It’s no secret that turning 40 comes with a big ole bag of expectations about what your life should look like – who you should “be.” My younger self had specific notions about where I should be in my career and family life. I also had strong opinions of the things I’d never do as a “middle-aged mom” (incidentally, my 40-year-old self has some strong opinions about that label). And I can tell you that the reality of turning 40 looks nothing like that young girl’s wildest dreams.
When I was 10, those dreams were all about my future family. I didn’t have a timeline or a plan. Just a dream of my three kids, a dog, and a husband that came out of a Disney story.
When I was 23, I was pretty certain I’d be living the high life in New York City with my college sweetheart. I’d play the starving artist gig, cranking out novels in a Greenwich Village coffee shop. There would be plenty of time for kids, and when they came, it would be just like the Brady Bunch. Or any cheesy rom-com.
When I was 30, my heart was a little more tarnished and weary. And single. I thought about maybe adopting. I threw myself into the glamour of traveling for a job and for fun, even while the weight of wanting a family weighed heavily on my heart.
When I was 33, I finally met the one. He’d been there all along, and I just never saw him. With him came two of the three kids I’d dreamed about: instant bonuses. It wasn’t how I’d planned on having kids. But it was good.
When I was 35, I said hello to the third baby. I held her perfect sweetness in my arms and fell in love. Although, if I’m being honest, it wasn’t actually love at first sight; for a little while, complete and utter terror trumped any other emotion. Until it didn’t, and then there was just a fierce, consuming love.
When I was 40, with a 5-year-old ready to start kindergarten, I’d be on the older end of moms in the school pick-up line. And I started to worry about being 50 with a 15-year-old. I started to worry that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with my high-schooler, let alone my grandkids.
But when I was 40, I realized that all my dreaming and discouragement, all my worries of a belated timeline, of a “geriatric pregnancy” label — were all for nothing. I was right where I needed to be at the exact time.
When I was 40, I had the patience to endure those toddler tantrums that didn’t exist in my 20’s.
When I was 40, I had the awareness to embrace the personality God gave each of my kids instead of the disappointment I’d have felt in my immaturity if they didn’t align with my expectations. I had the maturity to mold my parenting to their personalities.
When I was 40, I had the wisdom to know when to call for backup because I just can’t do it all. And to know that sometimes backup means seeking professional help to heal old wounds – a thought that I would have been too proud or arrogant to admit in any decade until now.
When I was 40, I had the stories to tell my kids about every adventure I never would have had if they’d come 15 years earlier. I had the experience to teach them new cultures outside of our little town.
To all you Mamas who are slaying this thing called mommy-hood in your 20’s and early 30’s: rock on! But for those of us who waited a little longer for that role — wasn’t it worth the wait?
Preach it Becky!!! God’s timing is always perfect! Great perspective! I’m almost 47 with a 1 year old and I wouldn’t have it any other way!!
Thank you! I love it! Give that sweet 1 year old a hug for me.
Thank you for this. My first is soon to be 13 and I just had my second baby two weeks ago at 43. Sometimes I need a little reminder that I’m not crazy for starting this journey all over again ❤️
That’s wonderful! Congrats! You’re not crazy at all! I have a friend in her 40’s ready to have baby #2… which incidentally has given me baby fever of my own 😊
PREACH!!! Thank you as always for your honest thoughts, it’s refreshing!! <3 You are an amazing woman!
Thank you! You’re too sweet ❤️
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