- I had my first kid when I was 38, and I didn’t feel the identity shift most parents talk about.
- Now, I’m pregnant again at 40; when I first saw the pregnancy test, I almost didn’t believe it.
- Most days, I still feel like I’m discovering who I am.
At first, I thought it was a joke. “When was the last time you took a test?” my husband wanted to know, as if I could remember. Besides, it didn’t matter, because I was sure I wasn’t pregnant. But five minutes later, I handed him a positive pink strip and asked, “What is this?” Of course, I knew what it was, and within days, the doctors had confirmed it: 40 years old and 14 weeks pregnant with my second.
Maybe it’s the elder millennial in me, but I’ve always had a lot of expectations about the milestones I’d hit as I got older. College, job, travel, marriage, house, book, baby — wasn’t I supposed to have it all checked off by my mid-30s? At the very least, by then I should know who I was with some certainty. Yet here I am, still waiting.
When I was 36, we decided to start trying for kids
In reality, becoming an adult proved not to be the definitive experience I’d anticipated. I recall taking stock of myself at 36 — holes in my leggings, hot dogs in the fridge, floor stacked with books I’d never read. Perhaps I wasn’t, in fact, on the precipice of my big creative break. I still hadn’t seen or done half the things I wanted to in life, and my sense of self was fuzzy at best. The question, “What do you do?” made my stomach flip (work a 9-to-5?), but then so did making the simplest decisions. (God forbid my husband ask what I wanted to do about dinner.)
Up until then, for both of us, kids had always been a curious possibility. As we saw it, having children would obviously change things, but our lives would be complete either way. Still, as I approached 40, it was time to have that conversation. Not because I suddenly felt sure, or ready. Rather, I knew I couldn’t keep waiting to “find myself” while my biological clock was busy ticking. This was one decision that was being made for me.
And so, with that, we pulled the plug on birth control, just to see. Over two years later, I had my son at 38. He was miraculous — a tiny, mewling thing with curled fists, slow-blinking eyes, and a wisp of hair. And just like that, we made space. For late nights pumping under the glow of a muted TV, for milk-soaked burp cloths souring in the laundry, and for wildly overcomplicated wake-window calculations. Our day-to-day had transformed dramatically — but that was to be expected. What did surprise me? How much I stayed the same.
I didn’t feel ‘changed’ by becoming a parent
Despite what so many parents claim, I can’t say I experienced a profound shift in my identity. The way I love my son — tender and trepidatious, full of wonder and worry — is quintessentially me. Minute to minute, I still have no clue what I’m doing (should we wake him? feed him again? hold him that way?), and I have no clearer idea who I am now (a mom? really?) than I did before the baby came.
When my son started day care this January, I felt a glimmer of hope, like I could finally return to the business of figuring out who I’m supposed to be. But now, pregnant with number two at 40, I couldn’t help but feel like the window for self-discovery was closing.
Trying to process it all, I lay in bed at night, moving my hand around my belly, wide-eyed that there could be more life inside me. But wasn’t that just it? I do have more to give — and to do. And if I was still me after the first baby, the same would be true after number two.
It dawned on me then that perhaps knowing yourself isn’t a milestone to hit. It’s a continuous process, shaped by all our circumstances — family, health, community, love, death. When and if I had children was never the issue. It was, and has always been, this multi-generational myth that we are defined by what we’ve achieved and when. The truth is, we are always evolving. At least, that’s the lesson I’m learning from my kids. And maybe that’s all growing up really is.
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