**Diary Entry – A Surprise at Forty-Seven**
*”You’re mad to have a baby at your age! You’re forty-seven!”* My best mate and work colleague, Val, was practically shouting at me.
*”What else am I supposed to do, Val? The baby’s already on the way,”* I shrugged, feeling oddly defensive.
*”Oh, come off it! You sound like some old biddy from the Victorian era. There are plenty of ways to deal with this. Pills, a procedure—”*
*”Val, I’m not killing my child!”* I cut her off sharply. *”Who knows if I’ll even carry to term? But if it’s God’s will, they’ll be born.”*
*”Fine, suit yourself,”* Val scoffed, throwing her hands up. *”You’re being daft.”*
I walked home in a daze, torn between regretting telling Val before my partner, James, and feeling oddly relieved that I’d made up my mind. Strangely, her harsh words only strengthened my resolve. Now, I had to break the news to my mum and my grown son, Oliver.
I wasn’t worried about James. He’d always wanted a child, ever since we got together.
We’d moved in ten years ago, after my divorce from Oliver’s father, Robert. The split was quick—the judge barely needed to hear my side before ruling in my favour. Robert had shown up drunk to court, and the magistrate took one look at him and said, *”Clear enough. Petitioner, you’re well rid of this one.”*
That same day, Robert vanished, swearing he wouldn’t pay a penny in child support. I didn’t even bother chasing him. I was just grateful to be free of him. Back then, I swore off men for good.
Then James started at our factory. He flirted in that rough-around-the-edges way of his, and I liked it. Within a month, we were dating. A month after that, he met Oliver, who took to him straight away.
*”Uncle James, you should come over again,”* Oliver had said.
*”Alright, I will.”*
And he did—bringing sweets and a little gift for the boy. Before long, he was staying over most nights. Then, suddenly, he was living with us.
*”Katie, have a little girl for me,”* James asked a year later. I was thirty-eight then and thought it too late. Embarrassed, I just shrugged… but secretly, I got a coil fitted.
Around the time we started talking about kids, James’s ex-wife decided to take a spa break—but their daughter, Emily, had caught a cold and couldn’t go.
*”Could you look after Emily for a few days?”* she asked me.
I didn’t mind. Emily was a sweet, well-behaved girl. But then his ex started calling daily from the spa, and James would chat away. It made me uneasy—like old feelings were creeping back. I loved James and couldn’t bear losing him. So I decided then and there: *I’d give him a daughter, just to be sure.*
But after removing the coil, nothing happened. I saw a doctor, had tests—all clear. They suggested James get checked, but by then he’d changed his mind.
*”I’m not going to any clinic! If it’s not happening, maybe it’s for the best. We’ve got Emily and Oliver—soon enough, we’ll have grandkids.”*
No matter how I pleaded, James refused. So I let it go. And then—just like that—it happened.
*”Six weeks. Pregnancy progressing normally. Strong heartbeat…”*
*”How on earth will I carry a baby at forty-seven?”* I asked the doctor.
She smiled. *”You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. Women do it—and raise happy, healthy children. Though it’s your choice, of course.”*
I wavered, so I told Val first. Her reaction only steeled my resolve.
*”No. No one’s talking me out of this now. I’m having this baby!”* I thought, walking home. I called James and said we needed to talk.
*”What’s happened?”* he asked the moment I stepped inside.
*”Not just me. Us. We’re going to be parents.”*
*”You’re pregnant?”*
*”Six weeks. I had a scan today.”*
*”Bloody hell, Katie! We’re nearly fifty! How’re we going to manage?”*
*”James! We’ll manage—somehow! Could you at least try to be happy?”*
*”No, no, I am! I swear!”* He pulled me into a hug. *”Just panicked a bit. But you’re right. We’ll make it work. I’ve been meaning to set up a workshop in the shed—take on extra jobs. Now I’ve got a real reason to.”*
*”Good. We’ll need the money.”*
With James on board, I told Mum the next day. She’d had me at thirty-nine, so I thought she’d understand. But she didn’t.
*”Do you know the risks at your age? The chances of complications? Don’t be foolish—sort it out now.”*
*”Mum, really? Wouldn’t you love another grandchild?”*
*”I’m too old for babysitting! I’ll need looking after myself soon!”*
*”Nonsense! You’re fit as a fiddle!”*
*”Don’t be daft. And don’t count on me. I raised Oliver for you—this one’s on you.”*
*”I’ve got James!”*
*”Oh, him. Not even your husband.”*
*”What does that matter? Robert was my husband, and look how that turned out!”*
*”Fine. Go on then. Run after him like some young bride!”*
I left, stomach churning. By the time I got home, I felt dizzy and cramping. James was at work, so I called an ambulance.
*”Your blood pressure’s high. You’re pregnant? I’d advise hospital,”* the paramedic said. I agreed.
The next day, the consultant was blunt. *”If you want to keep this baby, you’ll likely be bedridden most of the pregnancy.”*
*”Then I’ll stay in bed,”* I said firmly.
James promised to handle everything—even checking on Mum. *”Thanks, love,”* I said. *”She’s terrified of being forgotten.”*
*”Terrified enough to scare you half to death.”*
*”Don’t be cross. She’s just getting on.”*
*”I know. I’m used to her by now. She’s a right piece of work.”*
*”She’s not even your mother-in-law,”* I murmured.
*”Easily fixed. After the baby’s born. Right now, you can’t even get out of bed to say ‘I do.’”*
*”Was that a proposal?”*
*”Suppose it was.”*
*”Then yes!”*
*”Good. I’ve already told Oliver we’re getting married. And about the baby. He’s chuffed—says it’ll be a brother.”*
*”The little sneak! No wonder he didn’t ask why I was in hospital. I was so worried how he’d take it.”*
*”Stop fretting. I’ll sort everything. Just rest.”*
I spent months in hospital. It was gruelling. James visited most days; Oliver called (he was finishing uni and couldn’t travel). But I missed Mum’s support. Val never called after our row, either. Even the news that the baby was healthy didn’t ease the sting of those silences.
At thirty-six weeks, the doctors scheduled a C-section. I tried calling James—no answer. Oliver couldn’t reach him either. In desperation, I rang Val.
*”Val, I can’t get hold of James. I’m going into surgery—”*
*”Katie, don’t worry. I’ll find him. I’ll call back!”*
The line went dead. Hours passed. *”She must not have found him. Or didn’t even try,”* I thought bitterly, dialling James again and again.
As they wheeled me to theatre, I spotted Val and James sprinting down the corridor.
*”Katie! His phone died! I drove him here. We’ll be waiting—don’t worry!”* Val babbled.
Soon, the midwife smiled at me. *”Congratulations, it’s a boy!”*
*”What? They said it was a girl!”*
*”Next time,”* she laughed.
*”There won’t be a next time! A boy’s perfect.”*
I recovered quickly and was discharged early. Val didn’t come—James collected me alone. A small
