I love being a middle-aged older mom. Even though my energy level is less than it was years ago, I feel like I’m in a better “place” to raise my daughter.
My feet are firmly planted and I have peace in knowing that no matter what lies ahead, I will do my best to raise her as a good, honest person. There will be times when I fail, but I won’t second-guess every little decision I make.
I’ll do my best, because, as a parent, that’s all you really can do.
Here are 8 other things I love about being an older mom (please keep in mind that I’m not a first-timer):
Upon giving birth, you’re abandoned like the Titanic when it hit the iceberg.
Nurses only come in when required. They kick you out within 24-hours. Once you’ve done this a few times, this is actually AWESOME.
Fewer people dare mess with me or question my parenting skills.
That’s a good thing, because I’ve learned to throat punch in my later years.
The concerts I attended as an 80s teen have finally caught up with me.
It’s like a natural volume adjuster. Cries are not quite as loud. The impending temper tantrums will be somewhat hushed. Whaaat? What’s that you say?
I’m forced to slow down.
I get so worn out now compared to 21 years ago when my first was born, I’m actually forced to take time and smell the roses. My daughter is reaping the benefits.
I have learned to listen to my heart but go with my gut.
My gut rarely lets me down, unless of course I’m suffering with acid reflux or a sour stomach.
Financially I feel better established than I was when I had my boys.
Things are still a struggle at times and it never seems like there is enough moola to go around, but I at least I have an established career under my belt and know how to produce a side income.
I’m comfortable in my own skin.
I’m comfortable enough in my own skin to accept that a post-pregnancy body is like a NASCAR speedway. For most women, this is reality and not a lot can be done about it. I consider the scars and blemishes battle wounds.
I won the fight.
I’m older and wiser when it comes to parenting.
I know all of the tricks. I don’t have to run to Dr. Phil online or grab the latest addition of What to Expect the First Year to judge whether or not a green poop warrants a call to the pediatrician.
I’ve got this kid raising stuff down to a science – for the most part.