Of course, I just got older. But there’s more to the story than that.
Two weeks before my 40th birthday, I was flying back to the U.S. after visiting my brother, SIL, and new nephew in Germany. As I flew over Greenland, I had an overwhelming urge to take a photo of the glaciers and mountains below me. I snapped off pictures through the window of the DC-10, thinking these photos would be of interest to some children.
It was October 20th, 1998. On the other side of the world, my oldest daughter was entering this world, landing in southern China. It would be another 11 months before I was told I was the mother of a baby in China. Another 10 weeks would pass after that before I would finally hold the child that made me a mom.
The People’s Republic of China, when they set up their international adoption program, decided adoptive parents should be older — at least 35 years old (later lowered to 30 years old). Job instability prevented us from starting a family right away. when things settled, it was infertility that ultimately kept us from being parents “the old fashioned way”. It took 11 years, but parenthood finally came, thanks to China’s preference for older parents.
Three plus years later, my youngest daughter was adopted into our family, and I was firmly ensconced in the world of older mommyhood. Because of China’s rule, I was part of a community of older parents. We could talk to each other about night terrors and bad knees, receiving lots of sympathy from our contemporaries.
It’s a good deal, being an older parent. While it was adoption that brought me to this place, there are others who get her via infertility treatments, marrying someone who has kids, or the infamous “oops” baby. It angers me when I hear of people trying to dissuade people from becoming parents because they’re not in their 20s or early 30s. There are some definite advantages and disadvantages, which I’ll write about in the next couple of posts. But it’s not a concept that you should run away from just because of age. You’re better than that.