Mr. Ex is a new daddy.
By virtue of human biology, he begins anew on a path that for me is lost. Mother Nature made things that way and it's hard to think of it as wrong. But.
My father was 55 when I was born. My mother was 26 years younger than my father. He was a widower. My mother worked as a hostess at a restaurant called The Chateau and the bartender there introduced them. A couple of months later, they married. A year and ten months after that, there he was gray-haired and a tad thick around the middle, with a baby in his arms.
I have two younger brothers--one 4 years younger & and the other 7 years younger. Go ahead. Do the math. And then guess how the numbers played out. I was 19 when my father died. My brothers were 12 and 15. But, I'd never say he shouldn't have had us. My father sat in his chair at the head of the dinner table every night---and he was present. Really, truly there.
I believe in second chances. A second chance gave me my son--lost 21 years to adoption. And that same second chance allowed my daughters to know and love their older brother. Now through a different sort of second chance, they have a baby brother. When I think of it that way, it's hard to be bitter. But.
As I sit by my mother's hospital bed, I think what a comfort it would be to have my husband there with us. To know that he'd make good on the promise to care for her in her final years. To know he'd be there for me when my time came, or me for him. It does seem wrong to have the focus pulled to birth, when it's death that's knocking on my door.