I often find myself labeled as an “older mother,” a designation my OB/GYN made quite clear in my medical records: AMA, or Advanced Maternal Age. This term applies to any mother over 35, and I’ve comfortably surpassed that threshold by a dozen years. It’s been a lifelong habit of mine to be ahead of the curve—I was an early walker, an early reader, and even now, I coordinate advanced placement courses at my school. So yes, I wear the AMA label with a sense of pride. But what does it truly mean to be a mother at this stage of life?
For starters, I’ve come to terms with the fact that somersaults are no longer on my agenda. Just last weekend, as my children were showing off their newfound tumbling skills, I felt an overwhelming urge to join in. Tate was a blur of energy, twirling effortlessly, while Parker landed with all the grace of a deflating balloon. I thought I could still pull it off—bad idea. My neck protested with a crunch that was far louder than any healthy granola I teach my students to enjoy. So, I’ve officially retired from all living room gymnastics.
Another realization is that high heels have become a rare choice in my wardrobe. When my daughters were toddlers, I proudly donned heels for work every day, a decision that, in hindsight, probably wasn’t the wisest. Racing after little ones while trying to maintain balance on stilts is less than ideal. Perhaps I should have considered outfitting my toddlers with stilts instead—slowing them down might just save my sanity in crowded parking lots.
Being an older mother also means my hormones are engaged in a chaotic tug-of-war. It’s as if half my face is reliving its teenage years while the other half is plotting its Botox future. The result? A confusing landscape of laugh lines, crow’s feet, acne, and oily patches. My skin has become a battleground of contradictions.
In my earlier years as a mother, I explored every new beauty trend, but now, with twins in the mix, my time and budget for skincare have vanished. I’ve resorted to borrowing my boys’ products, and honestly, I have no shame about it. Recently, I dealt with a massive pimple on my bottom lip—yes, my bottom lip. I slathered on some diaper cream and woke up to find it barely noticeable, thanks to their gentle baby wash. Who needs fancy treatments when toddler products can do the trick? I even smell good enough to swaddle, and my cheeks are as soft as a baby’s bottom.
Yes, I’m an older mom, and while that comes with its own set of challenges, it’s not all doom and gloom. Some things only get better with age—like blue jeans, cast iron skillets, and fine wine.
Let’s take a moment to explore this metaphorically: I’m like a well-loved pair of blue jeans. I’m versatile, comfortable, and always ready for whatever the weekend throws my way. I may be soft and broken in, with a bit of stretch to handle life’s unexpected moments, yet I still hold everything important together.
As a mother, I also resemble a seasoned cast iron skillet—valuable and one of a kind. Just like an heirloom, I’m tough and reliable, delivering consistent comfort and warmth. I’ve weathered challenges and grown stronger with each passing year, proving my worth through the generations.
Starting motherhood anew at 47, raising twin toddlers at 50, I must be a miracle in motion. I liken myself to fine wine: full-bodied, with a touch of sweetness, yet possessing a sharp acidity that adds depth and clarity when needed. My complexities could baffle anyone—just ask my husband or my students. I’m earthy and grounded, balancing sophistication with a bit of cheekiness.
So yes, I embrace my designation as an AMA mom. Like blue jeans, cast iron skillets, and fine wine, I only improve with age. Motherhood transcends age, proving to be a powerful and miraculous journey. It’s a realm that stands alone, defining its own significance.
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In summary, being a mom of advanced maternal age is a unique journey filled with both challenges and joys. Embracing this phase offers a chance to appreciate the richness that comes with life experience and resilience.