When I became a first-time mom in my early forties, it wasn’t something I saw reflected very often — not growing up, not in my friend circle, and certainly not in the advice I was getting. I knew I wasn’t alone. More women than ever are having children later in life. But even knowing that, it still felt like uncharted territory.
“More women than ever are having children later in life. But even knowing that, it still felt like uncharted territory.”
So much of the advice out there is written for twenty- and thirty-somethings who may have a built-in village, parents nearby, and friends raising kids at the same time. My husband, Charles, and I didn’t have that. We are later-in-life parents, deeply grateful to have conceived after eight years of fertility challenges, but also aware that our experience didn’t quite fit the typical script.
We were navigating parenthood with equal parts wonder and humility, learning as we went, and creating our own version of what family could look like (and still are!). And if you’re walking a similar path, finding your rhythm a little later in life — whether by choice or through a long season of waiting — I want you to know this: There’s no timeline for joy, and no expiration date on new beginnings.
Below are the lessons I’ve learned, both as a functional medicine doctor and as a later-in-life parent.
The generational gap — and the absence of true mentorship
Motherhood later in life doesn’t come with a roadmap. The generation before us followed a very different rhythm, and our peers are still charting their own.
Our mothers often had children in their twenties, leaving careers or ambitions behind because that was the norm. Their wisdom is hard-earned, yet it doesn’t always fit the world we’re raising kids in today — one built around dual careers, digital overload, and constant pressure to balance it all.
“This chapter of motherhood feels less like inheriting a blueprint and more like creating one together.”
Meanwhile, the women I relate to most — those in their late thirties and forties — are learning right alongside me. We’re like swimmers in the same pool, glancing at each other for cues, figuring it out stroke by stroke. There’s something beautiful about that, too.
This chapter of motherhood feels less like inheriting a blueprint and more like creating one together. There’s compassion, curiosity, and a quiet sense that we’re part of a generational shift.
The physical and emotional reality of doing it later
Motherhood in your forties feels different — not better or worse, just different. The reality is, your body is hormonally different after 35: Energy ebbs more noticeably, recovery takes longer, and sleep isn’t quite what it used to be.
“The reality is, your body is hormonally different after 35: Energy ebbs more noticeably, recovery takes longer, and sleep isn’t quite what it used to be.”
For me, there were mornings when I was helping Koa find his rhythm while noticing my own shifting. As a functional medicine doctor, I couldn’t ignore what was happening inside my body. Estrogen and progesterone naturally fluctuate in the early forties and decline, influencing everything from mood and metabolism to how we handle stress and rebuild tissue.
But with those changes comes deeper awareness — and a patience I didn’t have in my twenties. I know when to rest, when to ask for help, and when sunlight will do more for me than scrolling ever could. It’s a different kind of strength — less about endurance, more about attunement. You can be in perimenopause and chase a toddler and still find moments of joy, humor, and grace in the mess of it all.
The mental load of knowing too much
Older mothers often enter parenthood with a library of knowledge. We’ve read the books, followed the experts, and bookmarked every study on sleep, feeding, and development. We want to do it right. But information overload can be its own kind of stress. The more you know, the more you question if you’re doing enough — the right schedule, the right toy, the right milestone. It’s endless. And just because you’re older doesn’t mean you automatically know better. Being a new parent is a humbling experience, no matter how wise and prepared you are.
“The more you know, the more you question if you’re doing enough — the right schedule, the right toy, the right milestone.”
Research shows that the prefrontal cortex — the part of the brain responsible for decision-making and planning — can become overactive during early motherhood, especially when sleep is fragmented. Add hormones, and it’s easy to feel like your mind is always “on.”
Sometimes I wished I had less data and more trust. And that’s pretty meaningful coming from a doctor. I love data. The real wisdom came from paying attention to Koa’s rhythms, not the comparison charts. From realizing that “good enough” is often exactly what your child needs most.
Redefining what support looks like
Before Koa was born, I pictured support as a circle of family and friends close by — grandparents babysitting, meals dropped off at the door, the kind of village we all hear about. That wasn’t our story. Our families live far away, and most of our friends are in different life stages. So we built something new: A village made of group texts, FaceTime calls, a trusted nanny, and a handful of friends who show up in small but incredibly meaningful ways.
“We built something new: A village made of group texts, FaceTime calls, a trusted nanny, and a handful of friends who show up in small but incredibly meaningful ways.”
At first, it felt lonely. But I’ve learned that a community doesn’t have to be traditional to be real. Support can look like a friend who checks in once a week, a partner who takes the morning shift, or a shared laugh with another mom at the park. Studies show that perceived social support—the sense of being seen and understood—is one of the strongest predictors of maternal well-being. So even if your “village” looks unconventional, it still absolutely counts.
The gift of perspective
Motherhood later in life gives you a kind of clarity you don’t always have when you’re younger. I don’t measure my success in milestones anymore; I measure it in moments. I’m less interested in comparison and more grounded in gratitude. I don’t need Koa to be the fastest or the first. Frankly, I’m just grateful he’s here.
“I don’t need Koa to be the fastest or the first. Frankly, I’m just grateful he’s here.”
That gratitude runs especially deep for me as a breast cancer thriver. There was a time I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to experience motherhood at all. Years of fertility challenges, treatment, and waiting shaped the way I see this season of life. Every sleepless night, every new word, every sticky hug — they all feel like proof of something I once only hoped for.
For many women who become mothers later in life, that gratitude comes from lived experience. By the time we get here, most of us have weathered something — fertility struggles, IVF cycles, miscarriages, illness, waiting seasons, or just years spent building a life before motherhood felt possible. We arrive with perspective because we’ve already learned how little in life is guaranteed.
“We arrive with perspective because we’ve already learned how little in life is guaranteed.”
That waiting reshapes you. Changing your life this much at this stage changes you. It softens some edges and sharpens others. It teaches patience, surrender, and a reverence for timing that you can’t get from a book or a podcast. And it makes the small, ordinary moments — morning snuggles, belly laughs, messy meals — feel like the real miracles they are.
I just want to be present when he takes each step.
Everyone warns you how fast it goes, and you nod politely until you feel it. Age brings a deeper appreciation for time, and time brings perspective. There’s freedom in letting go of the “perfect mom” story and finding joy in the imperfect, unfiltered moments that make up real life.
The generational shift in how we talk about motherhood
We’re part of a cultural shift. More women are becoming mothers in their thirties and forties, often after years spent building careers, exploring purpose, and caring for their health or for others. That shapes how we parent, how we prioritize, and how we define success.
We’re not the first to have babies later in life, but we are part of a generation redefining what that looks like. We’re the bridge between the old narrative and the new one, and the story we’re writing will give future mothers a little more permission to do it their own way too.
“The story we’re writing will give future mothers a little more permission to do it their own way too.”
To every woman walking this path a little later — whether by choice, circumstance, or surprise — I want you to know you’re not behind. You’re right on time for your own life. There’s no perfect age for motherhood, no universal timeline for when it’s supposed to happen. What matters is that you’re here, showing up, learning, loving, and redefining what this season can look like for you.
We may not have inherited a roadmap for this chapter, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe we were meant to draw it ourselves.
Dr. Jaclyn Tolentino is a Board-Certified Family Physician and the Lead Functional Medicine Physician at Love.Life. Specializing in women’s health and hormone optimization, she has been featured in Vogue, The Wall Street Journal, and Women’s Health. As a functional practitioner and a breast cancer survivor, Dr. Tolentino is dedicated to uncovering the root causes of health challenges, employing a holistic, whole-person approach to empower lasting wellbeing. Follow her on Instagram here for more insights.
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