Late to the Game

On turning 44 as a new mom, aging, and letting go of timelines

“Do one thing every day that scares you.” - Eleanor Roosevelt

Today, it’s starting this Substack, as a birthday gift to myself. I’ll be writing honestly about motherhood, aging, identity, infertility, and all the messy moments in between. I hope you’ll stick around for more of the story.

Age is just a number…right?

Today is my 44th birthday. I started the day snuggling with my nearly 6 month old, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude mixed with the aching awareness of being ‘late’ to the game.

Historically, for a woman, age (or perhaps time) has been somewhat of an adversary. Women do a litany of things to defy age: lie about it, pile on makeup, get scrubs, peels, masks, botox, plastic surgery- the list is endless.

Some of it is vanity for sure. For centuries women have been entrenched with the belief that their looks are their greatest asset, but they are also fleeting and therefore so is their worth. So of course we cling to our youthful glow or cosplay it for as long as we possibly can, else we must concede that our ‘best years’ have passed us.

Look at the Golden Girls for example - and do the math. Blanche was supposed to be in her early 50’s despite looking like what I would say is closer to 60’s or 70’s by today's standards.

I distinctly remember my parents attending ‘over the hill’ parties for their friends celebrating a 40th (!!!) birthday. Back when society thought 39 was the last socially acceptable birthday to celebrate because then it is all downhill from there. Now that I am on the backside of this slope, the thought horrifies me.

This is especially true when it comes to motherhood. Fertility peaks in your twenties and then drops precipitously in your thirties until you fall off a geriatric cliff somewhere before 40. We’ve been programmed to think that in our 40’s we are past our prime, because biologically speaking that's true. Yet, thanks to assisted reproductive technologies (ART) like egg freezing, IUI and IVF, and women refusing to be constrained by a biological timeline, our 40’s are the new 30’s.

And why not? We are more financially secure (hopefully), more stable in our careers and relationships; we have had more life experiences, and are in a better position to raise the next generation with patience, wisdom and a steady hand.

But that does not lessen the complicated relationship we women have with age. As I age, I get more self-conscious about how big that number is getting. The dreaded ‘middle age’ label; the surveys asking your age and suddenly you’re in the bracket that no longer includes numbers in the 30’s. Anyone who runs races knows that once you hit 40 you qualify for ‘Masters’ which is how athletes are respectfully told they aren’t able to compete with the young kids anymore.

And now I have an infant, I am keenly aware that parenting is still mostly done by those a decade or more younger than me. I find myself trying to guess the ages of the women I see out with kids of a similar age. I cringe at the thought that someone will mistake me for a grandparent. What will it be like to find play dates for her? Or attend school functions? Will she be embarrassed that we are so much older than the other parents?

But what keeps me up at night more than any judgment or social awkwardness is this: time is finite. I will only get so much time with her. And no matter how much it is, it already feels like it won’t be enough. The days are long, but they’re flying by. I’m not just marveling at how fast she’s growing, I’m acutely aware of how quickly time is moving.

Some may think that having her at our age is selfish - because we won't be around long enough. We are fortunate to be in great health. I don't wake up with the aches and pains so ubiquitously mocked and lamented on social media. We hope that chasing after her will keep us young and on our toes.

And two decades working in a trauma center has also repeatedly taught me that the universe is a cold, indiscriminate place. We’ve already had a taste of that on the journey that got us here. Old age is a luxury and not a guarantee regardless of how well you eat, exercise, or prepare.

These are all the worries I try not to dwell on. We only get to do this once. I have plenty of things that I’m losing sleep over; I can’t let my age be one of them. If I were clever enough I’d collect some witty, self-deprecating one-liners to keep in my back pocket but sadly that has never been one of my strengths.

I firmly believe the benefits of the life I am able to provide for my sweet girl will far outweigh any negatives of being an older parent. I mean, kids think their parents are old no matter what, right? Maybe I’m not doing so bad after all.

So today on my 44th birthday, I’m letting go of the timeline I thought I missed. Instead I choose to live in the gratitude that this is a good problem to have, holding onto the tiny hands that were worth the wait.