It's hard to believe. My baby David turns twenty-one today. A lot of this story is sad, but it comes full circle with peerless joy.

I was thirty-eight when David was born, and considered very old to be having a baby. I was ahead of the times, because now it's de rigueur to postpone starting families.

There's no right or wrong as far as I'm concerned regarding baby timetables, because I did it both ways. I have three splendid children. Chase is thirty-five and lives in Kansas City, Missouri, the city of his childhood. Rachel is thirty-three and lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon. Between them there are four grandchildren. David is a junior at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York.

When I started having babies our nation was on the cusp of two-income households. It was the onset of an era when women built careers before building families. I didn't take that route. I considered my children and husband my career. It was very unfashionable and I fell into the self-deprecating trap of calling myself just a housewife. I look back and wish I'd been more proud of my choices.

Anyway, I married young and started having children. We were the tidy American dream - a boy, a girl, and a picket fence.

Then one morning, when Chase and Rachel were nearing Junior High age, I suspected much to my extreme horror that I might be pregnant. The pharmaceutical strip turned pink, purple, orange, green -whatever. I was pregnant. I turned red.

Boy howdy, did I ever pitch a fit. I did the typical female thing. With my hands placed firmly on my slender hips I screeched at my husband, "How could you do this to me?"

Poor bastard.

I wailed that I was poised to become a professional lady-of-lunches, and was playing tennis three times a week, golf once or twice. I was ready to reap the rewards of semi-retirement.

Well, I was very pregnant and unhappy, but by nightfall I was madly and passionately and hopelessly in love with the tiny life inside me. I weep now just to think of the metamorphosis that took place within mere hours. To add to our pleasure, Chase and Rachel were excited about having a little brother or sister.

Into the six month of pregnancy I lost the baby. A little girl. No medical explanation could be given. I was certain I'd done something wrong. My God. Who else could be blamed? My body had been entrusted with precious cargo, which I had lost.

I became hollow with all the emptiness I felt. I retreated to our bedroom and sobbed with heartbreaking heaves. I can remember simply sitting in bed, staring at nothing as the window sheers hypnotically fluttered to spring's gentle breezes. I wanted to accuse someone of putting a boulder on my chest - something was so heavy, so painful, I couldn't breathe. It was profound sorrow that was suffocating me.

I can't remember how long I remained in that state. I vaguely remember people begging me to pull myself together for the sake of the other two children. It was as if they were talking to me from the end of a very long tunnel. Voice tones came to me in echoing waves that blurred once they reached my ears. The guilt was unbearable - I had lost the baby I hadn't wanted.

The second pregnancy ended at about three months. I vividly remember sitting at an elegant dinner party - laughing and savoring fine foods and the company of fine friends, who joyfully toasted my pregnancy. Unbeknownst to my companions, before the first course was finished, so was the pregnancy. I sat there, still as the death that was happening, and felt life slip away between my legs. My husband and I quietly excused ourselves.

It was what people called "for the best." Of course it was, because the pregnancy had been nothing but a tangle of genetic errors, which my body rejected. But I was bitter with the cruelty of it all.

Before we tried a third pregnancy, we decided to consult a specialist. You must wonder why we continued to try to get pregnant, because initially I'd been so angry. It can only be explained that I fell in love with a concept and became irrationally determined to have a third baby in my arms. Luncheons, tennis, and golf suddenly meant nothing to me.

I yearned. I yearned for middle-of-the-night feedings when all is still - the only noise being the eager suckling of a baby at my breast, a fount of nourishment. I yearned for the scent of talcum, lazy afternoon strolls in the park, and watching a toddler's first unsteady steps. I yearned for Chutes and Ladders, reading Goodnight Moon a zillion times, and making gooey cupcakes with sprinkles. Ahhh, and homemade Valentine cards with doilies and flour paste. I yearned.

The specialist told me there was no possible way for me to go full term - my body needed to be repaired. It was a problem that could easily be corrected, but one that would have gone undetected if not for the miscarriages. No drastic measures or medicines were required, just a simple adjustment with outpatient care.

The diagnosis gave me permission to forgive myself.

It took a while for me to get pregnant again, but David arrived in his own sweet time on 2/22/85 - about three years after the first pregnancy. He shares his birthday with US Presidents, which suggests a promising future. His full name is David Richard Bean II. He's named after a beloved uncle he never knew.

The pain that accompanies the kind of loss I experienced never really goes away, and that's not a bad thing. Loss has graced me with a greater awareness of all the blessings that have anointed my life. Importantly, without the losses, there never would have been a David. He's the nicest gift 'ever given myself, and he's brought me more joy than a person deserves. I'm unable to grasp the concept of life without him. As we've chugged along, David has been my happy little caboose.

I tell people that Chase and Rachel benefited from my youth. As an older parent, I've given David my wisdom, what little I have. All three have flourished to become bright and beautiful and responsible. My children are the best ever accomplishment - and my gift to the universe.

Now scat! Go hug someone, anyone, even yourself - we all were cherished children once, and God willing, we're still a bit childlike. xoxo

P.S. Happy Birthday, David. I love you more than all the lampposts in the world. You have the best day possible, because you are the best.