now, for my oldest, I don't want to see you rushing toward pink or blue.  Find yourself, travel, meet the "one", be satisfied with yourself before you even consider it.  Move slow.  Not for me, but for yourself.  I was twenty-six, when I first held you, and I now realize, I was still too much of a baby.  You are the best thing that ever happened to me, but I could have done better for you.  Life moves too quickly, why add to the rush.

Now, with that being said, don't wait until 41, unless you are wealthy enough for doctors to help.  Twenty percent, baby!