Ep 02 – Becoming Your Mother Later in Life

Hey, Diwa.

It is 1:34am. You are soundly asleep — sleeping like a log. Late night thoughts.

I have been thinking a lot lately about what it means to become a mother in your mid to late forties. Because the truth is, it changes the way you experience time.

When people become parents younger, maybe adulthood still feels endless. Your knees are still working properly. You recover from sleep deprivation in like — what — twelve minutes? And your back is not negotiating with gravity every morning.

But when you become a mother later in life, time suddenly feels very real. Not in a tragic way. It is just visible. You become aware that life is not some unlimited subscription plan. There are seasons to things. Energy matters. Health matters. Time matters.

And maybe that is one of the reasons I started this podcast.

Sometimes I watch you sleep. I see your tiny chest rising and falling. And I think about all the moments I hope I will still be here for.

I want to know who you will become. What kind of woman you will grow into. What your voice will sound like when you are older. The conversations we have not had yet. The heartbreaks I will not be able to protect you from. The versions of yourself you have not met yet.

And yeah, sometimes that thought hits me in the chest a little.

But then I remember something important. Becoming your mother later in life also gave me gifts I could not have given you when I was younger.

One of those gifts is clarity.

At this age, I know who I am. Or at the very least, I know who the hell I am not anymore. And that changes the way I mother you.

When I advocate for you — questioning standard medical procedures, asking uncomfortable questions, insisting on informed consent instead of blindly following authority — I do not do it because I am trying to be difficult. Trust me, I know women especially get labeled difficult the second we do not obediently nod along.

But I am not trying to win popularity points. I am trying to protect you, my child.

And one thing getting older teaches you is that people will guilt you for thinking independently — right up until the moment your instincts turn out to be right.

Another gift older motherhood gave me is perspective.

When my back hurts from carrying you around for too long, or when I look at what used to be my shopping budget now going toward milk, baby clothes, wipes, vitamins, and your tiny little socks that always disappear — I do not feel deprived.

I feel privileged.

It is a strange and beautiful thing when you willingly rearrange your entire life around someone you love this much and do not resent it for a single second.

And then there is probably the biggest gift of all — the freedom to mother differently than I was mothered.

Now listen. My own mom was super strict. Like absurdly strict.

Did you know I had a yaya for an embarrassingly long time? Honestly, probably longer than socially acceptable. I am not saying that is bad. It is just unusual.

And because I was overly protected, I also became a little menace. Actually — no. Not little. I was a full blown manipulative gremlin.

One of my earliest memories is throwing an absolute fit whenever I did not get what I wanted. If I wanted ice cream and my yaya said no, I would literally roll around on the ground on purpose just to dirty my clothes — because I knew she would struggle getting the stains out later. Which in my tiny, chaotic child brain somehow meant victory.

And honestly? That worked way too well.

Which is exactly why I already know I cannot raise you that same way. Because the world does not need another adult who thinks emotional terrorism is a negotiation strategy.

And to any parent listening — please do not reward every tantrum just because you are tired. I get it. Parenting is exhausting. Sometimes you just want peace. But tiny unchecked behaviours become adult character traits later.

Trust me, life eventually humbles people who think rolling on the floor gets them what they want.

Anyway. I clearly have a lot more to say about motherhood later in life. Probably because becoming your mother cracked open parts of me I did not even know were still asleep.

This topic goes way deeper than sore backs and disappearing baby socks. So maybe I will leave the rest for another letter — whenever inspiration decides to show up again.

That is all for today, Diwa.

Words on a page only go so far.
Hear this letter exactly as it was spoken.