Medically speaking, it's crazy how different it is to have a baby at at thirty-five than it was when I was thirty-two. Once you hit that magical age of thirty-five, you're automatically moved into the "advanced maternal age" category and your once fresh thirty-four year old eggs are now over-the-biological-hill. I understand that medicine has to draw a line in the sand somewhere, but this thirty-five year old doesn't like hearing that she's of advanced maternal age. They might as well just say I'm old.
Since the mystical hand of mother nature has reached into my ovaries and stamped all of my eggs expired, I got presented with a whole gamut of tests and screenings not even breathed when I was pregnant with Peanut at thirty-two. I believe more information is better, but the additional screenings, tests, and genetic counseling available really make you think -- and in my case, worry. It was pretty stressful for a few weeks as J and I mulled over available tests and waited for results.
In the end we did what was right for us. I'm so happy to share that, after numerous pokes and exams, we have a healthy baby. Now that I'm past the first trimester nausea and exhaustion and stress of waiting for test results, it's time to start getting excited about the fun stuff pregnancy brings.
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