It's Later Than You Think

I saw a TV interview this morning of a woman who, at age 60, just gave birth to twins. When asked if she felt she was too old, she replied no, citing that both her parents lived into their 90s.

Well, that explanation made about as much sense as putting nipples on mannequins. Just because Mom and Dad lived long lives is no guarantee that their offspring will live at least that long. Just ask my two brothers who died at 36 and 39, respectively. (That's a rhetorical question. They're dead, remember?)

I suffered from infertility through both my marriages. When I turned 40, I said to myself, "It's time to move on." (Okay, first I wrote a book about a heroine who couldn't have children, [A Love of Her Own], then I moved on.) My husband and I have a 7-month old grandchild, whom I just adore . . . but I'm glad she's not my child. In my opinion motherhood is either for the young, or the very early middle-aged. I used to kid my husband that I'd probably get pregnant at 50, and I'd deal with it by jumping off a bridge . . . after I shot him, of course.

I wish the new parents lots of luck and stronger invincibility than George Armstrong Custer. Of course, twin babies aren't the same as 20,000 Sioux warriors. Then again, if this new mother could afford to get impregnated in the first place (I haven't heard much about the method used, but I'm pretty sure it didn't happen the usual way), she can probably afford to pay someone who will get up for those middle-of-the-night feedings and later, to chase two active toddlers around.

I'm just happy to be Grandma Bettye.