First-time Mom at 42: The Second and Last Trimesters

(Continued from Part I and Part II) My second trimester was a breeze. I felt a renewed love for cooking. After work and on weekends, I prepared meals for my husband. 

I kept a record of my pregnancy in The Bump’s Pregnancy Planner and Journal. I still kept away from malls and crowded places and did practically all my shopping for maternity clothes and baby items online. I made a list of all the things our baby will need on her first year and was able to tick off the items one by one, thanks to family who sent in loads of gifts and friends who threw me a baby shower. I even managed to get this blog updated and do some spring cleaning to make room for new purchases.

Gifts from my husband's siblings

First tub

One of the highlights of our second trimester was the congenital anomaly scan, a highly advanced ultrasound procedure that can examine in detail if all the baby’s vital organs developed properly. It was quite unnerving but also such a relief to find out that everything—kidneys, skull, brain, lips, limbs, etc.—was all right. It also confirmed that we were having a girl! My husband was ecstatic. My long-slumbering maternal instinct was roused upon hearing our baby’s heartbeat and seeing her outline on the monitor with legs spread out, her lips moving as she chewed on her fingers.

I managed to sustain this energy until the third trimester. I never missed family gatherings, especially because we were all looking forward to the high school graduation of my eldest niece, Joanna. I touched base with dear friends. I even managed to book an Easter staycation at Aruga by Rockwell with my pamangkins.

Bathroom selfie

But as the third trimester progressed, I started feeling the weight of my pregnancy, literally. My butt was in constant pain. I experienced edema on my feet. I wore Fitflops everywhere.

To make matters worse, what started as allergic rhinitis advanced into a cold. My OB-gyne prescribed an antihistamine initially. I took one tablet, which I regretted instantly, fearing the possible sedative effect on my baby. I didn’t take any more.

When my sniffles didn’t clear up and I began to cough and have a low-grade fever, my OB-gyne prescribed an antibiotic. I was against it but my baby was nearing full term and I had to get well before my due date. I decided to go with her suggestion. I got better quickly.

Throughout my pregnancy, my OB-gyne repeatedly said I was likely to undergo a C-section delivery, considering my age, the fact that I was an elderly primigravida (a term referring to a woman older than 35 years who is pregnant for the first time), and that I had only one ovary (one was surgically removed in 2000 due to an ovarian cyst). Yet, despite all the factors working against me, my pregnancy went very smoothly and I remained strong and healthy except for the recent bout with cold.

At my last checkup end of April 2016, my OB-gyne said that, since the baby and I were doing so well, she'd give me the chance to deliver normally, provided I went into labor before the 40th week. She advised me to start walking regularly, especially up and down the stairs.

By this time, I had gained around 25 pounds so walking was not as easy. And there was little free time because I was still reporting to work. But I took her advice seriously and walked as much as I could.

May 8, 2016, Sunday, was Mother’s Day. It was also a long weekend because the next day was election day. My husband and I made arrangements with my parents and my brother’s family to meet in Shangrila Plaza for lunch. I set my alarm clock at 10 a.m. When I got up, I had the distinct feeling that I had peed on my pants. I went to the bathroom to check. I saw blood. (To be continued)

First-Time Mom at 42: The First Trimester

(Continued from Part I) Then life threw me a curveball. In the middle of 2015, my boyfriend asked me if I still wanted to have a baby. Without hesitation, I said yes. We weren’t even sure we were viable. In previous conversations, we talked about giving it a try for a year and then giving up if nothing happened. But we never gave it a go.

As soon as we tried, I got pregnant, as if parenthood has been waiting in the wings, standing by until we gave it our holy Yes. And when we did, we gave our Yes to the whole shebang—marriage, family, ever after. It all came naturally, because our commitment to each other had been established much earlier. We had already agreed to get married, but because my guy is more romantic than he would admit, he still decided to seal the deal with a diamond ring. He proposed to me on my 42nd birthday.

I was a ball of anxiety that first trimester, so protective of my precious cargo and so afraid that my 41-year-old body would betray me. A month after conception, pregnancy symptoms kicked in, booting the foodie in me out the window. I bristled at the mere sight of steak. I couldn’t stand the smell of sautéing garlic and onions. I stopped cooking entirely. I had sinigang almost every day because it helped keep the nausea at bay. My meals were limited to all things broth-based. I battled fatigue the entire day every single day.

My boyfriend and I kept the pregnancy to ourselves. It was my idea. I researched diligently and discovered that the likelihood of a miscarriage was very high during the first trimester, even higher for women my age. That being so, many couples hold off the big reveal until the second trimester, when the percentage begins to taper off. The downside to this is that I had to pretend to friends, family, and co-workers that everything was okay when in truth all I wanted was to spend the entire day in bed.

In hindsight, I had it easy during the first trimester. Except for the nausea and fatigue, I didn’t have other symptoms. But I was constantly bitten by worry about our baby. I asked my OB-gyne to order a triple test for me to rule out certain birth defects. I had it done in St. Luke’s and was relieved when the tests came out okay.

I have always been obsessive-compulsive about hygiene and became even more so. I wore a mask to hospitals and malls. My hands became dry from constant rubbing with alcohol. It became a habit to wash my hands three times with every visit to the restroom. I became wary of anyone coughing or sniffling.

By the second trimester, the nausea and fatigue began to subside. By Christmas, I could eat! What a relief that was! I still couldn’t bear the sight of steak and the smell of sisig, and my preference for anything broth-based remained. I also looked forward to my servings of fruits specifically papaya, mangoes (ripe and green), and pomelo.

Another source of relief was being able to tell our loved ones about my pregnancy. I told my brother first, then our friends, and finally my parents, who couldn’t contain their delight that their 40-something peripatetic daughter was finally settling down.

When January 2016 came, I became busy with preparations for our civil wedding. My fiancé and I agreed to keep everything low-key, inviting only immediate family and the closest of friends. Our count ended at 24, plus the two of us. We got my brother who’s an RTC judge to officiate, with two of our dearest cousins as witnesses. I loved the intimacy of it all. It allowed us the freedom to be ourselves. We ate. They drank. My husband delivered a heartwarming speech about us that brought tears to my eyes. My niece Joanna and our friend and kumpare Dingdong offered up a toast. My sister in law Pam and niece Jenna sang. We danced. We cried. We laughed. While all these took place, I felt gentle thuds in my belly, stronger than the gentle pulses I started feeling just before the new year began. I kept stroking my baby bump in response. I had never been happier. (To be continued)