“Had a baby at nearly 50! What were you thinking?” my family scolded over the phone.
Im 46. A month ago, I gave birth to twinsa boy named Arthur and a girl named Eleanor. Words cant describe what I feel when I look at thempure happiness, joy, tears, warmth inside. Honestly, its overwhelming.
But neither my mum nor my sister bothered to come to the hospital when I was discharged. My husbands relatives ignored the birth too, all because of our age.
Truth be told, I never thought much about having kids when I was young. I was carefree, out clubbing, dancing the night away. What more could a girl want? Cocktails, admirers, wild nights. My heart sang with joy.
Then at 22, I met Oliver. Handsome, with that beard and glasses, and such a sharp wit. Women flocked to him, but he chose me. I wont lieit did wonders for my confidence. Oliver had a flat, a car, a family business. His parents owned a chain of clothing shops in town and made good money.
I thought Id found my Prince Charming. Oliver was my ticket to an easy, happy life. I dreamed of the wedding, the perfect dress, a honeymoon in Egypt.
But for him, it was never serious. I stayed at his place for a month before he changed the locks and dumped my things outsidewhile I was getting a manicure! All he said was, “Were from different worlds. Youre not right for me.” Like I was some mismatched shoe!
The breakup wrecked me. I lost over two stone, looked like a ghost. My hair fell out; I wore wigs or hats. My health took a hitthe sudden weight loss messed with my system. I had surgery, took meds, even tried herbal remedies. Nothing worked.
So I focused on my career. I loved doing nails, so I trained as a manicurist. Luckily, clients paid well. I took out a loan, bought a small two-bed flat, saved up for a car. By 33, Id opened my own salon. A few young girls work with me now.
Then, two years ago, I met Daniel. He worked nearby, popped in one day to break a £20 note. That was itI fell for him. We moved in quickly, got married, and started trying for kids.
Nothing happened, given our age. So I went for IVF. I prayed every day, begging God to let me be a mum, to give me this chance.
And He listened. I had two healthy babies; the birth went smoothly.
“Have you lost your mind? Babies at your age? Did you even think this through?” my mum snapped over the phone.
“Good grief, Ill be a grandmother soon, and youre having a child? Sis, youre too old for this!” my sister shrieked.
Not one relative supported us. Only Daniel and a photographer waited outside the hospital. We took a few keepsake photos and went home.
The twins are a month old now. My mum and sister still refuse to visit. They say Ive shamed them, having kids this late.
But is it wrong to want a family? Is that really such a sin?
