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Perhaps it is only due to a good case of denial or delusion, but I honestly do not often have the fact that I am really old to have kids as young as mine flit across my consciousness. It’s not that I convince myself that I am a springier chicken than I am or go out of my way to trick other eyes into seeing me younger than my chronological age, I simply don’t think about my stack of years very often and tend to go about my parenting … and my life, for that matter … much like I have at the other ages I’ve been so far.
When I’m out and about with my children, I’m busy enough conducting what business needs conducting while planning five steps ahead in the day, keeping track of where the kids are at every given moment, toting whoever needs toting, spit-polishing cheeks, wiping noses, breaking up squabbles, searching again for my to-do and to-buy lists, and so forth that how old I am … or how old I look … very rarely pops into my picture.
Occasionally, however …
My youngest had a bout of something last week that prompted a trip to the doctor and a course of antibiotics. We’ve seen this doctor only twice before, so don’t have any personal relationship with her, nor she with us. She does know that both Sam and Cj were born in Cambodia, that we adopted both as infants, and that we have no information on their genetic backgrounds or births.
A follow-up visit was required this week, and I was so happy the doctor was to have an encounter with the real non-sick, non-grumpy little girl I know so well.
Instead of reacting to the stethoscope with screams and thrashing as if it were a Gabon Viper about to thrust fangs through her tender flesh, Cj giggled when the doctor “listened to her tummy”, and looking in her ears was a practice in tickles instead of the laser beam through the brain it had apparently been the previous week.
Because the encounter was so much more relaxed, the doctor and I had a few minutes for a chat as she filled in her notes and gave me the bill. Some of the usual questions came, as expected:
Why Cambodia?
What is the process like?
Do I have other children?
When I mentioned that I have a six-year-old granddaughter, the doctor looked surprised.
“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Normally, I just spit out the five and the six that put me close to pushing 60, but I was feeling playful with my daughter so chirpy and all, and curious.
“How old would you guess?”
A long, thoughtful look had me squirming a bit, and hoping something like one-hundred-and-eleven didn’t pop out of her mouth.
“Mid-forties?” was her guess.
Whew … dodged a bullet there.
“Why, thank you,” I answered with no little gratitude, “but I’m fifty-six.”
Her response is the point of this post:
I never would have put you over fifty. It looks like having these children is keeping you young.
Indeed.
what a great doc. Hope you shook her hand!
Kissed her! But that is what you do here. There’s lots of kissing in Seychelles.
yes, I would have given her a big hug and kiss. don’t really fit in well here, but oh well, never have!
They make you younger? Does that make Cindy Bodie less than 10? I have always blamed the boys for my grey hair. If its not them, I have to be old, and thats not nice.
What a great doc. Hope you stick with her.
I broke my collar bone dirt biking three years ago. Had a bone doc who was kind enough not to say ‘What is someone your age doing riding dirt bikes?’. He is a buddy for life.
I’m so friggin jealous that Cj ordinarily doesn’t scream when she goes to doctors. Ella can be heard for miles before the doctor (a very sweet one) even touches her. I think all the other doctors are so relieved that they don’t have her as a patient.
L.
Thanks for sharing your story. We had many similar experiences.
We are 60(me) and 59(spouse) and our boys are now 8 and 9, adopted as infants in Vietnam. I was 52 when I adopted the youngest. I did fleetingly think “God, I’m 52! What am I doing here!” until I met my son’s birthmom the day before the adoption was completed. She was 19 and could have been my birth daughter. She was very sad and happy at the same time; she wrote a letter thanking us for taking care of her son, knowing he was going to a good home after seeing pictures of our family and home.
They sure keep us busy. I am now happy I am retired so I have more time to be with them and help them through difficult issues that come up, especially around adoption.
This is so fun to connect with other “older mothers.” I’m still feeling like there may be another adoption in the wind somewhere for us, but wasalso feeling like maybe I’m too old. (almost 49) Hearing about adopting in the 50 age range has given me new confidence. Thanks!:-)
My husband is 59, I’m 53. We were both married before & he had a son & daughter, now 34 & 29. I had 3 daughters, now 32, 29 & 26. We had a daughter together when I was 38, she will soon be 15.We became foster parents when all kids were married except our daughter. We got twin boys, 10 1/2 wks old. Had them a year when both bio. parents relinquished rights. Of course we adopted them. My problem is we have 11 grandkids. The oldest is 1 year older than the twins, the others are younger. I try hard to show my grandkids I love them but I feel the jealousy from my kids. I feel like I babysit all the time. I don’t want my older kids to feel jealous or my boys to be neglected because I’m so tired. Does anyone else have this problem. Any suggestions?