The answer ended up being 28, and it wasn’t even close. Because Brady’s due date and my birthday were so close together, we wondered how old I would be when I became a mom.
Brady’s due date was April 18th, 2017. When Brady measured small at the 20 week appointment, we landed on a track of frequent and increased monitoring. At our 23 week appointment, our perinatologist told us that Brady would most likely come early, but they couldn’t speculate how early that would be. They said Brady could come as late as 39 weeks, but they would not allow him to go to 40 or more. Obviously, the goal would be to keep Brady in there as long as possible, so 39 weeks became my goal.
That’s when the dream hatched in my mind.
I am not a big fan of birthdays. I am annoyed annually by my (well-intentioned) family wanting to celebrate with me. I’m someone who would much rather do nothing out of the ordinary on their birthday. Cooking dinner and sitting on the couch watching TV sounds pretty amazing.
Brady coming at 39 weeks would mean that we’d share a birthday. It would mean that I could spend the rest of my life making April 11th all about my son’s birthday, and nothing about mine. It seemed ideal for all of those reasons. It would give Brady maximum time on the inside and give me minimal birthday stress for the rest of my years.
Unfortunately, things didn’t work out the way we hoped they would. It seems silly now to have hoped for something as insignificant as sharing a birthday. When Brady was born over 3 months early, sharing a birthday with him was the last thing on my mind. It’s just another glaring example of the naiveté that encompasses all mothers that have never experienced a loss.