40 and Pregnant
Or Learning Presence
As we were getting ready for an all-too-rare date night last November, my wife Mandy just hit me with it. “We’re pregnant.”
Mandy is 40. I’m 39.
It was a shot to the solar plexus followed by an onslaught of anxiety…the type that immediately produces cotton mouth and renders your leg muscles useless.
The rush of random thoughts came next.
I immediately remembered the night of conception. Specifically, I remembered wondering what a small chance there must be for two adults around 40 to actually conceive.
What of all of my retirement planning? Our 12-year-old daughter Morgan is speeding through middle school and our nine-year-old son Jack is less dependent on his parents by the day.
The career? My days as a communications consultant are consumed with setting and achieving one set of goals and moving to the next; thinking through my next opportunity; trying to make the next client happy.
We had just decided to go on vacation.
An infant was simply not going to fit in my average, middle-aged life.
It took probably a few seconds (that I’m sure seemed like an hour to Mandy) for all of this to run through my head. I pulled it together enough to share a hug and reminded her that, just as we had done everything since we met at the age of 15, we’d work through this life-altering surprise together.
But our date that night, and the several weeks that followed, became my own Steve Martin, Father of the Bride II-level freak out. The only difference was that I managed not to faint.
Learning to be present
Somewhat ironically, in the months before this news I had started a meditation practice, mostly to deal with nagging anxiety. The anxiety that comes with wondering where the meaning was in the life I was living. Wondering why, despite my well-meaning efforts, happiness seemed so difficult to sustain.
I started with mindfulness meditation and added transcendental meditation a few months after. I read everything I could get my hands on. Jon Kabat Zinn. Pema Chodron. Eckhart Tolle. Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Each had their own unique (and helpful) take on the path to becoming more present.
But they all seemed to agree that, once you started to break free from the grip of your mind, you would tend to stay on that path. Once you became aware — an observer, rather than a slave, to your thoughts — you wouldn’t go back to the way you were before. You would begin prioritizing the people, activities, etc. that made you more present. And, you would be more aware of when you weren’t truly present.
Even though the news that we would have another child nearly a decade after our last overwhelmed my nascent ability to keep myself in the present moment, I had a strong notion that being more present was a big part of being happier and more fulfilled.
Arriving at the moment of truth
My daily meditation did slowly help to bring my freak out period to an end and, soon after, baby planning was in full-swing. We had myriad conversations with friends and family over these few months. Amidst the questions about when my vasectomy would be scheduled, we talked a lot about when our two children were babies: I was a pro at child rearing; all of my infant care skills would come rushing back without much effort, etc., etc.
Through all of these conversations, there was one thought I couldn’t shake: I didn’t have that many memories of when our two kids were infants. I didn’t have that many memories of their childhoods, really.
The bigger moments, sure. The first words, the first steps, the first days of school.
The family vacations in Aruba.
Coaching soccer and flag football.
But not much else.
All of sudden, my anxiety over the birth of another child was replaced by the thought of being an absentee dad. Not an absentee dad by the standard meaning of the term. Yes, I had provided for my kids. Yes, they had been the center of my world since their arrival.
But I had always believed in the notion that attendance was not the same as putting in the work/effort for whatever activity you were engaged in. Yet, that’s exactly what I had come to understand that I had done as a father.
And so the moment of truth had arrived: I suddenly became aware that I hadn’t truly been present and engaged for much of my kids’ lives. I had just been going through the motions.
I had spent years on auto-pilot, fixated on getting from one day to the next; one goal to the next.
Making the most of my blessings
One of the blessings of my meditation practice has been developing the ability to prevent negative thoughts from dictating my mood. Staying in the present moment, by definition, means not re-living the past. Realizing that I could simply take my moment of clairvoyance and, rather than fretting over my absenteeism, use it to make the present moment better was liberating.
From that point on, my perspective on our pregnancy changed. I came to understand it as a blessing that helped me be more aware of the other blessings that had been bestowed upon me and the precious little time I had left to enjoy them.
It forced me to stop thinking in terms of far-off goals. Retirement would certainly need to wait anyway. The next career move wasn’t so important anymore. Where my daughter goes to college could be the topic for another day.
Yes, getting our family through the next day would be a challenge. But, of course, that was now the whole point — to focus on that one day and the series of moments that comprised it. My ego would always find another destination on which to focus, but it could never replace the life journey I had spent nearly 40 years forsaking.
Through this experience, I’ve discovered maybe the most important piece of wisdom of my life: the less I care about where I’m going, the happier and more fulfilled I feel.
She arrives
Our new daughter, Lydia, arrived happy and healthy on July 3. She taught me so much before she was born, I can only imagine what lies ahead. For now, I’m content each day to ask how I can be the best father I can be.
