Overcoming my late-in-life pregnancy fears

     So, I'm probably about to have blog-rrhea. There was so much I wanted to write while pregnant, and the truth is...I was terrified to put my thoughts into writing during those months. 
     It was one of the most fearful seasons of my life.
     Fear...
     ...I would lose the baby. 
     ...something serious was wrong with the baby. 
     ...of our home sale falling apart. 
     ...that putting my kids back in public school was the wrong decision. 
     ...we wouldn't be able to afford another child. 
     ...of every single symptomatic issue I had in pregnancy. (Yes, I spent a lot of time on Google. Then I admitted I had a problem, promised to stay off the Internet and relapsed after about 24 hours. I realize I have issues!)
     ...that if I talked about any of this, something dreadful would happen. 
     ...I would gain too much weight, not be able to lose the weight after the pregnancy.
     ...I would succumb to food addictions.  
     ...of giving birth naturally, which I was trying to commit myself to doing but even my efforts left me doubting I could. 
     ...God would hate me or punish me for so many fears and doubts. 
      ...of my fears. (My anxiety disorder seemed so under control until this....all of this. It was overwhelming!)
     So I didn't write them. Or speak them. 
     But they haunted me. 
     ...at every doctor's appointment. 
     ...with every snide comment about my age in pregnancy. 
     ...in every headline about a stillbirth or studies about the dangers of pregnancy "late in life." 
     ...during the day and into the night. 
     ...as I listened to a horrendous podcast about depression in pregnancy (1 in 3 women suffer, almost always in silence) and wondered if it was me the author was describing. 
     ...with all the insomnia bouts that returned with a vengeance in my third trimester. 
     I was so glad God was speaking to me during this time and reassuring me. But me, in Amy-the-persistent-worrier fashion, continued to doubt and question. For every worry or fear, I grasped onto the one person who could bring me peace and reassurance. I had to keep going back to Him time and time again because I had such a restless spirit. I think He probably had me right where He wanted me. But I couldn't help shake my feelings of inadequate faith. It was touch and go. 
     I wish I could say that I had a great support network. I definitely had friends who were checking in on me and a husband who was there to listen to all my insecurities. 
     But for every friend who was supportive, there were three people who were negative. Some were silently protesting. Others whispered behind my back. I felt every sting. We received comments like, "How could you be so stupid (to get pregnant at your age)?" "Do you know how this happens?" and my all-time favorite said right to my face, "You're f----ed." 
     Many of these comments came from so-called friends. 
     It was so hard to share our news, not knowing what the reaction would be from a world where the attitudes about a fetus fall more along the lines of a "clump of cells," rather than my precious daughter, a life, a creation of God's. 
     An older woman having a baby seemed foolish. Heck, even I was skeptical in the beginning. It certainly wasn't our plan. 
     But it was our prayer. It was just a prayer from seven years prior...long forgotten. 
     At least we'd forgotten. 
     But someone hadn't. That one person — all holy and almighty — didn't forget the cries of my heart. And deep down, I trusted His timing. He said no to my prayer then. But He said yes to my prayer in this chapter. 
     So I trusted in Him, while so many others disappointed. 
     Faith. But a shaky, insecure, immature faith, to be sure. 
     Still, a glorious story unfolded in spite of my fears when my beautiful baby entered the world. 

Our sweet daughter, born in God's timing as His plan unfolds for our lives.

     She came naturally. But not without trouble. Her positioning was wrong. Labor, which I thought would be fast and not nearly as painful for all my preparation, didn't deliver on those promises. 
     But I was reminded that God doesn't promise life will be easy. He simply promises He will walk through it with us. 
     The birthing plan I had, the techniques I had practiced and prayed upon did not work out like I had hoped. But the scriptures I had written out on notecards gave me the hope and reassurance I need. Just as His word and my relationship with Him carried me through each day of the pregnancy. 
     Indeed, I was never alone. And I knew, no matter what happened to me or the baby, He would help me through it. After all, this was His plan, unfolding in His timing in answer to a deep prayer of my heart. 

Chasing a gold standard

     I will never forget the time my husband spilled breast milk on the kitchen counter. Ever. 
     Because I cried. And it wasn't just because of my hormones. Being a first-time mom was the most stressful thing that ever happened to me. Despite the plethora of books I had read, classes I had taken and the two college degrees I had, I was fully unprepared. Entirely. Completely. 
     There was one really good thing I knew I could give my daughter, and that was breast milk. I had done my research, and I knew this was the gold standard in baby nutrition. Good for the body and for the brain. 
      I don't know what it was (hmmmm....I don't know, possibly the fact that I was stressed out as a new mom!) but my breast milk production was awful. After the first three months, it was inadequate, and I had to supplement. 
     Still, I persisted. I pumped a ridiculous three times a day at work, plus one side on the drive there and one on the drive home. I took supplements, ate oatmeal and drank tons of water. All this for about four to six total ounces daily. A baby this age takes about 30-40 ounces in a 24-hour period. Looking back, I think I must have been insane to invest all that work for so little. But I was trying to make the best decision with the information I had available to me. I wanted to do what was best for my baby.
     And that's why I cried when my husband dumped over the milk. It represented a huge investment. It was liquid gold all over the counter top that was no unusable! I was crushed! 
     I've been thinking, studying and praying a lot about nutrition lately. I'm hardly an expert, but for some reason when this story came to mind, it reminded me that the best stuff for us isn't always the easiest stuff to come by!  We have to work at it, and even then, we have to study and learn more about it. I had to understand how to adapt my diet to better provide for my baby. I wasn't equipped with this knowledge. It was a process of learning.
     We have simplified food growth to the point where it's all about volume and yield. What was done with the intentions of feeding more with less available space hasn't come with complications, criticisms, controversy and even corruption. What has become less common is man planting seeds and raising his own food or at the very least, knowing exactly where his food came from and how it was grown, processed and packaged. We have sacrificed nurturing in lieu of "faster" and "more." 
     And that's the so-called "natural" food we raise -- produce, meats and poultry, and dairy. Then there's all the fast-food nonsense and packaged goodies, filled with every kind of poison imaginable. Sugar, salt, artificial colors and flavors. Additives intended for yoga mats, additives that happen to be highly addictive. 
     I have spent most of my life eating healthy — comparatively. You know, compared to the majority of people. Not that I like to be in the habit of comparisons, but that's what I was doing. And I felt good about it. Therein lies the BIG PROBLEM with comparisons. Just because I was eating good compared to a statistic did not mean I was eating good for me. I still bought crappy food into my house "for the kids" and then ate it when I knew I shouldn't. I still ate way out of proportion, and I still ate many packaged foods despite homemade dinners every night.
     However, I've been learning lately that is is not good enough. I know better, and I can do better. I HAVE to do better. My body is unhappy; it's raging against the poor quality food I've been dumping in it the last four decades. I've fought "intestinal issues" that cannot firmly be diagnosed for seven years. I have raging endometriosis, migraines, sinus issues and fibromyaligia. The fact that I can even operate most days is miraculous. I've been a walking, talking emotional/mental/spiritual/physical time bomb. I needed a wake-up call. 
      I'm finally listening. 
     I want the spilled milk. I want the good stuff. I want the gold standard of nutrition that fosters mental clarity, stabilizes emotional moodiness, improves my physical well-being and opens me up spiritually. I don't know exactly what that is, so I'm starting with what I do know, which is a lot. I will do the best I can with what I know, committing myself to learning more as I go and forgiving myself for messing up along the way. 
     I'm not an expert. I don't understand everything there is to food. Heck, just when I think I know something, I hear a report that contradicts my knowledge. 
     But I won't be discouraged by that. I will persist. I will grow some of what I can, buy what I know to be the best when I can afford it, eat what's best for me as often as I can and then pray that God will meet me there. 
     It's not a destination. It's a journey of whole health. I will need grace. I will need encouragement. I will need wisdom. Therefore, I will need Jesus. So He will be right at the heart of this new thing.