Clever Magazine, Spring /06 "Life Begins at Forty" (www.clevermag.com)

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Life Begins at Forty

by Patricia Crandall

The thought of turning forty meant happiness in being free. I had time to be myself.

Life was to be smooth sailing, or so I thought. My twelve-year-old daughter, Leila, was maturing and anticipating becoming a woman. She was able to fend for herself in many ways; tidying the house, popping a TV dinner in the microwave. Leila was adaptable to my coming and going, and she handled herself well in many situations.

My husband Dan and I traveled whenever a whim took us. Leila was thrilled to stay with a friend, and we reciprocated by having her friend stay with us regularly.

My projects were nearly completed. Embroidery was being stitched into gay pillows, and yummy cookies from all those recipes were baked and stored in the freezer. I enjoyed shopping excursions and unhurried luncheons with friends and relatives. I took classes in sewing, aerobics, picture framing, painting, ceramics, doll making, and gourmet cooking. You name it; I signed up for it.

It was during the spring that I bloomed and bloomed, and bl—oo-med. Water retention, I thought, or perhaps I should refrain from eating too much pasta. Frequent nausea and a lack of vitality sent me to the doctor’s office.

“The Change?” I asked resiliently.

“Pregnant!” said he. “Aren’t you happy? Isn’t it wonderful?” He was glowing.

My world fell apart. I do not even remember driving home that afternoon. I do recall rubbing my tummy and saying, “Hello baby! How am I going to tell your Dad about you? And Leila will be a sister after all these years! Will she be elated or jealous by your arrival?”

At home, when I announced the news, my staunch, businessman husband (whose Saturday morning and Wednesday evening paths were paved to the golf course) and my sophisticated preteen cried…out of sheer delight. I cried, period. I had accepted Leila’s hermit crabs more willingly than I accepted the fact of being pregnant.

Thereafter, each time I saw an embroidered pillow with the phrase “I’d rather be forty than pregnant” I turned it the other way.

In time, Daniel was born. He was a six pound, five ounce bundle of future manliness. A little boy…a son. I was exultant! All my frustrations and doubts dissipated as I gazed down at his perfect form. “DJ,” as Leila nicknamed her baby brother, could not have entered a better world. He is surrounded by so much love.

Forty is positive, baby!