Many Wrongs Make a Right

Okay, this may officially qualify as TMI, but with St. Patty's Day fast approaching, I thought I would tackle the subject anyways.  One year ago, I was returning from an Alaskan adventure that can best be described as the most fun you can have with mittens on.  I had the privilege of working for nearly 2 weeks as a veterinarian on the Iditarod Trail during the sled dog race and it was exhilarating!  The last thing on my mind was the idea of having a kid.  In fact, by embracing the freedom of flying in a 2-seater across the vast expanse of the Alaskan range while living spontaneously in the moment briefly made me the unsung hero for childless women everywhere.  After all, once a squealing package of leaking, gurgling humanity enters a woman's world, reckless abandon is a thing of the past; previous adventure serves only as a warm spark of memory to keep one's mind lucid during an all-night scream-a-thon with the little tyke.

In hindsight, I did everything wrong.  If there had been a plan to make a baby last March, there are many things that I would have done differently.  In the over-40 set, women go to great lengths to become fertility goddesses.  Caffeine, alchohol, aluminum-based deodorants, and kitty litter are all things to be shunned like Nancy Pelosi avoiding the mirror (and truth and tact...).  Forget "sugar, spice, and everything nice":  temperature-taking, perfectly-timed trysts with the hubby, and ovulation calendars are the things little girls are made of in the real world. 

Instead, the two weeks preceding our rendevous with destiny was a whirlwind of sleepless nights, caffeine-induced hysteria, and 60-below wind-chills.  I subsisted on a sickly combination of trail mix, instant coffee, velveeta and adreneline while sleeping on cots, gym floors, and snowbanks. I logged thousands of air miles, countless back-breaking dog-straddling hours with the Iditarod teams, and covered more trail than desired with an oversized pack on my back.  The time before, after, and in-between the race was spent in serious contemplation of local Alaskan brews (Alaskan Smoked Porter forever has a place in my heart). 

Clearly, this would not be seen as an ideal fertility plan.  I flew back from Alaska after 2 hours of sleep, lost 4 more hours on the trip home, gave my wonderful dog and even better husband a big smack on the lips, said, "Happy St. Patty's Day!" and then went to bed.  Speaking now in Seinfeldese, "Yada, yada, yada...10 days later, I had a positive pregnancy test."  Whether you blame it on hearts grown fonder, Aurora Borealis, or the aphrodesiac qualities of airline peanuts (explains the Mile High club, doesn't it?), something mysterious and wonderful transpired for which I will be forever grateful. 

And you know the old wives tale that says that a baby will take on characteristics surrounding the circumstances of their conception?  Can't wait to see how that turns out.  I picture Izzy one day mushing a dog-team, drinking green beer, and wondering how she ended up in Nome.