Today I slipped into another birthday with not much fuss. I had the usual text messages, phone calls and posts on my facebook wall.
I went to Nanna’s for morning tea, as per a normal Monday, on the way to my three year old’s swimming lesson. Now here is the part I have to share.
Not long before we are about to leave, a friend of Nan’s pops in. Nan introduces me as her granddaughter, Dad’s daughter (Dad is with me), I introduce master three. They sit and chat, whilst Aunty and I chat aside. The friend then turns, looks and looks away. She does it again, but this time asks whom this child belongs to. Nan replies that he belongs to me, to which she says to me, I thought you could have been his grandmother. Yes I could have easily been, turning 42 today, but I had him at 38. Friend looks at Nan in disbelief. I am only slightly insulted. I get it. Times are different. Nan was 43 when I came into the world. I already had one older cousin. Care?
The only thing I cared about was her attitude. This “lady” just wouldn’t accept it. She kept throwing me sideways glances, summing me up. I felt judged in a world where I am almost normal. In fact according to the Australian Institute of Family Studies Women who become mothers do so typically at age 25 to 34 years. I was 35 when I had number 1, completely bloody normal.
So pooh to you lady. This hot older mum is not going to carry around your judgement.
Sit out the front of a school someday and check out what is normal. Nothing is normal. I missed the early pregnancy bus by a bit of good management, but mostly by luck.
There were many years that having kids scared the shit out of me, I was flat out looking after myself. So each to there own, whether 15 or 45, have kids when it suits you my sisters, enjoy them and if some days you feel like you should be their Nanna, have a little nap, then get on with the dress ups, picnics, play doh and blocks.
This post was originally written in October 2014, I found it just sitting in my drafts and decided to share.