That Time I Had a Baby at 45
Spoiler alert: I had a baby at 45 and am feeling sentimental. If your little one is growing up as fast as mine is, you may want some Kleenex before reading the poem at the end of this post.
Our family has a lot to celebrate this week: Yesterday was my youngest daughter’s birthday. Today is my birthday. Tomorrow is my husband’s birthday. And the following day marks the 30th anniversary of the day we met, which also happens to be “Lovers Day” — isn’t that fitting?
I’ve taken my own aging and my husband’s advancing years in stride. Turning 50 didn’t faze me last year, and 51 doesn’t seem like a big deal, either (although I have noticed my bones creaking a lot more now than they did a decade ago).
The thing that’s been hardest to accept is the idea that this sweet little baby could be six years old already:
She’s growing up so fast! She can read. She can ride a bike without training wheels. She even lost her first tooth yesterday!
But the fact that there are no younger siblings trailing in her wake makes the bittersweetness of each new milestone particularly poignant. That’s why I made it one of my New Year’s resolutions this year to hold Abigail in my lap at least once every day: I know those days of cuddling will end far sooner than I’m ready to say goodbye to them.
Incidentally, Abby told me that one of her New Year’s resolutions was to sit in my lap at least once every day — so it’s been working out beautifully so far. We’ve only missed one day in four months — March 1. (That was election day for the Texas state primaries, and I worked the polls all day, personally checking in and credentialing one thousand, one hundred fifteen voters in the span of 12 hours. It meant leaving the house before Abby woke up and returning after she’d gone to bed. So no lap time that day. 🙁 )
Abigail was born the day before I turned 45. I had my first child at 23, my second 16 months later, and another every couple of years after that for two decades. One of the best benefits of big-family living is that I haven’t had to give up the joys of one stage to embrace the pleasures of the next.
Having a baby at 45 means I’ve been able to nurse babies and cuddle toddlers and read with grade schoolers and nurture adolescents and teach teens to drive and attend graduations and converse with adult children and witness marriages and welcome grandchildren — all at the same time! That’s been absolutely amazing as long as it’s lasted.
But now that I’ve (most likely) reached the end of those precious childbearing years, I’m more acutely aware than ever, as my little ones pass milestone after milestone, that some of my favorite aspects of motherhood are being left behind in the transition. I don’t want to take any of these moments for granted, which is probably why the following poem so resonates with me at this stage of my life:
The Last Time
From the moment you hold your baby in your arms,
You will never be the same.
You might long for the person you were before,
When you had freedom and time,
And nothing in particular to worry about.
You will know tiredness like you never knew it before,
And days will run into days that are exactly the same,
Full of feeding and burping,
Whining and fighting,
Naps, or lack of naps. It might seem like a never-ending cycle.But don’t forget…
There is a last time for everything.
There will come a time when you will feed your baby
for the very last time.
They will fall asleep on you after a long day
And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child.One day you will carry them on your hip,
then set them down,
And never pick them up that way again.
You will scrub their hair in the bath one night
And from that day on they will want to bathe alone.
They will hold your hand to cross the road,
Then never reach for it again.
They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles,
And it will be the last night you ever wake for this.
One afternoon you will sing “The Wheels on the Bus”
and do all the actions,
Then you’ll never sing that song again.
They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate,
Then the next day, they will ask to walk to the gate alone.
You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your
last dirty face.
They will one day run to you with arms raised,
for the very last time.The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time
Until there are no more times, and even then,
It will take you a while to realise.So while you are living in these times,
Remember there are only so many of them and
When they are gone,
You will yearn for just one more day of them…
For one last time.Author unknown
If your baby is still a baby, savor the sweet moments while you can. If your youngest has grown up faster than you ever imagined possible, then you can undoubtedly relate to this poem as much as I do. (I don’t know who wrote it. If you do, please share in the comment section below.)
Of course, there’s no stopping the march of time — and I wouldn’t want to, even if I could. It is vitally important that we let our children grow up. That we encourage and facilitate their maturity and independence. And that we — little by little — learn to let go.
But as long as my little girl still wants to crawl into my lap to snuggle, I’m gonna let her do just that!
Are you guys going to have a #13?
Ha! We’ve been trying for #13 for the past 12 years, Elizabeth, but (so far) God hasn’t seen fit to give us any more children — further proof that He is the one who opens and closes the womb. He has, however, blessed us with 17 grandchildren, with two more on the way. So that has helped soothe my baby fever a little bit.😊
I am number 10 .. but although Mom could not have more with the coming of menopause .. the children continued as our family took in several new born foster children. I remember hearing my Dad crying in the night after the little ones were adopted .. such precious treasures! Most were adopted quickly by other families but the little one who arrived first .. we could not let him go. One Last Time seems to come too soon .. already now I face it with my grandbabies .. no more holding them while they sleep .. BUT .. we are here for them when they need us just as our folks were here for our children.
That is a rich heritage, Donna, to hear your father share his heart like that when he didn’t realize you were listening. You never have to doubt that your parents loved and valued children when they continued to foster little ones even after having so many of their own!
Thank you so much for sharing. I am 55 this year and we raise our grandson (8) And now my daughter who is 33 just got pregnant with her first.
I have been over the moon happy but so many neigh sayers bursting my bubble because of her age. I know women have kids older and older now and all is fine. Just nice to hear it from someone.
Thank you. Love your newsletters,
Thirty-three seems like a spring chicken from my vantage point! Glad you were encouraged by my story. Don’t let the neigh sayers get you down. ❤️
It’s possible that poem was written by Karen Kingsbury
You may be right, Letitia, although the only poem I could find by Karen Kingsbury on a similar theme is different than the one quoted above. Is the following poem the one you had in mind?
That one’s a bit of a tear-jerker, too, isn’t it?
I sent this post to many of my friends asking if they needed a cleansing cry. God used this post to speak to me on so many levels. Thank you, Jennifer, for sharing it.
April is our busy month too. The first week of April we have three bdays in a row, my eldest turns 20 today, and another a week from today. My youngest, who turned three this month, was born when I was 45. We waited, not realizing all that we were missing. So it does make me a little sad that our little guy is probably the last.
Thank you for a beautiful post. My youngest of 7 is 10 now; he is affectionate and sweet, and it does tug at my heart to think of him turning into a 13 year old in a couple of years, leaving behind all little boyness. I had him when I was 46, and his oldest sister was 18. I am deeply grateful for my two “bonus boys,” born after a series of miscarriages.
So beautiful! It’s true for more than one reason. I’m 40 and am holding my 7 month old (she’s number seven, too). But this poem also brought me to tears because we lost our firstborn son when he was 5. I remember seeing his sippy cup on the table when we got home from the hospital. The last time he used it was at lunch. I remember seeing his pajamas on the couch. The last time he changed that morning. I remember the last time he cuddled between his dad and me on the couch, the night before. Sometimes they grow up, sometimes they just are taken home early. Either way, it ends way too soon. But the lessons God uses them to teach us are so important! Thank you, Jennifer!!
I’m so sorry for your loss, Beth. As hard as it can be watching them grow up, there’s no guarantee they’ll grow up at all — or that we still be around when they do. Thanks for the reminder to cherish every day for that reason, as well.
My baby turned19 today. It all happens so fast.
Love this JENNIFER! It reflects my heart as well. Landrie is soon to turn 13 and not a day goes by that we don’t savor every aspect of her childhood. She has been our long awaited blessing and we often refer to her as “The cherry on top of life’s ice cream sundae.” ;0)
The cherry on top — I like that! And it makes me happy to think how cherished Landrie must feel every time she hears you say it. 🙂
Wonderful post Jennifer! I am cuddling Baby #11 right now, born in January. I will be 44 years old in June and am trying to enjoy every minute as I know very well that he may be my last. And just in case the other commenter reads this, I have had 3 babies in my 40’s so far, so yes – there is hope!
Congratulations, Brenda! We missed family camp last year, so I didn’t know you were expecting again. I had three in my forties, too. I also have a friend who had a baby at 50, so I haven’t completely given up hope yet for a #13. 🙂
Thanks for sharing this – on a day when I am finding not having children at 40 so saddening, it was lovely to see a facebook post proclaiming there is hope of children after 40!