41 and Pregnant

MTV needs to send some producers over here. I’ve got an idea to pitch.

“16 and Pregnant” was good at first. I’ll even admit that I’ll still buy a tabloid if it has a story about anyone from the first couple of seasons. But to be honest, that show became formulaic just like every other reality show that stays on for years beyond its heyday.

“41 and Pregnant” though–now THAT’S a show with some SHOCKING plot twists! How do I know? Well, guess what? I can star in the pilot of this new series. Here’s how it goes:

First, if you had your children through IVF and have been assured that you can’t get pregnant, you will assume you’re going through menopause. You will have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, it’s one less hassle to deal with. But on the other, you’re pretty young, and you never did that reading on hormone replacement therapy and whether it causes cancer like you meant to. You’re not ready for this!

Because you can’t get pregnant, you don’t keep track of things like periods and ovulation days. You have a friend who is on a similar cycle. So you text her and say, “Hey, what day should I have gotten my period?” You will learn it was a week ago. And then she will get very excited for you even though you are sure that you’re going through menopause.

You’ll buy a pregnancy test at Dollar Tree. Unlike your counterpart on “16 and Pregnant” who can only afford a Dollar Tree test, you just aren’t going to throw money away on something this stupid. Obviously, you aren’t pregnant. And, because you’re 41, you now know all about hCg and how it can only exist if you are pregnant. Dollar Tree tests are just as effective as the ones at Target that cost a zillion times more. Your old age has made you both wise and frugal.

You won’t take the test as soon as you get home, because it’s afternoon, and you know that the first urine of the morning is the best to test with. You’ll sleep like a baby because you can NOT get pregnant, so there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll pop out of bed at 6:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning–not with anxiety or excitement about the test, but because your 41-year-old bladder doesn’t allow you to sleep late. You’ll pee on the stick, with plans of getting right back in bed and sleeping for two more hours.

When the Dollar Tree test comes up positive, you will sit for a full hour on the edge of the tub with your mouth agape. You won’t get those two extra hours of sleep, not now. But the husband is blissfully unaware, and the twins have finally adhered to the weekend bedtime mantra: Sleep late, no screens til 8! So it’s quiet and still and will be for a while longer. You are alone with your thoughts.

What are your thoughts? Bewilderment, disbelief, and confusion mostly. Not joy, but not anger either. Only midlevel feelings of uncertainty. Your family is finished. You all fit in one car. You’re not outnumbered, and you each have a buddy. You have gotten most aspects of your life back. You’ve hit your stride. Things are easier. You just took your first kid-free vacation.

You realize the universe has a great sense of humor. Of COURSE! You just took your first, and apparently only, kid-free vacation. This is the souvenir you brought home. You metaphorically shake your fist at the sky, or give God a wink and a smile that say, “oh, YOU!”

You take a picture of the pregnancy test with your phone to show your husband. You crawl back into bed with him and try to sleep, but that’s impossible. You wake him up and show him the picture. “What’s this?” he asks. You tell him. “But it’s a Dollar Tree test, right?” He thinks he’s so clever, but you assure him that unlike their word searches with the misspelled words and their puzzles with the pieces that don’t fit together, their pregnancy tests are high quality. “Get a better one,” he says and goes back to sleep. Denial is apparently a comforting bedfellow.

You go to CVS and buy a three pack, because you know you can’t wait until the next morning to test again, but you also know you will equivocate. “It was afternoon, so it can’t be accurate” is what you would say, regardless of the outcome. You get a little bit excited about the baby.

You pee on all three tests over the next day and a half. “Go get a blood test,” the husband says.

You don’t know where to go to get the blood test. You don’t even have an OB. You get annual exams from your PCP, so what do you need an OB for, you who cannot get pregnant? You find an OB who is taking new patients and you go get the blood test. The nurses all look at you curiously. They are quite sure you’re a hypochondriac or delusional. They confirm your birthdate a lot of times. “1977? Did you say SEVENTY-seven? 1987? No? Two sevens? Seventy-seven?” You laugh and tell them you’re 41. You have twins from IVF and you can’t get pregnant, but here you are. “I wouldn’t have taken the chance,” one says. You flinch and protectively hold your belly, hoping Baby Girl didn’t hear (you’re sure she’s a girl). Suddenly you are a fierce mama bear, and who is this nurse who is so holier than thou about what she would have done in your shoes?

A different, better, kinder nurse calls that afternoon to confirm your pregnancy. You tell your husband. He is not thrilled. He immediately panics about money. Mysteriously, you are sure that having this baby will be free. Unlike your prior experience, this baby will breastfeed! This baby will not require a seven-week NICU stay! The baby will sleep in a laundry basket! Yes, I actually gleefully said that. You no longer work Monday through Friday so this baby will not need full-time daycare! You are older and wiser and you know you don’t need a magazine-worthy nursery. You will Marie Kondo the crap out of your walk-in closet and give the entire space over to the baby. You will wear this baby everywhere and she will not have reflux or food allergies. She will never cry. She will be an excellent sleeper. It will be easy! 

Except. Except all of that is an unknown right now. She might even be a he! She might have reflux and spit up everywhere. She might have colic! And on and on and on. It is now that you realize you gave away everything. Ev. Er. Y. Thing. You had a great maternity wardrobe, but no more. You had two of everything–cribs, high chairs, swings, changing tables, strollers–but no more.  Your husband is right. This is going to be expensive.

Hey, the last time you did this, Pinterest wasn’t really a thing. You wonder what ideas they have by way of baby stuff. Ooh! Maybe you DO need a magazine-worthy nursery because that cactus theme is adorable! And oh hey, look at how everyone is taking professional photos to announce their pregnancy in cute ways! And look at these gender reveal parties–we NEED all of that! 

Because you got pregnant naturally, you’re not considered high risk this time. It’s a clean slate. No weekly tests, no constant doctor visits, at least not yet. You will have to wait weeks for the ultrasound. You find yourself praying for two things: one healthy heartbeat. That sounds like one thing, but it’s two: a healthy heartbeat, but please God, let there only be one of them.

You are now very aware of just how funny the universe thinks it is, but if this is twins, you’re going to need a straightjacket. 

And….scene.

Cliffhanger, right? You’d totally watch that show. Stay tuned for episode 2!