This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Rene Byrd. It has been edited for length and clarity.
When I turned 40, I went on a seven-day retreat full of meditation and massage to fall in love with myself. I’m a strong believer that to find love, you first have to love yourself.
I had wanted to settle down with someone and build a family, but it just hadn’t happened. Three years prior, I had frozen my eggs because I knew that I wanted a family someday.
On the retreat, I felt deep in my spirit that I would one day find my person and hold my child in my hands. I wouldn’t give up hope.
I met someone at a bar
Returning home, I continued dating, but it wasn’t until a chance meeting at a bar that I finally found the man who would become my husband. I hadn’t quite turned 41, and he was 34.
I remember not wanting to scare him off by talking too much about my desire for kids, but we did have discussions about the future. When love started to bloom between the two of us, we started looking at what our options were for having a child together.
After trying holistic methods to no avail, we decided to go down the IVF route. I’d heard horror stories about IVF — that it was never straightforward — but as I already had my eggs frozen, it was the best option for us at the time.
I felt guilty for waiting so long
Two-and-a-half long years later, I was given the news from the IVF clinic — I was pregnant. I fell apart, phoning my husband to tell him we would be having a baby.
Throughout my pregnancy, I remember being scared of what this new life as a mother would look like. I had little panic attacks considering how different life would be, as compared to the decades of life without a child. And then I felt guilty, telling myself I had waited so long for this. There was a lot of grappling with these thoughts until I realized my child would just be an extension of me.
Once our little boy, Crue, was born in November 2024, I felt ready for his arrival in theory. Having spent years hearing from friends with children, I had an idea of what to expect. Even still, those early days were a lot to deal with. All these things were being thrown at me about what I should and shouldn’t do with a baby.
Being a mom in my late 40s has so many beautiful benefits
I joined online mother and baby communities and in-person baby groups, finding my tribe of mothers like me, ones that were “older.”
There is a stillness within me that grounds me as I take care of Crue. I have this playbook of mothering, developed from years of research and observation, that has given me assurance that even when things don’t seem to be going to plan — like breastfeeding or sleeping — I was OK, and so was he.
Having built up financial security, I didn’t worry about how I was going to provide for a baby. Established in a career, I could plan for all baby-related expenses, including IVF.
And since I had gotten so much out of my system in my younger years — corporate working, parties, nice restaurants — I felt content to settle in at home with my baby and husband. I never feel like I’m missing out.
The only concern I’ve heard quietly whispered in different circles is that of my health. I know that as I get older, little issues with my body could pop up — issues that I might not have had as a younger mother. This has forced me to look after my body more than I ever have so that I can fully enjoy time with Crue as he gets older.
Becoming a mother had always been a dream of mine. I trusted the process, holding on to hope, and although delayed, my dream finally came true.
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