Eight Pregnancy Tests Later

Motherhood has been the single greatest experience of my life. Surprisingly, settling into the role came easily. It felt far more natural than I had ever expected.

I always thought I would be a mother, but I worried about whether I would be able to care for another person with the kind of selflessness motherhood requires. When I was younger, I used to joke that plants didn’t do particularly well in my house because, “If you didn’t tell me you were hungry, you might not get fed.”

So, a whole human being?

That felt daunting.

I had Nicholas when I was 42 years old. I took eight pregnancy tests.

Eight.

Yes, I know how pregnancy tests work. I am a fully functioning woman. I was just so happy, so surprised, and in complete disbelief.

And this had all happened naturally. No IVF. No frozen eggs, despite my cousin strongly recommending that I freeze them years earlier.

Just one very unexpected little miracle.

My pregnancy was about as typical as a pregnancy at 42 could be.

My husband asked me not to tell anyone we were expecting until I was at least three months along.

“You mean besides everyone who already knows?”

He just shook his head.

In my mind, I had angels in heaven watching over me. My mom, my sisters, and my brother were up there, and I simply believed they would never let anything happen to that little bump growing in my belly.

Years later, I was telling this story to someone I had just met when it suddenly occurred to me:

At that age, I probably should have been a lot more worried.

What was I thinking?

Nicholas was due December 12, 2012.

12/12/12.

Perfect, right?

The week before my due date, I asked my doctor if they could just go ahead and schedule an induction for December 12.

They said no.

Rude.

We woke up on my due date and started getting ready for my doctor’s appointment. I was standing in the bathroom putting on my makeup when suddenly, the electricity went out.

“Uh-oh.”

My first thought was to check whether I had paid the electric bill.

Pregnancy brain was very real for me. I forgot everything.

Sure enough, I had forgotten to pay it.

I immediately made the payment online and called the electric company to have the power turned back on. And when I say immediately, I mean there was absolutely no way the guy in the electric truck could have even made it out of our subdivision yet.

Alas, I managed to find the one person answering phones that morning who could not have cared less that I was nine months pregnant, ready to give birth at any moment, had a diabetic in the house, or had already paid the bill.

Rules were rules.

Needless to say, my husband was less than thrilled—with me, with the electric company, and with the fact that his very pregnant wife could go into labor at any minute in a house without electricity.

So the drive to the doctor’s office was…less than romantic.

When we arrived, they took my blood pressure.

It was very high.

Fun fact: obstetricians are not particularly fond of seeing high blood pressure in a 42-year-old woman who is nine months pregnant.

I tried explaining that I had just spent the morning arguing with the electric company and my husband, and that perhaps everyone could give me a minute to calm down.

They were unimpressed.

Off to the hospital we went.

They were going to induce me that evening.

Really? That’s all it took?

Apparently, I should have gotten worked up about the electric bill a week earlier.

Long story short, childbirth was about as uneventful as it could possibly be. Nicholas was born on December 13, 2012, at 12:40 p.m.

He missed 12/12/12 by less than thirteen hours.

Typical.

And just like that, the very best chapter of my life began.

We stayed in the hospital a couple of extra days because he was jaundiced, but other than that, that squeaky little guy was absolutely perfect.

And somehow, the woman who couldn’t keep a houseplant alive knew exactly what to do.