“Did you have a baby at nearly 50? What were you thinking?” my relatives scolded over the phone.
Im 46. A month ago, I gave birth to twinsa boy named Arthur and a girl named Emily. Words cant describe what I feel when I look at them. Happiness, joy, tears, warmth insideits overwhelming, honestly.
Yet neither my mother nor my sister came to the hospital when we were discharged. My husbands family ignored the birth too. All because of our age.
I never thought much about children when I was younger. I was carefree, enjoying lifeclubs, dancing, cocktails, flirting, late nights. My heart sang with happiness.
Then, at 22, I met Oliver. Handsome, bearded, glasses, and such a witty sense of humour. Women flocked to him, but he chose me. I wont lieit did wonders for my confidence. He had a flat, a car, a family business. His parents owned several clothing shops in London and made good money.
I thought Id found my prince on a white horse. Oliver was my ticket to an easy life. I dreamed of a fairytale wedding, a beautiful dress, a honeymoon in Egypt.
But to him, it 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.” As if I were a mismatched shoe!
The breakup shattered me. I lost two stone, looked like a ghost. My hair fell outI wore wigs or hats. My health suffered. Rapid weight loss wrecked my system. I had surgery, took medicine, even tried herbal remedies. Nothing worked.
So I threw myself into my career. I loved doing nails, so I trained as a manicurist. Luckily, clients came often and paid well. I took out a loan, bought a small two-bed flat, saved for a car, and at 33, opened my own beauty salon. Now I have a team of young women working with me.
Two years ago, I met Daniel. He worked nearby and popped in one day to change a £20 note. That was itI fell in love again. We moved in together quickly, married, and decided to try for children.
Nothing happenedour age was against us. So I turned to IVF. I prayed every night, begging God to make me a mother.
And He listened. I gave birth to two healthy babies, an easy delivery.
“Have you lost your mind? Children at your age? Did you even think?” my mother snapped over the phone.
“Good Lord, Ill be a grandmother soon, and youre having babies? Sis, youre too old for this!” my sister shouted.
No one in the family supported us. Only Daniel and a photographer waited outside the hospital. We took a few keepsake photos and went home.
The babies are a month old now. Neither my mother nor my sister will visit. They say Ive shamed themthat having children this late is a disgrace.
But is it wrong to want a family? Is that really such a sin?
