- I'm Gen X and had my first child a month before my 40th birthday.
- My boomer husband is seven years older than me and was 46 when she was born.
- Raising kids was challenging from the start, and it's gotten harder to be a hands-on parent as I age.
I celebrated my 40th birthday with a party at a swanky rooftop bar in Manhattan.
Usually, I'd sink a few glasses of wine on such a happy occasion. But on that milestone birthday, I stopped at one because I was nursing the month-old baby sitting next to me in her car seat.
My first child arrived just four and a half weeks before the festivities. I found out I was pregnant at the age of 39 in September 2007, and she was born in May the following year.
The medical profession has largely retired the ghastly term "geriatric mother." However, like any pregnant woman over the age of 35, I fell into the category of "advanced maternal age."
I followed my mom's lead because she had my sister at almost 35 and me when she was two months shy of 38. The timing was unusual for the 1960s. However, at elementary school, I wasn't aware that she was older than other mothers at the school gates.
My husband is a boomer, and I'm a Gen Xer
Then, one weekend when I was in middle school, she adamantly refused to strap on ice skates and join my sister and me on the rink. "You don't want to break a bone when you're my age," she said. I was confused. Now, four decades later, I know exactly what she meant.
My husband, who is seven years older than I, is one of the last of the boomer generation, while I'm a Gen Xer. Now, we are 64 and 57, respectively, while we try to stay fit and healthy, we are wary of the physical activities we used to enjoy, such as skiing.
Meanwhile, the younger parents of my kids' friends think nothing of tackling a black run or rock-climbing. Our reluctance to participate makes us feel old. Not only that, my daughter and her brother, born in 2010 when I was 42, have been denied family vacations to fun and adventurous places, such as ski resorts. Year after year, we have taken them on more sedate visits to the English countryside where I was born.
They have never complained, but I wonder if there is some resentment underneath. My eldest recently asked if I wanted to join her at a kickboxing class. I made a dumb joke about straining my groin. She laughed, but her expression remained disappointed nonetheless.
She is too young to remember, but I wasn't the fastest person on my feet when she bolted toward an open gate in the playground as a toddler. I was fine at tasks like pushing her on the swing or playing in the sandbox, but I wasn't the type of mom who competed in the sack race at the annual block party.
I'm concerned about the future
If I'm honest, I've been pretty tired since the kids were little. And it wasn't just due to a lack of sleep. I used to scold my mom for telling our relatives that my husband and I, who met in later life, found parenting "exhausting" and "challenging." But deep down, I knew she was right.
But it's not all about what we can and can't do. I'm concerned about the future — I'll be 60 when my son graduates from high school — and the fact that I won't be a hands-on grandma if or when my children have their own families makes me a little sad.
I've met several grandparents who are the primary carers. Many appear to have boundless energy and enthusiasm for babysitting. I won't be able to keep up with a preschooler.
I take comfort in the knowledge that longevity runs in the family. My mom turned 95 last month. Like my mom did in her late 40s, I might not be able to ice skate for fear of broken bones, but I can make up for it in other ways.
I'm a big fan of 80s music and blast it in the car. My older teen sings along to the Aha classic "Take on Me" when we're driving together. In fact, she has uploaded it to Spotify.
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