“You had a baby at nearly fifty? What on earth were you thinking?” my family scolded over the phone.
Im forty-six. 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. Joy, tears, warmthits overwhelming, truly.
Yet neither my mother nor my sister came to the hospital. My husbands relatives ignored the birth too. All because of our age.
I never thought about children when I was younghonestly. I was carefree, living for nights out in clubs, dancing till dawn. What more could a girl want? Cocktails, admirers, laughter. My heart sang with happiness.
Then, at twenty-two, I met James. Handsome, bearded, with glasses and a sharp wit. Women flocked to him, but he chose me. It did wonders for my confidence. He had a flat, a car, a family businesshis parents owned clothing shops in Manchester, making good money.
I thought Id found my knight in shining armour. James was my ticket to an easy life. I dreamed of weddings, honeymoons in Spain, everything.
But for him, it was never serious. I lived at his place for just a month before he changed the locks and dumped my things 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 heartbreak wrecked me. I lost two stone, looked like a ghost. My hair fell outI wore wigs or hats. My health suffered badly. The weight loss ruined my system. I had surgery, took medicine, even tried herbal remedies. Nothing worked.
So I threw myself into my career. I loved nail art, so I trained as a manicurist. Clients came, money followed. I took a mortgage on a small flat, saved for a car. By thirty-three, I had my own beauty salon. Bright young girls work for me now.
Then, two years ago, I met Daniel. He worked nearby, popped in once to break a fifty-pound note. And just like that, I fell in love again. We moved in quickly, married. Of course, we wanted children.
Nothing happenedour age was against us. So I tried IVF. I prayed every night, begging God for a baby, swearing Id be the best mother.
He answered. I had two healthy babies. The birth was smooth.
“Have you lost your mind? Children at your age? Did you think this through?” my mother snapped over the phone.
“Good Lord, Ill be a grandmother soon, and youre having a baby? Sister, youre too old for this!” my sister shrieked.
No one supported us. So outside the hospital, only Daniel and a photographer waited. We took a few keepsake pictures and drove home.
The babies are a month old now. Neither my mother nor my sister will visit. They say Ive shamed themhow dare I have children so late?
But is it wrong to want a family? Is that really a sin?
