Being an Older Mom
By: Mary Weidler
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| Just when I thought I've heard every insult known to man or beast (you should hear what my cat calls me!), I've been hit with another, this one more cruel, more cutting, more...well, accurate...than any I've heard before.
I am an "old mom." |
| I must admit that I am solely responsible for this condition. (Well, okay, maybe not solely, but the brunt of the blame is mine to bear -- that's how childbirth works, right?) I mean, all along I knew I'd be an old mom. In fact, that's what I planned for and counted on. "I'm not having any children until after I'm thirty," I would tell my college roommates and, later, first-job friends. They'd look at me in disbelief and comment, "But, Mary, how will you keep up with them? By that time you'll be so, well, old!" |
| "I have too much to do before I'm ready for kids," I'd reply as they turned back to their "101 names for our future children" lists. "If I wait until after thirty, I'll be ready." It was as much prayer as promise. |
| But you know how it goes when it comes to kids. You can plan all you want, but they come when they're supposed to, and what can you do? When Courtney arrived, I was in my mid-twenties, not at all a "young mom," but still feeling a bit skeptical about the change of plans and priorities. I had to drain the measly savings I had accumulated (I was saving for a trip to London) because, after all, babies needed stuff..and they needed it NOW. The trip to Beatles country can wait, but just try telling your infant daughter that she doesn't need a stroller, bassinette, Playtex nursers and a year's supply of onesies right away. |
| But the bigger surprise came years later, at the birth of my youngest son, Max. This time, I was over thirty. In fact, I was so over thirty that my pregnancy was automatically classified as "high risk" due to "advanced maternal age". (That's a nice way of saying "what in the world were you thinking?") I was 35, an "old pro" at pregnancy, and a mom with (at that point) over ten years experience under my ever-expanding belt (spandex of course..I had given up belt with buckles and holes a couple of kids back). |
| But, despite my mothering resume and advancing age, I really wasn't much more prepared for Max than I was for Courtney. |
| It's easy to tell the difference between the young moms (those that are often mistaken for their child's big sister) and we of the slightly older persuasion. If you're not quite sure, check out these tell-tale signs: |
| Of course, there are benefits to being an older mom. We may not have the energy to run the kids from place to place, but sometimes slowing down to blow pufferballs or read "Green Eggs And Ham" for the fifty seventh times does bring its own special joy. (And we older moms are the very best for reading to our little ones - after all, our laps are bigger and more worn-in!) |
| And, after all, there is a fate worse than being an old mom. I was reminded of this when I tried talking to a "like soul" at my son's roller skating party. She looked to be about my age; her hair was a bit grayer and her mannerisms more relaxed. As a pair of new moms rollerbladed by, I whispered to her, "Oh, well, I guess us old moms just can't keep up." |
| "You think you got it bad?" my co-conspirator replied. "I have it worse."
"What could be worse than being an old mom?" I asked. She smiled. "I'm a young grandmom." |
