By Every Family’s Got One Founder — Barbara Herel
With the average life expectancy for women in the U.S. being anywhere from 73 and a half to 86 years of age, I can tell you as the 54-year-old mother of a nine-year-old, if I kick when I am 73 and a half, I’m going to be pissed.
That said I always knew I’d be an older mom.
When my college friends were getting pregnant in their twenties and thirties, I never felt I was missing out. It was only after marrying my husband that I can truly say I caught “baby fever,” and by then I was 40.
“Perfect,” I thought. I knew plenty of 40-something women who successfully got pregnant with their 40-something eggs and gave birth to perfectly healthy babies. That would be me, too.
Why not? I never looked my age.
If someone asked, “How old are you?” I’d say without flinching, “I’m 40,” secretly thrilled to see their reaction. “I thought you were 30!” they’d say with disbelief. Oh, stop now… I reasoned if my outsides look 10-years younger than my biological age, shouldn’t my insides look just as good?
Apparently, this is not how it works. Needless to say, I now know plenty of 40-somethings with tired old eggs, me and my eggs included.
I was 44 when I looked to domestic adoption…
as my means to motherhood. During this time, my age, as far as I knew, was never perceived as a negative by my daughter’s biological mother. The month before she gave birth and relinquished her parental rights, I celebrated another birthday — and at the ripe older age of 45, I finally had a beautiful, healthy baby girl to love and look after.
It’s only within the last few years that I’ve begun feeling anxious about my age.
Maybe it’s because the newborn/toddler stage…
wrought with sleep deprivation and newfound new-mom worries, was such a blur. I constantly felt my brain stutter through every thought, I’d wind up saying things like, “She sick. Me crying.” (I’m still amazed I had that much clarity.)
But now that my daughter is nine, it seems I can clearly, if somewhat obsessively, contemplate my demise.
Yes, it’s all well and fine…
to look younger than my calendar years, but when I think about my age, the actual number—54—and the mortality stats, it’s shocking to consider the possibility that I could have only 20- or 30-something years left on this earth.
Shocking and quite unacceptable actually, since this means I might not be around to see my 20- or 30-something-year-old daughter’s career take off. Or help her plan her wedding, or see her through childbirth or the adoption process, or be a lunch date away from hearing about all the joys and sorrows that life will undoubtedly send her way.
But here’s what’s truly upsetting…
about being average when it comes to dying – I wouldn’t be around to see the day my daughter sees me, her mother, and her birth mother, through a grown-up lens.
What will it be like for her to fully grasp that we were human, just like her? That we were each figuring out our lives, each enduring our own disappointments, missteps, and blunders along the way.
Hopefully, she’ll look at us…
with understanding, kindness, and an empathetic eye roll, knowing in her heart that in spite of our inadequacies, and how crazy we drove her, we loved her. So very much and did our best by her. Who knows, maybe she’ll discover that we were even right about a few things, imagine that.
Well, I, for one, don’t want to miss it.
So other than trusting that genetics are on my side, and watching out for the errant bus as I cross the street, I have decided that “average” isn’t going to cut it.
I recently met with a nutritionist and have started eating a low-glycemic diet. And I am also kickboxing once or twice a week. Sure, it’s always nice to have a clear separation of thigh and butt, but these days my focus is on doing everything that’s in my control to have a healthy strong body and an energetic life – no matter how long it might be.
(Sigh….)
However, I’m shooting for 100. Who’s with me?
This story was originally published in Adoptive Families.
I’m with you, Barb! As one of your aforementioned college friends (who happily did my part in my 20’s and 30’s, blessed with bearing 4 beautiful babes), I’m with you! We are big, strong, healthy 50 year old girls and will continue to do our best for as long as we can!
Great story. Love your writing. I can hear you speaking as I read your words. Makes me feel … warm and fuzzy 🙂
xoxo
My sweet Jo!!! (And such beauties they are!) Seeing you and your beautiful energy does me a world of good too. Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts, my dear friend. xxx, Barbara
I am truly with you and even though I am a few years younger in my 40s and have never looked my age always looking not he younger side, since having kids I have felt my own mortality more so now. So I can totally relate here. But have hopes that I will also see 100 – fingers crossed! 🙂
100, 100, 100! That’s our chant, Janine! xo, Barbara
I’m hoping for the same thing. I’m 40 this year and it’s made me start thinking. I’ve got a 2 year old and I too want to be present for all that life throws at him. What a great reason to take care of yourself cause it’s hard to get motivated just for myself. But I’d do anything for my children.
All the thinking! Maddening! And I’m with you, Bri. It is a great motivator to drag my butt to my boxing class. xo, Barbara
I’m 53, born and adopted in 1965. My parents were definitely older parents, especially for their time – they were 44 and 45, both just months away from their next birthday when I was born, so, effectively, 45 and 46. By the time I was 3 years old, my mother was quite worried about dying and leaving me alone in the world. My parents adopted another child, my sister (no biological relation), when I was 8 years old and my sister was almost 5. Our adoption stories are quite different – I was adopted at birth and brought home from the hospital by my parents when I was 3 days old. My sister, however, had been through 3 different foster placements before she arrived in our household, This summer, in June, is the 45th anniversary of when my sister joined our family and that’s its own story – but my mother passed at age 81, just a couple months shy of her 82nd birthday. Yes, in a perfect world, I would want to have more time with her but if I had to choose between having a younger mom or having my own mother, knowing that she wouldn’t live until my 40th birthday, there’s nothing for me to consider. My parents were the best parents any child could ask for and I am always grateful that they eventually decided to start a family midway through their 40s. I can not imagine calling anyone else in the world Mommy and Daddy.
My point is simply that you’ll have whatever time you have and it will all be fine. I am grateful that I did the common adoptee “thing” and had children early – I was 19 when my son was born. Had I waited until the time I’d planned to have children, my son would have had far less time with all 4 of his grandparents in his life. By all means, do whatever you can to be here for as as long as you can be – but the important piece is to be the best parent you can be. The rest will all fall into place accordingly.
Camilla such wise words — “be the best parent you can be. The rest will all fall into place accordingly.” xo, Barbara
I’m so with you! We have very similar stories.: I watched most of my friends marry and start families in their 20s and 30’s. I married at 41, have always looked much younger than my age, hoped my eggs were as youthful and I felt, ( they weren’t), became a mother through adoption at 44 and again at 46. I don’t like to tell my age because it’s a reminder that I may not have the joy lof seeing my preteen kids raise their kids into adulthood. It’s possible, and like you I’m doing everything in my power to be the healthiest “older mom” ever, but I do sometimes worry that I may not be there to witness my kids reach all of their adult milestones. But who knows? My mom lived to be 90 so I’m banking on good genes and a healthy lifestyle to get me to 100!
Good genes go a long way! Thanks so much for sharing your story! xo, Barbara
If I take after my mom and her mom, I’ll be dying at age 60, in the month of May, in a bathroom. Jackson will be 30, and Cassie 24. I really hope I beat our weird family bathroom death curse.
NOOOOOOOOO!!!! Sending you some long-life (and bathroom-free incidents!) vibes!