Primigravida

Is “later” parenthood really different?

The other day, I agreed to participate in a study of women who became mothers at or around 40. Apparently, given the advances in fertility treatments and the acceptability of later motherhood, this is a demographic on the rise – one interesting enough to attract researchers.

This one, Jennie Doberne, is a doctoral candidate in anthropology at the University of Virginia and is looking at the social impact in Israel of “later motherhood.” Israel, she says, is particularly interesting because of what she calls in her research description, “pronatalism.” Or, as she puts it in her research summary, “the national pronatalist effort is eroding previous biological constraints on maternity and enabling older women to become mothers.”

In other words, what’s the impact of living in a country where the government will pay for IVF and other treatments up until the age of 45?

Even though we didn’t use fertility treatments to get pregnant, I fit into the demographic, and so I agreed to be interviewed. Which in and of itself was an odd experience: I’m so used to being on the other end of things. As a journalist, I ask the questions, not answer them.

Within minutes of Jennie’s arrival at our house for her usual one-on-one interview, my husband was throwing out answers from the kitchen – and soon asked if he could join in the conversation. When we both agreed, he nearly leapt onto the couch. He’s been as keen to start fatherhood as I was motherhood. And although he’s a year older than me, no one seems to express special interest in what it’s like to engage in “later fatherhood.”

One question stood out towards the end of the interview. Is there something different about becoming parents later? I suddenly thought of the unsolicited advice that an acquaintance who had started motherhood at 40 gave me. “Remember,” she said, “what we lack in energy, we make up for in patience.” Slowly, I’m realizing there is wisdom in her words. A full day with my seven-month-old son – if no one else happens to be around to help –  can exhaust me, though I imagine a 25-year-old mom would say the same. In general, I have loads of energy. But how will I feel in five or ten years? I do think I’m more patient, and more present to the job of being a parent, than I would have been if I’d started having children at say, 28 or 30, when I was still carving out a name for myself professionally. Read more…

Pregnant in Tokyo: an interview

Lately, I found myself thinking often about Hana Kusumoto, who worked with me in The Christian Science Monitor‘s Tokyo bureau from 2000 to 2002.

We became friends…and we’d lost touch. I decided to track her down after the earthquake and tsunami hit. Hana, who was raised in Japan but went to high school and college in the US, lives in Tokyo and works as a reporter for Stars and Stripes, the US military paper.

She’s also almost nine months pregnant. And, naturally, worried. When we got in touch about two weeks ago, she’d been trying to decide whether to stay in Tokyo with her husband or to go to her parents’ house in Nagoya, over 160 miles to the south – much further away from the nuclear plant in Fukushima – to give birth. Recent news indicate that given the danger of high radiation levels due to the disaster at the plant, some pregnant women are fleeing the part of Japan struck by the tsunami.

This week, Hana made up her mind: she’s going to Nagoya to give birth. While preparing to be a first-time mother, she spoke to Primigravida about her experience and her concerns. Her descriptions were reminiscent of New Yorkers’ tales of 9/11.

Where were you when the quake happened?

I was in Kasumigaseki, where the government ministries are. I was training another reporter –  a woman who was going to replace me while I’m on maternity leave – and as we were walking outside, it just started shaking. It started slowly. At first I thought I was just dizzy – from the pregnancy. Then I realized that it was shaking really hard, and people were running outside the buildings and screaming. It lasted a long time, much more than ever before. I looked up and the trees and buildings were jiggling, almost like Jell-o. It was surreal.

We were told that it was too dangerous to go back to the office. So we tried to go home, but all the trains and subways were stopped. I was lucky to be offered a ride, but suddenly everyone was trying to travel in a car, which never happens in Tokyo, so the roads were like a parking lot. It took us about 2 ½ hours to get home, rather than the usual half hour. Had I walked home, as some people did, I would have had to walk five or six hours straight. People were concerned that I’d go into labor just from the shock of it. Read more…