Despatches from a mother who started late (and is running to catch up)

Older mother

Fireworks

We joined a party of friends and neighbours last night for a picnic in Princes Street Gardens to watch the Fireworks Concert that traditionally celebrates the last night of the Edinburgh International Festival. Despite living in Edinburgh most of my life (apart from the 15-year aberration that kept me exile from my native land in London) I have never up until last night managed to get hold of tickets to this concert. My only glimpse of the fireworks is usually from my sitting room window. And, to be honest, since Beanie arrived in our lives my joy at the Fireworks Concert has mingled slightly with dread; the banging overhead often wakes her up and gives her night terrors for weeks afterwards, with bed-time involving her asking me: "And there will not be fireworks tonight, Mummy?" and me saying, uncertainly, "I can't be sure, Beanie, but I'm not expecting any." Then her asking the same question another half-dozen times until I admit: "I have no idea about fireworks, just come and find me if you get scared."

The twenty eight of us last night took along tarpaulins, rugs, fleeces, thermos flasks of tea, quiche, bread, dips, beer and wine. We arranged ourselves on a grassy bank facing Edinburgh Castle and lay down on the grass to watch the explosions cascading above our heads. I last met one woman in the party when we were both languishing in one of the lower divisions for maths at school more than twenty years ago. Our numeracy must have improved since then; she is now an advocate and I work as a financial journalist. After we re-introduced ourselves, we got chatting about what we're doing now, husbands, kids, houses, work, that kind of stuff and discovered we have children of roughly the same age.

"Ah, so you're like me. You waited a while before having kids. It's great having them at this age, isn't it?" she said. Had I not been dragging a tarpaulin across a steep, grassy slope, progress impeded by the dodgy pelvis that is attributable to difficult pregnancies and advancing middle age, I could have hugged her.

Posted 07 September 2009 15:08 | Number of comments: 2 | Comments

Edinburgh Festival Fun Older mother

Going it alone

Just read this and am at a loss what to think. Finding herself single at 40, the author used donor insemination to become pregnant. Superficially, at least, the procedure worked: she found herself the single mother of a healthy young son.

But, unsurprisingly, the author remains unhappy. Her single status still rankles, and she advises thirty-something women to 'settle' for any old man they can get their hands on and have children with him. It seems the poor woman herself can't find any man at all now, not even the ones she claimed she turned down a few years back. Turned down for minor deficiencies like 'abysmal sense of aesthetics'. Someone, please, explain to her that 'abysmal sense of aesthetics' in a man should be welcomed. It's proof of heterosexuality! Who wants to marry Oscar Wilde?

Believe me, I want to be supportive of women who deliberately go it alone in having children. I do! I really do. Many of these women are slightly older, like myself, and desperate for someone to love. I suspect they have donor children because they think a baby will bring them that love. But in my heart of hearts, I have to confess I'm uneasy. Sorry. Can't help it.

Jetting off to Spain (that way women can bypass UK fertility laws that would deny them 'treatment' in this country), where a doctor inserts a stranger's sperm into your vagina, seems to put having a child onto the same footing as buying a pet.

I know, I know, I'm old-fashioned. Please feel free to disagree with me (though, please, don't make it personal). But having a child myself has made me more conservative. And there are good reasons why this course of action is banned in the UK. I've tried to argue myself into feeling more sympathetic, but the truth is... I don't.

Just to be clear, I'm not talking here about single mums who find themselves bringing up a child on their own when the father walks out on them. That's very different indeed. It's the mums who 'buy babies' abroad who make me feel nervous.

My problem with women like the author of this article is that they think the act of having a child will give them the entire package of love/family/social approval/connectedness they want. They just don't understand that, ideally at least, a baby is the result of love between a man and woman. I know things don't always work out like that, but what's wrong with aiming high?

So they come back from Spain, considerably poorer after shelling out for the sperm, struggling with pregnancy sickness, then the shock of caring for a newborn. All on their own. Then wonder why they're more miserable than when childless.

The author of this article is advising single women in their thirties to settle for "Mr Good Enough" and abandon hope of finding true or lasting love. Most of the other mums in her baby groups (who must be so thrilled to have her around, eyeing up their husbands) have rubbish relationships, she argues. Why set yourself up for disappointment by having high expectations? Just marry anyone who'll have you.

I'm afraid I don't agree with the author about the wisdom of 'settling'. I believe lasting love does exist. Yes, it really does. That's what's kept me going through sleepless nights, sickness and pain. Even when we're irritated with each other. The connection is still there, the reason for making a family. It makes the bad times bearable, and the good times even better. There's no point in compromising on that. Otherwise why are you having a family? For show? To impress your parents and siblings? Prove you're not a loser? I'd rather have the real thing. Or nothing at all.

Posted 15 May 2008 17:07 | Number of comments: 2 | Comments

Older mother

BBC Three Counties Radio

For anyone interested, I'm on BBC Three Counties Radio tomorrow at 10.15am to discuss whether anybody would be mad to start a family in their twenties these days.

Posted 17 March 2008 14:54 | Number of comments: 7 | Comments

Fashionably Late - the book Older mother

Welcome to Guardian readers

Welcome to anyone who's found this site through its mention today in The Guardian in its weekly Guide. I'm delighted to be included in the paper's Internet section in a column on Blog Roll Mums, where I feature alongside The Baby Juggler, Mommy Has A Headache, Parenthacks, Strife in the North and Sarcastic Mom. If anything on the site strikes a chord with you, please leave a comment. And if any of you became a mum over 35, drop me a line. I'm researching for my book Fashionably Late so would love to hear from you.

Posted 01 March 2008 12:29 | Number of comments: 16 | Comments

Blogging Fashionably Late - the book Older mother

See, it's not just me

Pregnancy in the over 40s has reached a record high - proving how fashionable it's become to have children later in life. The conception rate has risen across women of all ages - but is most marked in the over 40s. Pregnancies have jumped up by more than 6% from 11.5 per 1,000 women aged 40-44 in 2005, to 12.2 last year. It's worth remembering that the over 40s still account for a tiny percentage of all births - around 3% - but that figure has tripled over recent years as more women, like myself, defer childbearing until later in life.

The Telegraph reports that the news will prompt 'fears that the growing number of older mothers is placing increased pressure on maternity units'. Writing as someone aged 40 and 21 weeks pregnant, you can imagine how thrilled I was to read that. It's such rubbish that older women are causing problems in the NHS.

Apart from going mental when I told a locum GP I was pregnant and she asked me (without looking away from her screen) if I was planning on continuing with my pregnancy, (I never went back to her) I follow all the instructions in pregnancy - little or no alcohol, sticking to (probably spurious) caffeine limits, no cold remedies, fear of pate and liver, obsession with pasteurisation, location of nearby hospitals etc. My roots are growing through grey; I'm too scared to risk hair colouring. Baths are tepid.

Every health professional I've interviewed for my book on being an older mum, Fashionably Late, agrees that older mums are often less of a problem to the health service because, like me, they're compliant and do as they're told, like cutting out smoking, since they want the child so much. That leads to reduced (or zero) risk of complications like listeria infection, foetal alcohol syndrome, poor growth rates.

So it's a bit rich to blame older mums for strains in the health service, whose problems obviously go far beyond a few later starters like myself having babies later on in life.

Needless to say, The Telegraph does not miss the opportunity to have a dig at women concentrating on their careers, claiming that when professional women return to work after having children they often move 'into jobs where the average employee lacks even A-levels'. Can this be true? It's not my experience - or that of my friends. But still, makes for grisly reading.

Older women are often attacked for their 'selfish' emphasis on 'careers' (for 'career' read, grafting away in some horrible job to pay rent/mortgage while being messed around by some bloke too immature to commit to family/children) but this means we've paid shedloads more in tax to fund the NHS. So why shouldn't we cash in our tax investment and get something back? Most of us won't be getting any tax relief on childcare expenses, or much in the way of government maternity benefits, (unlike in most European countries) so we might as well enjoy having our babies on the NHS.

Posted 28 February 2008 15:34 | Number of comments: 11 | Comments

Childbirth Fashionably Late - the book Older mother Health Pregnancy Work Work vs mothering

Something in the air

One of the worst things about being an 'older' mum is the humiliation of being disabused of this fantasy that I am competent at the business of life. Having a daughter at the age of 38 has pushed me in new and uncomfortable directions. Take driving, for example. Before Beanie arrived I didn't drive. I never needed a car and I never much fancied having one. It didn't matter that I was a bad driver.

Now I need wheels to ferry Beanie around town. The problem is that I am still rubbish at driving. Actually, no, that's unfair, I'm being too hard on myself. I'm a reasonably good driver, though a bit slow. It's parking that's the problem. On the way home the other day I attempted to find a parking space in our street. No luck. So Beanie and I drove round in circles until I spied a small space in a lane next to a large stone wall. I tried and tried and tried and tried and tried and tried to park. Into reverse. Cue grinding of machinery. Back into first. Edge forward a few inches. Grind the gear back back down into reverse. And so on. The air stank of some vile mechanical malfunction.

As I craned my neck back to see where I was reversing I met Beanie's alarmed gaze. "Don't worry, Beanie, Mummy knows what she's doing," I lied. She wasn't fooled. I wedged the car so close to the wall the wing mirror was brushing against lichen and stone. I could feel the sweat trickling down my arms. Then a man appeared at my window. He seemed like a good guy, so I wound down the window. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Can I help?" You know that way when you've been holding tears at bay and a moment of unexpected kindness makes them flood out? Well, I started to cry. "I can't do this," I said. "Are you trying to park or to get out?" he asked. "To park," I snuffled, as I noticed for the first time a group of people standing around watching my parking, looks of concern on their faces. I was half in and half out but couldn't move either way. "That's my car behind you," he said, and I thought, "Oh my God, I really hope I haven't scratched it." He must have seen the look on my face because he said: "No, don't worry, it's fine. Would you like me to move my car? Would that make it easier?" So he moved his car, but somehow by then I'd lost all confidence so I still couldn't park. Then the man said: "Would you like me to park your car for you?" And I said "Yes, please. Would you mind? Thank you". As he got in the car it crossed my mind this might be some ploy to steal Beanie from me and I said: "You won't drive off with my daughter, will you?" He said: "Oh my goodness, I hadn't realised you had a baby in the back." But he came across as a nice, trustworthy chap, and the onlookers appeared to know him, so I decided it was okay to let him park the car.

I got out and chatted to a couple of other people who'd come out of their houses. In different circumstances it would have been quite nice to meet the neighbours, but my legs were still shaky and I felt at a bit of a disadvantage after the fiasco they'd just witnessed. "Quite a smell of clutch fluid, isn't there?" said one, conversationally. "Is the clutch slipping?" I wouldn't even have known that was the smell and didn't know what he meant by 'clutch slipping' but nodded and rolled my eyes. I haven't felt that helpless and girly since I was a teenager. Beanie looked completely unpeturbed in her throne in the back as the neighbour reversed out with her. She looked less hassled with him than when I was trying to park, in fact. And the job was done in a couple of minutes. The next day, though, when I went back to check on the car there was still a smell of clutch fluid in the air.

Posted 19 February 2008 16:36 | Number of comments: 30 | Comments

Angst Car Daughters Home Older mother Buses

Smelling a rat

Article in The Independent today by health editor Jeremy Laurance on older mums that leads with Nicole Kidman being pregnant at forty. Doctors have warned that women who delay motherhood are 'defying nature' and increasing the risks for themselves and their babies, provoking a backlash in some quarters from women who smell a conspiracy against older mothers. The article quotes Daisy Waugh, the TV presenter and first-time mother at 39, attacking the double standard whereby ageing rockers Paul McCartney and Rod Stewart, who both fathered babies in their sixties, are congratulated with a slap on the back and a nod and wink, while 'old girls' like her are 'gently encouraged to worry'. "You keep at it, old boys! Breed away! I just wish people weren't so antsy about the old girls, now that we're doing the same thing... We are fed a constant drip of negative, alarmist stories about the dangers of delaying motherhood and I can't help it, I smell a rat."

Posted 15 January 2008 11:56 | Number of comments: 6 | Comments

Older mother

Predictions

My predictions for 2008's parenting edicts - with thanks to Scott Pack at Me and My Big Mouth for inspiring the format. I hope - or in some cases fear - they'll prove unfounded, though they might prove closer to the truth than I suspect.

January - any pregnant woman caught drinking, smoking or eating unpasteurised soft cheese will be subject to imprisonment and a fine, announces the government. Any pregnant woman looking like she's enjoying herself will be sent to Guantanamo Bay.

February - a study appears highlighting the plight of women who have no choice but to stay at home to care for their children, claiming these mothers are an economic drain - on the same day the government again refuses tax relief for childcare expenses.

March - more reports decrying 'older' mums who hog medical resources appear. Government ministers make disapproving noises, but do nothing to improve job security or make affordable housing available - steps that would enable younger women to have children more easily.

April - moves by women's pressure groups to persuade employers to introduce more and higher-status part-time jobs are rebuffed by UK firms, who insist the only way to hold down a high-powered job is by living in a camp bed under the desk. 'It cuts down on commuting time,' workers are told. Plans emerge for training counsellors in 're-introducing' workers to their teenage children and rehabilitating staff in family life.

May - in a bid to cut costs, cash-strapped NHS hospitals turn away women in labour, encouraging them to give birth naturally, at home on their own, without a midwife or doctor. "Light some candles and hop in the bath," the few remaining midwives employed by the NHS tell women. "Good luck." Women are encouraged to think of the bragging power they'll have following a 'natural' birth.

June - new mothers to be offered tax credits for breastfeeding. Better-off mothers plan to spend their 'boob money' on restorative underwear that will lift their depleted assets. Unfortunately, the effect is negated by a decision to allow formula milk makers to sponsor the few cash-strapped labour wards still open.

July - IQ tests are introduced for six-month-olds, who are to be streamed at council-funded nurseries. Anxious parents employ home coaches who push babies to improve their loading and stacking skills.

August - as stats show that more children are born to women in their thirties than any other age range, 'older' mothers are praised in the press for their emotional maturity, financial stability and parenting skills.

September - a survey showing that children whose parents spend time playing, reading and interacting with them grow up to be well-balanced individuals makes front-page news.

October - outraged by the spate of wierd celebrity baby names, the UK government follows the French example of introducing an official list of baby names. Anything not on the list (Fifi Trixibelle, eat your heart out) is not allowed. Management consultants are called in to make an appropriate list (Jean-Francois looking unlikely to catch on in the UK).

November - research proving that 'older' women's fertility is not much different to younger women's remains ignored by all the mainstream and specialist medical press.

December - no more babies are allowed to be born this year, the quota has been reached.

Posted 01 January 2008 17:28 | Number of comments: 11 | Comments

Older mother Parenting gurus Work

Royals are different

Good to see Sophie, Countess of Wessex, leaving hospital last week with her new baby James. Especially heartening to see Sophie's joy after all she must have suffered with an earlier ectopic pregnancy. Interesting, though, to note the lack of tut-tutting in the press about the relatively advanced age of James Alexander Philip Theo Mountbatten-Windsor's mother, since Sophie has reached the grand old age of 42 years old, which would normally be old enough to cue a bout of hand-wringing at the selfishness of 'career' girls who have the cheek to want well-paid work, fulfilling lives and children. But perhaps as a royal she has immunity to charges of 'having it all' and accusations of hogging medical resources laid against other 'older' mums. It'd be nice to see a similar tolerance extended to the rest of us, since I can't help being sick to the back teeth of reading stories criticising women for having the temerity to reproduce past the age of 35, despite the fact it's a natural enough thing to do, as the Countess of Wessex has just proved. In any case, though, I'm delighted for Sophie and wish her and her family all the best with this, their most precious Christmas present.

Posted 22 December 2007 17:39 | Number of comments: 6 | Comments

Older mother

Cue the Counterblast

Piece in the Telegraph today saying we are evolving to have more children later in life. To help us stay fertile longer we will be less troubled by diseases such as type 2 diabetes, heart problems and obesity that occur in middle age and beyond.

Professor John Hawks, the anthropologist who led the team of scientists behind the research, told the paper that genes allowing us to stay fertile for longer, as we delay having children, seem more important than living longer in itself.

"The trend has been towards later reproduction," Hawks told the Telegraph. "Many people wait to have kids until they are in their late 30s to 40s. But very few people lived in their 40s more than 50,000 years ago. That's a big biological change. So genes that impede fertility at later ages must be experiencing stronger and stronger selection pressure."

Hawks continued: "The bottom line: people are unlikely to live much longer in the future - at least, due to genetic changes - but they are likely to be better at having kids older."

Music to my ears.

Posted 11 December 2007 11:54 | Number of comments: 3 | Comments

Health News Older mother

Time and Tide

Apologies for the lack of recent postings. I've only just realised it's been six days since I managed to blog. Six whole days. Shameful contrast to the high watermark of summer, when I set myself a target of daily postings.

I'd love to blame the downturn on Christmas and being too busy with shopping and partying to blog. But the truth is I haven't been too well and have hardly left the flat. I'm also finding I need to put any spare time into writing my book.

I've been busy reading around the subject of motherhood when not looking after Beanie and working on the book.

Regular readers of this blog might remember I'm a huge fan of Kate Mosse's Becoming a Mother. I liked it so much, I re-read it over the weekend, just to enjoy that feeling of companionship and support again.

I've also been reading Susan Faludi's Backlash - The Undeclared War Against Women, which has got me energised with anger. She dismisses the infertility scare stories of recent years as having little or no basis in fact, blaming them on widespread resentment at women's new-found freedom to work and decide when (or if) they will have children.

Reading Backlash reminded how fed up I am with some of the unflattering descriptions used for women who have babies after 35. Is it not about time the medical authorities thought up something less insulting than 'senile primigravida' to describe a first-time mother over 35?

I'm also losing patience with hearing healthy, blooming women in their late thirties and early forties described as 'older'.

When are we going to wake up to the fact that women in their thirties (and older) are in their prime? These are some of our most productive and creative years. Calling us 'old' is part of the same attempt to stigmatise any woman who shows some choosiness about when and how she has children that also leads to bogus infertility scares and 'man shortage' stories.

I don't think of myself as 'old' or even 'older' - and that's because, looked at in absolute terms, I'm not. I was older than the average first-time mum (29) when I had my daughter (at 38). But that doesn't qualify me for the zimmer frame and slippers quite yet.

Come to think of it, I don't even consider my mother, an energetic 67-year-old, to be 'old'. Though she has qualified for a bus pass that Beanie regularly filches from her handbag.

What do you think is a good substitute for 'old' or 'older' to describe new mums or mums-to-be over 35?

Posted 10 December 2007 12:17 | Number of comments: 12 | Comments

Blogging Books Dilemmas Fashionably Late - the book Older mother Paradoxes Work at Home Mum

Truths about later motherhood

India Knight claimed this weekend in The Sunday Times that she was reluctant even to write about the number of women having babies in their forties doubling in the past decade, because doing so might encourage younger women into the deluded belief that delaying motherhood "until you're middle-aged" is a reasonable thing to do. You can imagine how I felt on reading her article, The lie of late motherhood.

Knight argues that women are wrong in thinking they can delay motherhood, because anyone who falls for that line is the victim of a feminist-inspired fantasy that has brainwashed us into thinking we can 'have it all' - career and children.

She claims women of her age (41) "have started talking breezily about IVF as though it were a procedure no dissimilar to Botox." Can this be true? Where are these brassy minxes? Nobody I know talks about IVF like this - what I hear is the strain on their marriages, the pain, injections, uncertainty, mental anguish, expense, time off work, hospital trips, low success rates, patronising doctors. My friends and I might be pessimists. But at least we are realistic.

Knight doesn't do much either for the confidence of women who do, somehow or another, by hook or by facial surgery crook, manage to become mums later in life. "I know lots of older first-time mothers and they're absolutely knackered," Knight says. "They stagger round, broken with lack of sleep - because getting up three times in the night when you're 43 is not the same as doing it when you're 25 - with huge rings under their eyes and husbands who notice the latter and wonder what happened to the minx they married." My advice to any woman in this situation would be to insist your partner helps with the nightfeeds - and then he too will be such a broken husk of his former self there'll be less chance of wandering eye syndrome. That, or any predatory minx who catches his attention will wonder if he shouldn't be the one getting Botox.

I have great respect for Knight, and have long enjoyed her provocative columns, but have to dispute her claim it can be especially lonely being an older mum. "If they're on maternity leave, they find hanging out with the teenage mothers at the One O'Clock Club faintly disheartening, to say nothing of mind-bendingly boring."

That depends on where you live; round my way, most mothers are in at least their mid-thirties and, truth be told, it's a rarity to see a twentysomething new mum.

Knight is at her most controversial in this suggestion for anyone childless and broody: she advises they give up on waiting for 'Mr Right' and just get pregnant whenever or however they can, with or without a partner. She derides 'the sweetly retro notion of mooching around pining for Mr Right, as the clock ticks away and you find yourself eyeing newborns up in supermarkets.'

Does anything good ever comes from acting out of desperation? Is tricking an unwilling man into becoming the father of your child really going to lead to anything except unhappiness and confusion all round?

As I've said before, I have a lot of admiration for single parents, especially now I know what's involved in bringing up a child. I don't suppose many of them set out to be single parents by design; they, like most of us, are just doing the best they can given their particular circumstances. But surely the ideal situation has to involve two parents under the same roof?

Personally, I don't think we should encourage women to short-change themselves and give up on that dream, even if it takes a while to turn into reality.

Posted 04 December 2007 16:31 | Number of comments: 13 | Comments

Older mother

Plain bonkers

Interesting debate going on here at The Daily Telegraph about when people should have children. The furore was prompted by a story reporting that the number of women having children over the age of 40 has doubled in the last ten years, which the paper says provides the clearest evidence yet that many women are delaying starting a family.

In amongst the predictable rants (it is the Telegraph, and don't say I didn't warn you) against 'young carers', teenage mums, (you just can't win as a mother, damned if you have children young, damned if you leave it till later) 'feminists' and women who take 'men's' jobs, there are only a few more balanced opinions (mostly, it must be said, from women themselves).

"Women who have children after 40 are plain bonkers," wrote one man. Obviously, as a man, he would understand about desperately wanting a child, the deep, atavistic yearning to nurture a new life that seizes women regardless of age, education, social class or race, the sense that having a baby is what we're meant to be doing, almost (forgive me if this sounds pretentious) a part of our biological destiny, what our bodies are meant to do. If you have to wait until you're 40 to get the chance to do that, of course you're still going to want a child, regardless of what someone else says.

On a less bigoted note, someone wrote that women can't afford to stop work to have children, now that double incomes are factored into house prices, (could you imagine the trauma of downscaling your lifestyle to accommodate a child?!!) and, of course, lest we should ever forget, there's the difficulty of finding a halfway-normal bloke as your partner in the crime of later motherhood. That one really can take time.

Is there an ideal age to have children?

What made you decide to have children when you did?

Posted 01 December 2007 22:47 | Number of comments: 20 | Comments

Husband Older mother

Family Ties

A friend said: "Read this book. It'll make you cry." She handed me a copy of it then wandered off to look at something else. On the cover was a young mother with lots of curly dark hair holding up a surprised-looking baby, dressed in a stripey baby-gro, against the background of a blue, blue sky. I stood there in the bookshop and started leafing through Someday and sure enough, in seconds I was blubbing, tears were spurting out my eyes at the story of a mother who dreams of what the future might hold for her beloved daughter. "Va-vay, could you lend me your handkerchief?" I asked. "No," he said. The hankie was already dirty, he explained. I didn't care. Insisted he hand it over. He capitulated.

I didn't cry because the little girl had a particularly grim future in store, just because it made me aware of the fragile hopes and dreams we mothers have for our children, that we project far into the future, many of them unspoken or unacknowledged. "I didn't think you'd cry that much," said my friend in astonishment, when she returned from teenage fiction. "I know," I said apologetically. "I'm sorry, it's just, I find this sort of thing very, well, emotional."

After I bought my copy, (well, I felt I had to after my snotty-nosed outburst) and returned home, I read Someday again a couple of times (it's a quick read, which is just as well, given its effect on me). And cried again both times.

The mother in the book dreams of how her daughter might live her life to the full, leaving home for the first time ('Someday you will look at this house and wonder how something that feels so big can look so small'), diving into a lake, running and singing, experiencing joy and sorrow, herself becoming first a mother, ('Someday I will watch you brushing your child's hair') then in time a grandmother. It closes with the mother looking far into the future, imagining her daughter in old age. In this imagined future, the daughter (whom we first saw as a baby) now has silver hair and we come full circle back to the present, when we see, sitting on a table in her home, a picture of her as a baby in the arms of her mother, who is narrating the story. It's how I felt on becoming a mother, as if I'd at last taken my place in the chain that links one generation of women to the next and to the one after that and the one after that, an invisible thread of love connecting all of us to each other, the thread sometimes taut with pressure, at other times slack. No longer a reproductive full stop. But part of a circle. As if I'd handed on the baton by having my own child. The perfect ending.

Posted 26 November 2007 16:49 | Number of comments: 11 | Comments

Books Older mother

Go on, blame it on us older mums

Depressing to read that mature mothers are allegedly responsible for putting pressure on maternity units. I've heard some lame excuses for the lack of NHS funding and its creaking infrastructure, but really, isn't blaming new mothers who happen to be a few years older than average scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel? The story claims the increasing number of women giving birth in later life is putting pressure on maternity units that do not have enough specialists to deal with complications associated with older mothers. Curiously, the article omits to mention that the overall birth rate has been climbing in recent years, which might have something to do with the pressure on maternity units. Nor does it dwell on the amount of funding going into maternity care. The Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists estimates that to provide safe care for all women in labour, the number of consultants needs to rise from 1,600 to 2,500 immediately, and more will be needed if the trend for women to give birth later continues. We older mums are costing the NHS because we are more likely to need a Caesarean or run into serious difficulties during delivery and so require consultants to be available. How inconsiderate of us.

Posted 13 November 2007 22:20 | Number of comments: 19 | Comments

Childbirth News Older mother

Motherhood: a marathon for us all

Wonderful to read of Paula Radcliffe's victory in the New York Marathon, just nine months after giving birth to her daughter Isla in January. Brilliant news, especially after her terrible time in the Athens Olympics. Radcliffe, who's thirty three, is talking about competing in the 2012 London Olympics and having another child before then. Which could conceivably make her an older mum. Go, Paula. It's not just the British flag you're flying. You're an inspiration to us all.

Posted 12 November 2007 15:31 | Number of comments: 8 | Comments

Childbirth Older mother Out and about

Happy Birthday, Mother at Large

Posted by Va-vay (husband of Mother at Large)

Regular readers of this blog will know that Mother at Large has hinted that she is nearing her fortieth birthday. Personally, I have no reason to believe that this is true - I think she has just been trying to reinforce her credentials as an older mum. However, she is now claiming that the day has actually arrived! Just in case it really is her fortieth, you are invited to a virtual party to celebrate. As you'll have noticed, I have provided balloons! Please feel free to add congratulations, encouragement or words of wisdom in the comments section.

Mother at Large's own reflections (posted on the eve of her birthday) follow...

Tomorrow I officially enter Vintage Chick territory with my 40th birthday. Am I bovvered? Well, strangely, no. I follow an inverse logic for milestone birthdays, the older I get, the more I enjoy them. Do other people feel this way? You'd think it would be the other way round, but no, life has got better for me as I've got older. Ten years ago, when I turned thirty, I was on the shelf, childless and without even a boyfriend. I had to work my guts out in a job I didn't much like, doing unpaid overtime till all hours, and commuting two hours daily from one of London's scarier outer boroughs, walking to and from Kensal Green Tube past drug dealers and their victims.

Somehow I've managed to turn a corner over the last ten years - I'm lucky in that I do interesting work, live in a beautiful city, am married to the man I love and we have our beautiful daughter Beanie. I don't always like seeing the bags under my eyes, or fatter belly, but they're a badge of honour - show that I'm a mother now.

I'm realistic. Soon, I'll need reading glasses and will go on Saga cruises. I'll embarrass my family by buying their presents out of catalogues selling gadgets for trimming ear hair, orthopaedic slippers and jam jar openers. I'll splash out on complicated trolley-and-hot-plate arrangements for ferrying food from kitchen to table, and invest in a tartan shopping bag with wheels I push into people's legs, unapologetically, while at home I hoard cupboards of biscuits that would allow me to survive a siege. I'll develop crushes on children's TV presenters and give Granny a run for her money in Sudoko and crosswords. I might even take up golf - you can't fight these things, they come to us all in the end. But I couldn't be happier. I might even chance my arm and say, yes, I'm actually looking forwards to tomorrow.

Posted 08 November 2007 22:41 | Number of comments: 22 | Comments

Edinburgh Granny Older mother Paradoxes

Read all about it

Great piece in the Edinburgh Evening News on my book, Fashionably Late, about being an older mum - Motherhood blog gives birth to book deal for city woman.

It was embarrassing when the paper's photographer arrived and Beanie led her into the back bedroom, the only room I hadn't managed to tidy when I heard the 'snapper' was coming, and where I'd dumped all the clean laundry, two racks of still-damp clothes, Va-vay's computer books and stuff for my tax return. But she didn't seem to mind. Seemed almost reluctant to follow me back into the hall, if you ask me.

As you can see, Beanie got to have her picture taken by the photographer. She was very patient while this happened, though I could see an inner battle going on. On the one hand, she wanted to stay put and enjoy the special attention and rare privilege of getting to play with the laptop, (of which, more later). On the other, she wanted to continue her rampage across the flat.

The clever photographer clinched it by waving Miffy the Rabbit (not featured) over her shoulder. As a result, you can see Beanie in the shot, dressed in the special jersey we bought her in France, clinging onto a piece of cottonwool. We're both pretending to gaze with interest at the aforementioned laptop. Can't be sure, but think they might have kindly airbrushed out the bags under my eyes. And some laughter lines. Normally my credentials as an older mother are more, err, in evidence. Beanie didn't need airbrushing, being beautiful as she is.

Va-vay said he was proud of us all when he saw the piece: me, Beanie and the laptop. Yes, the laptop. That's because he chose it for me. Va-vay views it with almost proprietary interest. Plus he treats computers like well-loved household pets. And vice versa. When I took a long time today to answer a question, he said: "You should have a little hourglass thing going round, that way I'd know you were thinking. Or had crashed." God forbid I ever need re-booting.

But I digress. Being a journalist myself, it was odd but not unpleasant not being the one asking questions. And it was lovely to see the piece. They even quoted parts of the blog next to the article. I was a bit bemused by some of the rather ill-informed comments people left on the on-line version but I had some kind emails from people. One woman got in touch to tell me she found the blog 'lovely and heartwarming'. Awww, shucks. Makes it all worthwhile. Now, as Beta Mum has said, I've got to hope the delivery of the book isn't as painful as actual childbirth.

Posted 06 November 2007 22:15 | Number of comments: 10 | Comments

Blogging Books Fashionably Late - the book Older mother

Does age matter?

Does age matter when it comes to making friends with other mums?

Does it make any difference if you're the oldest or youngest mum in the post-natal group?

Do people forget about age differences because they've got the - arguably stronger - common bond of looking after their new babies?

I'd count myself friends with other mums of various different ages - probably with a few more of them closer to my age.

I'd be interested to know about readers' experiences of whether age played a part in their post-natal support network.

As you might have guessed, I'm working on a section of Fashionably Late that requires some field research into what it's like for mums setting up social networks after they've had a baby. Any comments much appreciated and I would of course change people's names before putting anything into the book. As I've said before, two signed copies go to people whose comments are included.

Posted 30 October 2007 18:10 | Number of comments: 12 | Comments

Fashionably Late - the book Friends Older mother

Vote on your 'Treasured Places'

Those of you who live here in Scotland might be interested in Treasured Places, a free on-line poll to choose the country's favourite historical image. It's run by the Royal Commission on Ancient and Historical Monuments of Scotland , a heritage organisation that documents Scotland's past, and voting remains open until Thursday (25 Oct). The Commission is staging the vote to celebrate its 100th anniversary next year.

Voters can choose from a hundred pictures that range from shots of the Dean Bridge, Edinburgh (top left) to Craigievar Castle, Aberdeenshire (middle left), Drum Castle, also in Aberdeenshire, (bottom left) and Elgin Cathedral in Moray. There are some gems in there, such as images of the Churchill Barrier at Scapa Flow, Abbotsford House in the Borders, the Bell Rock Lighthouse in Angus, and the Bilsland Crest from the Thistle Chapel in St Giles Cathedral. Or you can nominate your own image.

The top ten images will feature in a major centenary exhibition at the Edinburgh City Art Centre in 2008 and the winner will be celebrated by a poem written by Valerie Gillies. The winner will be announced on Saturday (27 Oct). Lest you wonder about my involvement in the project (and, please, no jokes, thank you all the same, about historical monuments/older mothers, really not in the mood), let's just say one of the organisers is a close relative of someone who comments on this site frequently. Beyond that, my lips are sealed.

Posted 23 October 2007 23:56 | Number of comments: 2 | Comments

Activities Edinburgh Fun Holidays Out and about Older mother

It's all comparative

I'm working on the first chapter of Fashionably Late. This section of the book is about who makes the grade as an 'older' mum these days. Officially, any woman over thirty five is honoured with the title. But, unofficially, I suspect the goalposts have shifted somewhere north of around forty. The health professionals don't seem to get too worried these days until women are closer to forty five.

How we define ourselves depends not just on the medical definitions, of course, but also on personal circumstance. If a woman's mother and sisters had their babies before they were 28, she might consider herself 'old' to be having a child at only 34. If anybody reading this has been in that kind of situation, I'd love to hear from them and perhaps interview them.

More generally, I'm interested in what readers of this blog define as 'old' - and why - when it comes to having children. As I suggested above, some people base their ideas of 'old' on whether they're doing things later than their friends or family. I didn't think too much about my age (38) when I had Beanie, until I got to the post-natal meet-up and realised I was the oldest person in the room, barring the health visitor running the group. Other people go by the statistics for the national average (29 years old for first-time mums).

How do you define what it means to be an 'older' mum?

Please leave a comment or get in touch with me via email as I'm keen to know your views.

Two signed copies of the book go to every interviewee.

PS: I include this picture to prove that no mother, whatever her age, is ever too old to ride with her child on a flying teapot. Lacking in good sense or proper decorum, perhaps. But that, as they say, is another matter. You might be able to notice poor Beanie cowering in fear under my right arm.

Posted 22 October 2007 15:44 | Number of comments: 15 | Comments

Fashionably Late - the book Older mother Work at Home Mum

Edinburgh Mum

One of the lovely things about my holiday was coming home and reading the nice comments so many of you left on the site. Thanks to all who commented while I was away. It made for a great welcome home. Another holiday treat was the chance to catch up on some reading, since I went cold turkey on blogging while we were away and left the laptop at home. One of the books I enjoyed best was Alexander McCall Smith's new book The Careful Use of Compliments, the latest in the Sunday Philosophy Club series. Chosen not (just) because it's set in my native Edinburgh, but for the back-cover promise of material on the challenges of late motherhood.

It was a surprise to find out that Isabel Dalhousie, the book's wealthy philosopher heroine, has just become a new mum. McCall Smith has always been coy on her exact age, but in previous books in the series, I imagined her to be in her 50s. Past child-bearing age, anyway. I mean, for goodness' sake! She drives a Volvo. A green Volvo. She has a housekeeper, (who does most of the child-rearing). She disapproves of her niece Cat's boyfriends and hassles her to dump them. It sounded like she belonged to a different generation to mine, and, well, I fear I'm at the outer limits of childbearing myself. So I jumped to the wrong conclusion.

At the beginning of Careful Use, McCall Smith drops a bombshell. We discover that Isabel remains disapproving of Cat's choice in men. But she has pinched one of the most attractive of the suitors, Jamie, a man 14 years her junior, for herself. And had a baby with him. A baby that arrives "under the bright lights of the Royal Infirmary." The same place where I had Beanie. Crikey!

Now, let me stress here that I am a huge fan of McCall Smith. In fact I pretty much idolise him. My good friend Iota has even suggested I could be a character in one of his books. But even so, I couldn't help feeling irritated about the (fictional) boyfriend-pinching. Part of the point about Isabel is that she's supposed to agonise with herself about right and wrong. Yet this is about the one area in her life where she doesn't bother with questioning or guilt about her behaviour. It doesn't even seem to occur to her that it might be wrong to get together with a relative's ex-partner.

Isabel's brush with motherhood comes off badly in the book, too. She gets huffy that the local mums and babies group doesn't welcome her with open arms and blames this on her decision to bottle-feed baby Charlie, after finding breast-feeding 'uncomfortable'.

McCall Smith explains: "She had been a member - briefly - of a mother and baby group in Bruntsfield and she had been given looks of disapproval by one or two of the mothers when she had revealed she was not feeding Charlie herself. Those women knew, she thought; they knew that there could be some very good reaons for it, but they could not help their zeal. And she had felt guilty, although she knew it was irrational to feel guilt for something that one could not help."

This must be testimony to McCall Smith's skills as a writer that I responded to this passage with such annoyance, as if this were real-life. I can't agree that people in mums-and-babies groups would treat Isabel like that because she wasn't breastfeeding. They might have raised an eyebrow after hearing about her copping off with a younger relative's partner. They might have wondered why the housekeeper looked after the baby, rather than Isabel.

They might also have been a bit strange towards her due to sleep deprivation since, unlike Isabel, they didn't have a housekeeper to look after their babies. And they might also have wondered about Isabel's decision to spend her baby's early months investigating fraud in the Edinburgh art world, instead of caring for the little boy. But objecting to her bottle-feeding?

Still, I agreed with McCall Smith on the subject of maternal modes of transport. "The mothers in the expensive four-wheel-drive vehicles were the worst, [Jamie] had decided. Why did they need these fuel-hungry contraptions in their urban lives? To barge their way past other, smaller cars, or to make a statement about who they were and what they had?" Judged against that, Isabel's Volvo doesn't look so bad after all.

Posted 08 October 2007 21:59 | Number of comments: 21 | Comments

Angst Books Breastfeeding Daughters Edinburgh Etiquette Older mother Work vs mothering

Baboushka

Definitions of an 'older mum' can vary wildly, not just from one country to another, but from region to region, family to family. What's old in one person's eyes can be positively youthful in someone else's. Thanks again to all who commented on Tuesday's posting and reminded me of this.

Here's another good example. Apparently even today, in Russia, women tend to have babies before the age of 25, and women older than this are categorised by maternity units as 'elderly', or whatever the Russian is for 'over the hill'. Dread to think what they'd make of new mums in their 40s. Stalin probably rounded them up and sent them to the Siberian salt mines in disgrace for pressing their withered ovaries into service one last time. Personally I blame all those matrioshka dolls they have. Such temptation to see if there's another little one waiting to emerge.

I discovered about Russian ideas on maternal age in Oliver James' book Affluenza, in which he explores why so many more people fixate on what they haven't got and seek to be someone they're not.

Not obviously a book where I expected to come across definitions of an 'older' mum. But maternal age is relevant here, insists James. He says he mentions childbearing age in Russia, because Russian women 'do not yet define their worth through paid work'. Many of them do work, but their primary focus remains on being mothers. Hence fewer of the tensions between work and family experienced by so many of their counterparts in Western Europe.

James lays the blame for some of our social ills at the door of poor childcare. His biggest bugbear is putting young children into nurseries before they're ready and even argues that our culture's restless dissatisfaction and obsession with 'having' rather than 'being' is a byproduct of inadequate early child care that makes us insecure and needy.

He objects to mums leaving young children in nurseries or with childminders, arguing this causes long-term behavioural problems for the children in question, who find it difficult to form relationships and tend to base their sense of worth on external factors (exam grades, size and location of house, trendy gadgets). The problem with 'affluenza' is its many sufferers are never satisfied, no matter how much they achieve or own, leaving them with an unquenchable sense of emptiness. Since Beanie, aged 17 months, goes to nursery twice a week, you can imagine how I felt when I read that.

Here is James on the evils of day care for young children: "The message from research is clear: under three a child is best off with one person, the same one every day and one who is responsive."

However, he's not unsympathetic to mothers: "The great problem [with being a mother] is the lack of status it attracts and our having been brainwashed into believing that only paid work is admirable. Unfortunately it will be rare that anyone other than your partners will give you the credit you deserve. But in its absence, remember this: however much you were raised to be a prize-hunter, intrinsic pleasure is far better for your emotional well-being. It may not seem so very often, but the authenticity, vivacity and playfulness of small children is hugely rewarding, a much greater boon than any number of promotions or pay rises."

So there we go.

Posted 20 September 2007 13:19 | Number of comments: 17 | Comments

Older mother Childcare Nursery Parenting gurus

Lot of it about

Some doctors don't like treating older mums-to-be, a midwife friend confided in me recently.

Why not? I wondered. "So many questions," she explained wisely. "The older, educated mums get on the Internet and winkle out every bit of information they can. Sometimes they know more than the doctors do. Makes the doctors nervous."

But the doctors have all that status that comes with their white coats, I pointed out. How could they be intimidated by a pregnant woman who's frightened herself silly on the net? "They're phasing white coats out," she told me. "White, you know. Gets so grubby. Nobody has time to wash them." So, how then do doctors manage to outwit their uppity patients? "Big words," she said succintly. Ah, words. That would do the trick.

Then I was chatting casually with another medic, a doctor, and mentioned my interest in the issues surrounding older mums. A lovely girl. Kindly, generous and competent. But she rolled her eyes at the mention of older mums. "There's certainly a lot of them about," she told me drily.

I shouldn't be surprised that age issues can lead to difficult dynamics between doctors and older mums. The other week I experienced it myself, when I saw a young female doctor, who didn't look a day older than 30, bless her. I couldn't help thinking no way was she old enough to understand about babies and miscarriage. Goodness knows what she thought of me.

I'm still reading Kate Mosse's excellent book Becoming a Mother, which has a small section on older first-time mothers. One of the things I like best about Mosse is that she's so iconoclastic, but in such a thoroughly thought-out and sensitive way it's hard to imagine anyone disagreeing with her as she proceeds to demolish one out-dated belief system after another.

I was glad to see she had words about how some members of the medical profession treat mum-to-be over 35 as latter-day dinosaurs who are messing with Mother Nature, automatically labelling them 'high-risk'. Mosse discovered that psychologists at Bristol's Institute of Child Health had reviewed medical literature in this field, and discovered most of it hopelessly out of date.

According to Mosse, the Institute concluded: "Social and psychological factors were not taken into account and most research is out of date. We were also surprised at the very small samples that researchers used. The problem is that poor science of this type of then used to justify the label 'high risk'."

Given that overall life expectancy has changed so drastically over the last century, likewise health and nutrition, perhaps it's time some enterprising doctors revised their definitions of what it means to be an older mum. Having had Beanie aged 38, and not yet given up hope of having another baby, I've got more than passing interest in the subject. If anybody's heard of any research in this field, I'd be interested to know about it.

Posted 18 September 2007 21:54 | Number of comments: 13 | Comments

Older mother Parenting gurus Pregnancy

Big Chill

New developments in egg-freezing techniques apparently mean all women will have the opportunity to delay having children until a time that suits them, according to a story in The Scotsman earlier this month. A breakthrough in freezing technology, which eliminates the risk in damaging the egg after thawing, paves the way to offer the treatment to all women. Up until now only women facing cancer treatment have been offered it. Two fertility clinics in England are now planning to offer it to women who want to delay motherhood, usually because they are without a partner or because they are pursuing a career.

The Scotsman quotes a Professor Gedis Grudzinkas, medical director of the Bridge Fertility Centre, saying: "The contraceptive pill gave women more choice about when they started their families. Egg freezing now gives women the chance to delay having children until the time that is right for them."

Wonder how many women will take Professor Grudzinkas up on this new service. I would have thought about it, seriously thought about it, if I hadn't met my husband when I did, aged 35, and been lucky enough to have the Bean (pictured). Don't know if I'd ever have had the nerve to go through with it, though.

Posted 13 September 2007 21:30 | Number of comments: 4 | Comments

Older mother

Jammin'

For years, I aspired to be a domestic goddess. I had all these fantasies about how when I got married I would practise the arts of cooking, knitting, patchwork, pottery, quilting, tapestry, gardening and jam-making.

My future life as wife and mother was so perfect in my singleton imagination. I was going to be the kind of earth mother who made her own organic stock from scratch, could run up a pair of curtains on her machine and had a pasta-maker I used, oh, more than once. Since I only got married at 37, I had a long time to polish up the fantasies, without much of a reality check. Now here I am at the coal face. And I realise how very difficult a job being a good housewife can be. This stuff is tough. Much, much tougher than people acknowledge. But I'm no quitter.

Here is my progress report so far.

1. Cooking

Two or three nights a week I manage a proper home-cooked meal for Va-vay. The rest of the time it's ready meals via M&S. Beanie is refusing to eat anything I cook her. She downs her spoon and bangs on the table for Petit Filou. It's pretty dispiriting. I try not to take it personally.

2. Knitting

Reasonable success here. I've made Beanie a blanket, stuffed hippo and monkey and am half-way through a cardigan for her.

3. Patchwork

Zero progress. Nul points.

4. Pottery

Attended class. Managed to make and glaze large plantpot, of which I am disproportionately proud. I love it. Gave Va-vay evil looks when he suggested re-patriating it to one of his cupboards.

5. Quilting

Thought about going to class. Decided against, on grounds of lack of time.

6. Tapestry

Have stitched in another tulip on a canvas I bought four years ago. My sister came round. Looked at the canvas. Said: "Is there any woman in the world who doesn't have a half-finished tapestry kicking round somewhere in the house?" I don't know. Is there?

7. Gardening

Have applied for an allotment. Estimated waiting time: five years. They are all the rage in Edinburgh after Antonia Swinson wrote her enchanting book about them, You Are What You Grow. Meantime, I have geraniums.

8. Jam-making

Have tried hard here, with mixed results. Two nights ago I made my first attempt at this, after Granny gave me two pounds of plums from her garden. It was all going so well.... then we got to the part where the recipe said to turn the heat up as high as it will go, and then in seconds my beautiful red jam turned into caramelised brown treacle (pictured). Gutting. It's still edible, despite being carbonised.

Other News

I've been lucky enough to get a couple of awards recently.

Lovely Omega Mum at 3kidsnojob, a daily must-read for me, kindly gave me this one:

Many thanks, Omega Mum. There are lots of people I'd like to award it to. I've decided I'd like to pass it on to DJ Kirkby, since her blog Novel with No Name has got me so involved I'm hopping up and down with rage at what's happening to her heroine, a new mother with a less-than-supportive husband.

Lou at the Wonderful World of Anna Gibson was good enough to give me this Nice Matters award. Lou has a young daughter close in age to Beanie and writes about so many experiences I've had as well. Her blog has helped me realise I'm not alone in many of my fears and worries about being a new mum. Many thanks for the award, Lou. Much appreciated.

I'm sorry I couldn't award this to more people. In the end, I've had to choose two, so here goes: I'd like to pass it on to Erica of Littlemummy and British Parent Bloggers, because I enjoy her blogging tremendously, she truly is a nice person and we're friends.

I'd also like to give it to Vicky, of Little Legends, the free guide to places for kids in the UK, and Manic Mama, an entertaining mamalogue about life looking after her three little boys.

Posted 12 September 2007 22:16 | Number of comments: 16 | Comments

Activities Blogging Domestic chaos Food Older mother

Granny footsteps

Here's a little-known advantage to having children later in life. One that's been under my nose for months, but that I've only now noticed. By accident, really. Revelation strikes on the way back from Waitrose. Around tea-time. After we miss our bus. The way these things so often do.

"So what's it like, mum, waiting till 67 to have your first grandchild?" I ask Granny.

The state Granny is in, I half-expect her to say: "Awful. I'm too old and knackered to run after a toddler. Couldn't you have got yourself a decent feller ten years ago?" Not that I in any way feel like this myself, you must understand.

I'm expecting this response because, after all, we've just left the supermarket. The same supermarket where last week she volunteered to go back and pay for a tub of half-fat fromage frais her seventeen-month grandaughter had somehow, a day earlier, managed to half-inch from the shelves, without Granny noticing, and hide in her buggy. When the offending item was discovered, to great consternation, Granny insisted on returning to the scene of the crime to confess and pay up. So important to instill honesty early.....

Granny's finger is bleeding from a fumbled attempt to strap Beanie into her chariot. Flustered fingers, the arched back of protest, a nippy buckle....

She is also carrying two bags of my shopping (let me just say here I am carrying the other two and pushing the buggy, lest you conclude I'm a complete slacker). Her face is lopsided after a trip to the dentist to remove one of her last four remaining teeth. The rest go next week: it's a poignant time. And she is perspiring in the sunshine with her efforts.

But she doesn't say what I expected. She doesn't even hesitate.

"Brrrrrrilliant!"

She becomes more Yorkshire in emphasis. Her ruddy face and terrible teeth crack into a huge smile.

"It would have been just the same if it had happened ten years ago, mind."

Then she stops, corrects herself.

"No, it wouldn't have been as good ten years ago. I wouldn't have been retired and able to spend all this time with you and Beanie."

It's unimaginable. If Granny were still working, Beanie would never have met all the biscuit-buying old ladies in the supermarket who greet her like an old friend. She wouldn't have all the love and attention of her granny, a lady for whom the word 'besotted' barely describes the intensity of her love for Beanie. No getting to rampage around Granny's garden, enjoying the honeysuckle, no entertaining hours spent unloading and loading the contents of Granny's handbag onto the kitchen floor... the thought of Granny unavailable for larks and jollity is grim; grim in the extreme.

As for me, how would I have got through the long days of caring for Beanie on my own? I know lots of women do. But communication can be tough with someone whose only phrases are 'neh, neh, neh", "ping" and "bah-bah". Don't get me wrong; I adore Beanie, I'm so proud of her. She has an excellent sense of fun, she's loving and outgoing. My love for her is huge and overwhelming. I feel I'd give my life for her if need be. She's the most amazing, precious thing ever to happen to me. Sometimes, though, it just lightens the load to have another person there, to keep an eye out for her while I do boring domestic stuff, make her feel special and loved.

Granny has taken to being a grandmother with such glee and good grace, she even consented to read a book I bought her, The Good Granny Guide by Jane Fearnley-Whittingstall, accepting it with scarcely more than a grumpy 'hrummph' sound in mild protest that suggested one as experienced as she could have no need of such advice. And she acts on some of the suggestions too. Greater love hath no granny than this; to read something suspiciously close to the self-help books her generation disdains, to accept advice from a stranger on the business of how to be her.

Posted 06 September 2007 20:56 | Number of comments: 10 | Comments

Childcare Granny Older mother

Time and tide

Erica at Littlemummy and British Parent Bloggers has pointed me towards a story revealing the pressure on mums is so great that we have just ten minutes of 'me-time' every day to ourselves, leading researchers to label our generation as 'motor mums'.

Writing as one who can barely bring herself to drive a car, I'm not sure this is the right label for me. I'm also unsure what counts as 'me-time', which in itself could be sad and telling. Loading and unloading the dishwasher? Cleaning the floors? Vacuuming? The Sisyphean task of laundry management, for which I'm beginning to wonder if I need one of those project management qualifications? Blogging?

I did go to lots of Edinburgh Book Festival events, some of them even on my own. That's got to count. But that was okay because I suffered torments of guilt for my frivolous abandon.

According to the people who came up with this research (a washing powder company) mums have so little time to themselves because they spend most of the day keeping their children happy.

I don't mind not having much 'me-time', (though as I write Beanie is screaming for my attention, annoyed to have lost me in the blogosphere, so I'll have to be quick). Perhaps I'm not being strictly honest with myself - there is tension between her needs, or at least her wants, and mine.

But I had to wait until I was 38 to have Beanie. So I had a super-abundance of 'me-time' before she arrived, some of it great, some okay, and some, well, frankly, lonely; spent wondering if or when Mr Right would materialise, if I'd be able to have a baby. Yes, I know: Bridget Jones, eat your heart out.

Maybe being older has meant a bigger adjustment to devoting most of my waking hours (and quite a few of the sleeping ones, too, on occasion) to another person.

But after waiting so long for her, now Beanie's here, I intend to make the most of it.

Posted 05 September 2007 11:46 | Number of comments: 19 | Comments

Childcare Daughters Guilt News Older mother

Count-down

The wedding in Ireland takes place just over two weeks away. Two weeks in which I must primp, pluck and preen away two years of self-neglect. Two weeks in which to pray that the summer's long diet to rid myself of post-pregnancy weight has worked well enough for me to fit into a fashionable outfit. An outfit sans even the merest hint of smocks, peasantry or burgeoning bellies. An outfit I can wear with no-one, but no-one, not even the kindliest and most well-meaning, pointedly asking me about due dates or plans to have more children.

Two weeks in which I must:

1. Brave the Lewis' hat department to choose something called a 'fascinator' for my hair. Preserve it from Beanie's merciless ministrations. Wonder which Potter book it appeared in. Convince self I do not look ridiculous in it.

2. Repair to the local Floatarium for revitalising hour in a water tank. Resist temptation to draw unflattering parallels between self and Bertie's mum, the fictional Irene from Alexander McCall Smith's Scotland Street. A lady who also frequents the Floatarium - in her case, with controversial results.

3. Brush up on non-baby-related small talk. Perhaps find out if a World Cup beckons later this year. So that when people talk about 'the match' I'll know which one.

4. Psyche self up to be in roomful of mostly new people. On my own, without Va-vay (who's babysitting).

5. Remove, by scrubbing if necessary, any rejected fish pie or other gloop engrained on my person, hair or clothes.

6. Resist temptation to tell everyone I meet at the wedding that they should have a blog.

7. Unearth the nice underwear I last wore on honeymoon, before I got pregnant and outlawed underwireds to the back of the chest of drawers. As a friend said: "They did their job well, those bras." Probably repress dismay that I'll never again be a 36C. Try to be happy that at least Va-vay is pleased by my increased chest size.

8. Get hair do. Rejoice in freedom to have highlights done - as not pregnant.

9. Find wedding present

10. Remember to apply expensive face creams Va-vay brought back as gift from his weekend away. Dismiss negative thoughts that he might be trying to tell me something with this choice of present.

11. Train myself not to coo, trill, babble or sing at adult wedding guests.

12. Savour thought of returning from travels with handbag mysteriously devoid of crumbled infant rice cakes.

13. Look forward to being on plane where it will not be my job to soothe, feed or hush my poor, traumatised daughter as her ear drums get sore, and she wails in despair that she doesn't understand where she is or what's happening to her.

14. Try to convince myself I won't miss her like mad, that I won't be thinking of her every minute I'm away from her.

Can it be done? I'll let you all know. The last one, number fourteen, will be the hardest by a long chalk. Wish me luck.

Posted 28 August 2007 21:22 | Number of comments: 22 | Comments

Friends Miscarriage Older mother Out and about Pregnancy

World's oldest dad

Age is all in the mind. Or so the world's oldest new dad would say. He has fathered his 21st child at the age of 90, and says he plans to continue breeding for at least another decade. After reading about these exploits I feel I hardly even qualify as a slightly older parent, despite having The Bean at 38. Next to this guy, I'm an upstart.

Nanu Ram Jogi, a farmer in the Indian state of Rajistan, told The Times he can't remember exactly how many children he's produced with his four wives but estimates he has twelve sons, nine daughters and at least twenty grandchildren. He attributes his success to eating all kinds of meat: rabbits, lamb, chicken and wild animals. "There is a dense forest around the village," he told the paper. "I go hunting most days and eat whatever I catch." The only slight hitch to meat eating in my home is that my husband, who's 39, is staunch vegetarian. So while we're loving the veggie cooking ideas from Lily and Chew, there's no chance of imitating Nanu Ram Jogi's lifestyle. Perhaps just as well.

Posted 23 August 2007 10:58 | Number of comments: 8 | Comments

Dads Food Older mother

Assisted place

Sad story earlier this week on a government poll that says many people are being denied IVF treatment, with numerous NHS trusts failing to follow government guidance to fund one full round of IVF treatment. Yet my impression is that IVF is increasingly mainstream. So much so, in fact, it's become part of conventional small talk to ask casual acquaintances if their babies were "assisted".

It's an odd turn of phrase, admittedly, but then I suppose people are still working out the etiquette around the entire concept. Here I'd better nail my colours to the mast, and say I suspect I only get asked this question because I had my daughter at the grand old age of 38.

Even Beanie's Granny got asked recently if Beanie was "assisted" in her creation, after she made the mistake of telling someone at her golf club she had to wait a long time for a grandchild. I tell you, it's not the country of Brief Encounter anymore - more's the pity.

I don't know why I feel obliged to point out here that Beanie wasn't "assisted" in her creation, since IVF is a wonderful invention that's brought happiness to thousands, but, for the record, no, she wasn't. Without wishing to be crude, her dad and I did the job ourselves. Unassisted. But in case my daughter ever reads this when she's older, I'll spare her (and myself) future embarrassment and stop there.

Posted 08 August 2007 09:35 | Number of comments: 2 | Comments

Etiquette Older mother Pregnancy

First-timer

Thanks to everyone who visited and commented on yesterday's posting on being an older first-time mum. You all cheered me up no end. So much so, I've climbed out of the slough of self-pity and hardly worried about withered ovaries or early menopause at all today. Okay, I jumped ahead a few decades or so. I admit it. It's just my 40th is coming up in a few months and there's nothing like a landmark birthday to make a person jittery...

There are big upsides to being a little bit older:

1. The Bean doesn't know she got landed with a late-starter. She doesn't care what age I am. As long as I'm not late in getting that milk ready.

2. After her first visit to our home, the health visitor never again asked if The Bean was "assisted" in her creation. For the record, she wasn't.

3. I've done the painful business of growing-up, even if it lasted well into my early 30s, so can now concentrate on helping someone else negotiate that.

4. The health visitor said I must be "very selective" to have waited until I was 37 to settle down.

5. Lighter sleep patterns = good for night-time feeds.

6. Healthier bank balance = less stress. More time at home.

7. Playing with The Bean makes me feel younger. It's fun!

8. After spending so many years wanting to be a mum, I don't mind the hard graft side of parenting too much. But the same is true of many mums... I read in people's blogs - certainly all the ones in my blogroll and others besides - of so much selfless hard work for their children, that they do without complaining or expecting anything much in return.

9. I wish I could add greater life experience to the list.

10. A better sense of who I am. Makes it easier to resist the latest fads in parenting.

Posted 17 July 2007 20:14 | Number of comments: 14 | Comments

Angst Daughters Fun Older mother

An older woman

As some of you know, I am an older first-time mum. I had The Bean at the grand old age of 38 - which in medical parlance made me a senile primagravida. Oooh, how attractive does that sound..... like an elderly gorilla with dementia. But I never really felt old until I started going to mums and babies groups, where everyone else looked so young. And no, I'm not just talking about the babies.

A lot about being an L Plates mum seems to be the same whatever age you are. I've sat down to write about the differences in being an older first-timer and am racking my brains to think of any. This is what I've thought of so far:

1. Like any minority group, we older first-timers tend to band together for protection. One friend said early on in our friendship she wanted me as her friend to be able to prove to her child when he was older that he wasn't the only one to have an 'older' mum. We've agreed that at the school gates we'll be pointing to each other, telling our respective children: "See! You're not the the only one who's got an uncool mum! Look, Johnny's mum got her bus pass last week too."

2. Acceptance of restrictions. I don't think I minded staying in every night for about a year after my daughter was born as much as some of the younger mums. Now this really is showing my age, but when I was younger I did my share of partying. So nights in with The Bean, Va-vay (as she now calls her dad) and the breastfeeding pillow were fine by me. Tiring, but fine.

3. After being with The Bean all day not only did Va-vay's face look monstrously large in comparison on our pillows, when we collapsed into bed at 9.30pm, but my own looked like the withered mask of an old woman when I looked in the mirror.

4. Pressure to procreate. I met Va-vay only when I was nearly 36. Most inefficient of me, as he keeps telling me. We had a short interlude of doing nice stuff like strolling through the countryside, going to the theatre and having foreign holidays. But it's no exaggeration to say it's been serious reproduction pretty much all the way ever since. No! Not like that...

I've either been pregnant or breastfeeding for most of the time we've been together.

Still, maybe I should just count my blessings... after my miscarriage in May I'm so very glad we started a family straightaway. The Bean arrived a few days before our first wedding anniversary. Having her with us is all that really matters.

5. A sense of mild, but residual embarrassment that I crossed some kind of finishing-line years later than most of my peers.

6. Disbelief any of this is happening. I spent so many years on my own, or in bad relationships, I can't believe I'm a happily-married mother. Well, Va-vay and I argue sometimes.... but even so.

7. I feel like a kid myself next to women of the same age, most of whom have children much older than The Bean.

8. Sometimes I find myself calculating how much longer Granny, Va-vay and I'll be around to pester The Bean with offers of breadsticks, milk, payment of nursery fees, or similar. Hmmm... must break morbid habit.

9. Shock at cynical commercial targeting of babies!!! When did the marketing departments get their hands on baby products? Back in '67 we babies didn't have branding. We didn't even have animal pictures on our towelling nappies. The best we could hope for was Tommee Tippee on our potties come the advent of toilet training (which as my mother never tires of telling me, often in front of Va-vay, happened when I was 13 months old). Sorry. Too much information...

What do you all think? Does it make a difference how old a mum is when she has her first baby?

I don't know enough about the medical or physical side of things to write about that. Also, it should go without saying, but I'm writing about personal experience here. Obviously these things vary according to different individuals.