advanced maternal age

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For the first few weeks after I found out I was pregnant, I spent a little too much time obsessing about my “advanced maternal age“. You know how the Internet can be. It’s a wealth of information, but sometimes it’s full of so many warnings and horror stories that it can start messing with your mind.

I remember reading one of the more reassuring articles that I had found online, which explained that many women are now starting families at the age of 40. A woman’s 40s are the new 20s, the story said.

But then I got to the last line of that article. It said something like this: “Having a baby in your 40s is safer than once thought; but it’s not recommended.”

Not recommended? It’s not like I’m trying to decide whether to bounce on a trampoline with my shoes on our ride a bike without a helmet. The deal is sealed, whether it’s recommended or not.

Thanks, anyway.

Those first few weeks, my mind was constantly trying to think of examples of people I knew in real life who had given birth in their 40s.

Wasn’t So-And-So’s sister-in-law 45 when she had her first child? And then there’s Kathy. I’m pretty sure she was 40. My friend from high school is pregnant and she’s almost 40. Oh, and then there’s that guy my husband knows. They are trying to get pregnant for the first time, and they are probably getting close to 40.

In the evenings, I would shout out to my husband between bowls of ice cream and plates of scrambled eggs: “Honey! Remember your Aunt So-And-So?!? How old do you think she was when she had cousin Sally?!”

He would get out his family history book and we would use birth dates to determine the maternal age of all of the nice, respectable, attractive family members who had been born to a mother in her 40s.

Then he would remind me: “You were 39 when you got pregnant. So, you were in your 30s!”

Several times, I went back and read this post by Antique Mommy. I had remembered reading it a few months earlier. It seemed really sweet at the time. But it was like a comfy blanket to me now. I could wrap those words around my mind and warm myself in their assuring tone.

About a month later, I finally told the women in my Bible study that I was pregnant. This was only the second time I had said the words out loud (other than telling my husband). I was so full of emotion, that a floodgate burst open, and I started crying hysterically.

Those poor sweet women. It’s one thing to see someone with tears in her eyes. But when someone breaks down into a full-blown blubbering cry, it’s a little unsettling, I’m sure.

After my wailing grew quiet enough that anyone could hear herself speak, two of the women reassured me that they were 40 when they had their youngest. One of the women has five beautiful children, and the other woman’s daughter was also in our study. Her incredible daughter is 40 now herself.

Another friend told me her mother had her eighth child when she was 40. I was on Facebook later that week and saw a picture of my friend’s sister, the one her mother had when she was 40.

“She’s soooo beautiful,” I thought, as yet again, I cried. “What if she had not been born?”

Thank you, God, for your kindness to me. Thank you for surrounding me that day with these women who knew what I was going through. And for sending reassurance that it would be OK.

After that, I stopped reading articles on the Internet about advanced maternal age. But if you know of any great stories of people born to a 40-year-old mom, they always make me smile!

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steel-her heart

I thought that after that bombshell I dropped on y’all yesterday, that maybe today would be a good day to write about nail polish.

But if you did miss yesterday’s post, it might be a good idea to go get caught up. Otherwise, you’re going to be a little confused when I bring up weird stuff like why I’m eating a chicken pot pie at 9:30 p.m. Which I am. And it is so good.

Nail polish.

OK, it’s sad to say, but until about five years ago, I had never even stepped foot inside a spa. Never had a massage. Or a pedicure. Definitely no manicures for me. I grew up in a small town where we went to the beauty parlor to get our hair cut and permed. And that was it.

About five years ago, my sales director with Discovery Toys invited me to hang out at a spa for a day with her and a bunch of other leaders as a Christmas gift. I was a little apprehensive at first, but after a few hours, I was hooked. Eating snacks all day. Chatting with friends. And getting spa treatments.

Hello, dear Day Spa? Where have you been all my life?

A few years later, I promoted to Sales Director, too, and started hosting spa days for the ladies I worked with. I even earned the amazing reward a few years ago of flying on a private jet to an exclusive spa in California to be pampered for three days.

I went from never-had-a-pedicure to Little Miss addicted to mud wraps, hot stone massages, chocolate scrubs and paraffin wax treatments.

But still, I see going to the spa as purely a social experience. I don’t ever go by myself. I love hanging out and getting pedicures with friends.

I love a pedicure, but for the most part, I paint my nails myself. Which finally brings me to the point of this post… nail COLOR!

I love seeing how different people choose completely different colors of nail polish. What does your color choice say about you?

My friend with the sweet, quiet spirit chose the lightest color of pink on the shelf. The girl with the great tan and fun-loving attitude picked out a bright shade of coral.

In that photo, my toes were about as bright as they get in that shade of purple at the very bottom. I tend to go toward the darker hues.

What does that say about me? I like to think it means I’m creative and want to push the envelope a bit. But darker colors also seem to go better with my skin tone and match my wardrobe, which is made up entirely of black, brown, green and purple, with a little blue here and there.

I am loving my new nail polish color that I picked up for $4.99 at Target. It’s called Steel-her heart by Revlon. It’s a swirly metalic shade of steely grey. Depending on the light, it can look silver, grey or purple. So, it pretty much goes with all of my clothes.

It looks awesome with dressy sandals and just as good with black flip-flops. A girl should not love a nail polish color this much. It’s just weird.

I think it might even replace My Private Jet by OPI as my favorite nail color. This one looks really dark in the bottle. But when you get in the sunlight, it has flecks in the polish that make it look purple or grey.

Don’t worry, My Private Jet. I still love you even though the salon said you are discontinued. If I could find a case, I would buy you to keep on hand for future generations.

So, what about you? Are you a spa addict or never had a pedicure? Do you feel naked without your toes painted? And what does your color say about you?

I really DO want to know!

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