When I arrived at my ultrasound appointment, the technician promptly wrote “geriatric” at the top of my chart.
“Who in the hell is geriatric?” I thought.
Annoyed and unaware that this was standard medical language for women of “advanced maternal age,” I replied, “Don’t you know that women all over the world have had babies at 40?”
I wasn’t wrong. A recent report from the Centers for Disease Control shows that more babies are now being born to women over 40, while birth rates among women under 30 continue to decline. This data may not surprise those of us who’ve given birth later in life, but it affirms what many of us already know: motherhood after 40 is becoming increasingly common in the U.S. And for Black women in particular, this shift carries profound meaning.
Growing up During the Height of Teen Pregnancy
In the winter of 1992, I watched the MTV premiere of Tupac Shakur’s “Brenda’s Got a Baby.” I had just started middle school, and my parents used the video as a “scared straight” tactic. It worked. Growing up amid a teen pregnancy epidemic was eye-opening. I had friends and family members who became mothers before 21. Some were surrounded by love and support; others were left to navigate parenthood in near isolation, with little access to resources.
My own mother had her first child at 15. By the time I was born, 11 years later, my parents had endured immense hardship raising children with limited support. So when we had “the talk,” their message was clear: if you choose to have children, just wait.
Their insistence, along with the portrayal of teen motherhood in media and music, helped solidify my desire to delay motherhood as long as I could.
The Power to Choose
In my 20s, I was childfree by choice—and I loved it. I relished the freedom of waking up each day with no responsibilities beyond myself. It was a choice I hadn’t seen the women in my family make, and it felt liberating. In some ways, I believed I was healing generational cycles by living on my terms.
I had my first child at 33. In doing so, I quietly rewrote the narrative of motherhood in my family. While most of the women I knew were done having children by 30, I was just beginning. But it was my decision, and that autonomy made all the difference.
There is something deeply powerful about choosing when and how to start or grow a family. For years, society has warned women against childbirth after 35. While there are valid medical risks at any age—especially in a country like the U.S., where Black maternal health disparities persist—Black women are reclaiming the narrative and redefining what motherhood can look like in our 40s.
Reasons for delaying motherhood vary. Some of us focused on careers, financial security, or personal growth. Others met the right partner later or sought improved access to fertility care. Regardless of the path, it’s encouraging to see more Black women choosing what works best for us.
The Complex Joy of Birthing After 40
I strive to stay grounded in my joy, but I won’t pretend it’s always easy. When I became pregnant at 40, I did feel isolated. Most of my friends had moved beyond the baby stage and were now juggling extracurriculars, planning for prom, or even preparing to send their kids to college. I knew I needed to find a new community. So, like many millennial parents, I turned to the Internet. I joined a Facebook group for Black women conceiving and birthing after 40. Finally, I’d found my people—women offering honest dialogue and zero judgment.
We shared many of the same concerns. Postpartum complications. The emotional and logistical leap from one child to two. Career interruptions in a workforce often dismissive of aging women. Postpartum depression and anxiety don’t discriminate by age. There were moments I wondered: Would I have more energy if I were younger?
I also found myself confronting assumptions—people believing that, because I was older, I had it all figured out. Nothing could be further from the truth. Just because we’re older doesn’t mean we don’t need support. Many of us are parenting without the same level of hands-on help from aging parents. The need for community doesn’t disappear with age—it often grows.
There’s also a particular kind of loneliness that comes with parenting in your 40s. Playdates hit differently when you’re sharing space with a generation that isn’t blasting the same music as you or doesn’t get any of your pop culture references from the 90s.
And let’s not ignore the physical realities. Random body aches. Cracking knees while playing Legos. Wondering whether the night sweats are from nursing or perimenopause—or both. And yes, discovering a cooter full of grey hair.
Shifting the Narrative
I’m grateful that Black women expanding families in our 40s are finding and building spaces that reflect us. Still, I’d love to see broader representation of this experience in media.
Take last year’s Bel-Air season finale. It ended with Aunt Viv holding a pregnancy test, wondering if a passionate night with her husband had resulted in a late-in-life surprise. Social media exploded. One commenter wrote, “Who is out here having babies in their 40s? We don’t need to bring this storyline back from the original.”
I usually avoid engaging with online strangers, but I had to respond: “Why can’t we have this narrative? What?! ‘You mean to tell me 40-year-olds are still knocking boots?’ Of course they are. Some of us are really living this life!”
We need more stories of Black women navigating motherhood in our 40s. Stories that reflect the lives we’re creating—in books, on screen, and in public discourse. Since becoming a mom at 40, I’ve become more outspoken, bold and unapologetic. I want to model for my daughters what it looks like to live boldly, and on one’s own terms.
Start your family at 20? Great. Prefer to wait until 35? Wonderful. Don’t want children at all? Also valid.
I’m proud of the life I’m shaping—birthing babies and goals in my 40s. That’s something worth celebrating.
