I’m terrified of having more than one child at once. But yet, in December, if not sooner, I’ll start taking Clomid. I’m not really sure of the stats of multiple births from Clomid, I just know it’s a bit higher than with unassisted conception. And if that doesn’t work, the hormone shots raise the probability of a multiple birth even higher, and if those don’t work… well, IVF is the last step and we’ve all heard of the Octomom.
Thing is, I’m friends with two sets of parents with twins. One was “natural,” for lack of a better term, the other was IVF. Watching those parents with those kids is daunting. None of the four of them seem to have enough hands at any one time to deal with their twins. I don’t denigrate their parenting abilities, far from it. I just watch them and wonder if I could that good a job, or will my kids be the kind on the 6 o’clock news some day?
Age, in this case, has nothing to do with it. Both sets or parents are older than Tim and I. And the twins are the first born. Tim and I are set up for kids, for the most part. We’re trying to have a few less debts to pay simply because day care is going to be so awfully expensive, but we’re old enough and secure enough and we own our own house, which I guess, is more than most couples just starting out.
I’ve also gotten the whole, “Relax, kids will happen,” speech. Nothing pisses me off more. (OK, well, there are lots of things that do, but the list is too long. We’ll just say it’s in the top 20.) Kids won’t happen. Not by themselves. My thyroid went on strike sometime in my 20’s leaving me with endometriosis and a wacked out endocrine system, I also caught every single infection and virus that was around to be caught. My hormones haven’t been right since college. Which means the only thing regulating my cycles was The Pill. And when I went off five years ago so we could start working on kids, the fit hit the shan, hormonally speaking. I’m not yet experiencing anxiety over it. I am trying to come to terms with never having kids, but I’m not freaking out over it. Occasionally, it’ll back up on me, though: for instance, with my nephew, Velociraptor who wasn’t planned at all for my sister. But he’s a precious human being and a little stinker. Sometimes, literally. Or sometimes, in church with all the little kids dressed in their Sunday Best and looking adorable. Sometimes, someone’s story will hit me in just the right spot and I’ll start bawling. But for the most part, it doesn’t affect my daily life. I never wanted to be 50 something for my kid’s high school graduation, but if I keep up my workout routine now, I at least won’t FEEL 50.
Maybe having kids later in life is a good thing. It’s a reminder that I’m going to have to live a lot longer so I can see my grandchildren grow up. It’s a goal to be able to be functional at an older age than my grandparents were. As long as my thyroid doesn’t kill me, that is. But then, there’s no reason for it to. They caught the malfunction early, earlier than in even my mother and grandmother, so it may not get as bad as it did for them. Maybe God’s purpose in not giving Tim and me children earlier was so that my thyroid problem could be found and treated to its fullest extent.
Tonight’s my day off from running, plus it’s raining cats and dogs. Tomorrow, Tim promised to go with me, at least to walk. So, I’ll probably walk with him with the dogs and then go for my run, taking pride in the fact that an asthmatic with thyroid issues and a bad back is running two and half miles.