Forever Young


A mom holding her daugher.There are too many candles on my cake. I know, 40 isn’t that old. It’s the new 30, right? Well, I practically had a nervous breakdown when I turned 30, so this turning 40 thing can’t be worse, right? RIGHT? Please tell me it can’t be worse.

Motherhood came to me later than most of the women I know. Most of those my age have a couple of children old enough to be in school already or were pregnant with their third or fourth, as I was with my first.

For so long, I was fine not having children, but I woke up on my 33rd birthday knowing it was now time to have one – as if it was as easy as saying, “It’s time to have a baby.”

Age isn’t pregnancy’s friend, and I was no exception. Almost three years later, I finally found myself awaiting the birth of our daughter. Oddly enough, I had put an end date (i.e., the end of trying for a baby) one month before my 36th birthday, and I found out I was pregnant just a week or so before then.

I rarely think about my age on a day-to-day basis, but it does creep up on me, like the growing number of aches in my knees and back as I pick up my daughter, my lack of memory recall (residual mommy brain?) or even my waning fertility.

Let’s face it, though, when you see ads and commercials that include small children, they include mothers that look very young – or rather, in my head, much younger than me.

I can’t say that I would have appreciated being a mom when I was younger. That’s not a dig on young moms. Not at all. I just now I wasn’t in the right state of mind ten years ago. In fact, when I woke up on that fateful birthday and had my baby epiphany, I don’t think I was as mentally ready as I thought I was.

Perhaps it was the years of waiting that brought me to this point. Perhaps years of watching others do it before me? Dare I say age? Personal growth? Maturity? Nope…that sounds like something an old person would say.

Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.
― C.S. Lewis



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