This story about the fate of two people who were not afraid and decided to give birth late. And what to do, if it did not work before - then a crisis, then a default, then there is not enough time.
Content
This familiar man told me this story. This is a story about fate, an unreliable story that was in the life of two people. The man is more now 50 years, his woman is less. He is no longer young, but he had to experience the joy of becoming a dad.
Of course, this was preceded by a wife and childbirth, a hard life. It was interesting to listen to emotions 50-year-old The men who became a father, although his peers have long been “grandfathers” and nurse grandchildren. But everything is in order. The story in the first person is written as it was told to me. Read further.
The story of fate is dad at 50: How did it all begin?
Most of my peers, approaching the walls of the hospital, anticipated a meeting with their grandson or granddaughter. I was driving for my son. A seventeen -year -old daughter sat next to the headphones, and in the hospital ward, at the full parade, my wife with little Andreyka awaited us. And so, here is my story about fate.
For all my uncontrollable love for the kids, my first -born, if you managed to count, I got it by Soviet standards quite late. At that time, I was almost thirty -three years old. All kinds of gynecological and urological problems had nothing to do with it. Our Alice was born exactly nine months after I got married. Until this moment, I still could not decide on my wife. Mom was very worried: old bachelors then do not want to marry at all. But I have not seen a suitable girl nearby. One seemed to me a bitch, the other was boring, the third - ugly.
And then at work a young girl-drawing of years old appeared eighteen with a very unusual face. At first glance - nothing remarkable, but you will take a closer look and understand how interesting and living it is. I liked the girl, I sang a nightingale - in a literal and figurative sense - to like it, painted her portraits, played the guitar, flaunted English and fashionable plates and finally achieved its location. I did not even imagine that I would become a dad at 50, but I would not run ahead.
Fate Tale: First Pregnancy
Very soon I made Ira an offer. I was madly worried that she would not agree to marry me, after all, for twelve years of the difference with her, and with his mother-in-law-only six, but her parents and she did not mind-I got married. I continue the story about our joint fate.
Irinka’s pregnancy was not remembered by something special. The fact that she became pregnant right away was very happy: I lost so much time in the roasting of her youth and did not want to lose him in unsuccessful attempts to conceive the heir or the heiress of the surname. If Irinka had taste quirks, I remember almost nothing about them. It was not to fat then, not to pineapple with hazel grouse and marzipans in French. It was eighty -ninth year. Two years remained before the collapse of the Soviet Union, and the total deficit devastated the shelves of almost all stores. I remember you go into the grocery, in the windows, smoked sausage, sausage son, and bread will cram on the shelves, look at you. The Ostankino sausage was then impossible, it seemed that it was completely made of toilet paper.
When Irina had about five months of pregnancy, we went to relatives in Moldova. There, the atmosphere of stagnation reigned there (there were only a washing powder, soap and sugar), so abundance reigned in the stores. It was impossible to take relative abundance - ham and sausages without a decent queue. Just at that time Irina pulled on beer. We came with my brother, who we were visiting, in the store, I saw that they were selling beer and gathered to take out a box (though not only for Irina) - so far there is. He was surprised and said somewhat dumbfounded:
“You don’t get so, tomorrow you will be brought fresh.”
Our small vacation allowed Irina a little, and then we flew back. She transferred the flight normally.
Tale of fate: childbirth
During the pregnancy of my wife and the first year after the birth of my daughter, we lived with the mother -in -law, so I was not afraid to miss the beginning of childbirth. Moreover, we lived literally opposite the maternity hospital. The waters went away - the father -in -law took his wife to give birth. Everything went well and there were three of us. When my daughter was at home, I was struck by how tiny she was: a small caterpillar without hair and eyebrows. Such a defenseless and undoubtedly the most beautiful and beloved girl for me.
My wife, to my surprise, reacted to her differently. Cold. And not without tears. It so happened that instead of the former laughter, we brought home a completely different woman, and this woman constantly cried. Now anyone will easily diagnose: postpartum depression, this happens. But we - neither I nor my Irina, nor our parents were ready for this. The mother -in -law took all the worries about the child, Irina only fed her daughter.
I helped as best I could: I wore my daughter with a column, periodically erased diapers. The wife stopped crying in a pillow as suddenly as she began. I heard that some years or two can grow up, but in the case of my wife it all ended within a month. We sighed in relief and moved to a separate apartment.
New but unsuccessful pregnancy: continuation of the story about fate
After one and a half to two years, Irina became pregnant again. We announced the expected increase at the family table in the presence of a dozen relatives. Relatives were noticeably started: my older brother had three girls, and his wife was no longer going to give birth, so all the hopes regarding the heir were entrusted only to me. We accepted congratulations, and literally a couple of days later quarreled with his wife, and she made an abortion. I did not make from this tragedy, although I was greatly crumpled. However, the time was not easy: the Soviet Union broke up, as an artist, I began to earn much less, there were no previous orders, and Irina did not want to produce poverty ”.
In addition, a daughter was extremely painful. By six months, she managed to get through the lungs twice twice, at two years she was accidentally scalded with boiling water, four legs refused four due to meningitis. She was urgently taken by helicopter to the hospital, the score went for minutes, she could die. Irina did not work until Alice was six years old, otherwise she would have sat on sick leave.
When we were already ripe before the birth of the second child, the default struck, and we again dragged on the belts. A few more years passed, Irina hit thirty -four, our financial situation stabilized, and the wife again wanted the child. I got pregnant right away. But in the first months there was a miscarriage. Then she became pregnant again - and again a miscarriage. This was repeated several times. At the same time. I comforted as best I could. She tried to hold on, but swollen eyes and lips from time to time betrayed her.
Relatives supported our idea to give birth to a second child not as zealously as in the nineties. The main argument was-you are already old, if Irina is even more or less suitable for the role of a late mother, then you, dear brother (son, son-in-law) are no longer quarreling. What will you contain a child when you retire? How to resolve the issue with its entry at the university? Will you dance him at the wedding with a dropper? But we missed these words past the ears, the daughter turned into a wayward teenager disappearing in clubs, and at home without a child, childish laughter and toys scattered everywhere became dreary and uncomfortable. In addition, age, it, first of all, exists in a passport, and in our souls we all get stuck for eighteen to three years (as you like).
Late Pregnancy - Dad at 50: Continuation of the story about fate
And so Irina became pregnant again, and I will become a dad at 50 years old. This time, she immediately turned to the specialists with late pregnancy, she was put on a hospital in a hospital dangerous for the child, and the pregnancy was preserved. The fact that Irina was silent in the situation. Relatives guessed, but also pretended not to be in the know. At that time, Irina was thirty -seven.
Everything would be fine, but she had very low pressure, about eighty to fifty. She felt bad, but courageously waited for birth. But they did not begin. No fights, no waters. In the hospital, having calculated the deadline, we decided that it was time. The birth was called, the water, as they later said, were already green. We had a wonderful son, the only heir to the surname. Now he is four. He is the greatest joy in our family.
The first year of his life was held exclusively on positive. Firstly, Irina had no depression. I think she arose with her then, because she was still too young, the child herself - and is not ready for motherhood. Secondly, Alice took the birth of her brother on Hurra. We were afraid that it would not be very happy about its appearance-nevertheless, at seventeen, the majority no longer want to nurse with small children, I want to live their own life.
By the way, perhaps soon Alice will make Andrey's uncle, and my wife and I will be a grandparent. Paradoxically, but I cannot calmly relate to this thought. And the point is not that we will become a "grandfather and grandmother." Alice’s groom is thirty-five, and for some reason I am against it. Against such a difference in age and such late paternity. This is a paradox - isn't it?
Video: program 50 plus - late children
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