“You had a baby at nearly 50? What on earth were you thinking?” scolded my family over the phone.
Im 46. A month ago, I gave birth to twinsa boy named Oliver and a girl named Emily. Words cant describe what I feel when I look at them. Happiness, joy, tears, warmth insideit nearly bursts out of me, truly.
Yet neither my mother nor my sister came to the hospital when I was discharged. My husbands family ignored the birth too. All because of our age.
I never thought much about children, honestly. I was young, carefree, dancing in nightclubs. What more could a girl want? Cocktails, admirers, late nightsmy heart sang with joy.
Then, at 22, I met James. Handsome, with a beard and glasses, and oh, how he made me laugh. Women chased him, but he chose me. It did wonders for my confidence. James had a flat, a car, a family businesshis parents owned clothing shops in London, making good money.
I thought Id found my prince. He was my ticket to a happy, easy life. I dreamed of a wedding, a gorgeous dress, a honeymoon in Egypt.
But for James, this wasnt serious. I lived in his flat for just a month before he changed the locks and dumped my belongings outsidewhile I was at the salon getting my nails done. All he said was, *Were from different worlds. Youre not the one for me.* As if I were some mismatched shoe!
The breakup wrecked me. I lost two stone, wandering like a ghost. My hair fell outwigs and hats became my shield. My health suffered badly. The weight loss wrecked my hormones. I had surgeries, took medication, even tried herbal remedies. Nothing worked.
So I focused on my career. I loved painting nails, so I became a manicurist. Thankfully, clients flocked, paying well. I took out a loan, bought a small two-bed flat, saved for a car. By 33, Id opened my own salon. Young girls worked with me.
Then, two years ago, I met Daniel. He worked nearby, popping in once to break a £20 note. I fell in love all over again. We moved fastmoved in, married. Of course, we thought of children.
Nothing happenedour age was against us. So I turned to IVF. I prayed every night, *Please, God, let me be a mother, the best one I can be.*
And God listened. I gave birth to two healthy babies; the birth was smooth.
“Have you lost your mind? Children at your age? Did you even think this through?” my mother hissed over the phone.
“Good Lord, Ill be a grandmother soon, and youre having babies? Sister, youre too old for this!” my sister shrieked.
No one in the family supported us. So outside the hospital, only Daniel and a photographer waited. We took a few keepsake photos, then drove home.
The babies are a month old now. Neither my mother nor my sister will visit. They say Ive shamed them in front of the whole town. Because I dared to have children at my age.
But is it a crime to want a family? Is that such a sin?
