My Children Have Left It Too Late to Have Babies, and I’m Bitterly Disappointed As a parent, there are many milestones we eagerly anticipate first steps, first words, graduations, weddings. Yet, one of the most profound desires I have held for my children has been the hope of becoming a grandparent. I imagined being surrounded by the joy and chaos of little ones, watching my children step into the role of parents themselves, and sharing in the excitement of the next generation. But as I sit here now, reflecting on my children’s choices, I can’t shake the deep sense of disappointment that has settled in my heart:
they’ve left it too late to have babies.At first, I thought it was just a phase. Life today is complicated, and I understood that pursuing careers, relationships, and personal goals often took precedence. There was always “next year” or “soon.” But years have passed, and the moment never arrived. The promises they made to me, to themselves, seem to slip further away with every passing birthday.The truth is, the clock is ticking. The biological reality for women, in particular, is something you can’t ignore. Fertility begins to decline, and the window for having children narrows.
I have tried to be understanding, and I know that life is different now than it was when I was raising them. We live in an age of choices, of freedom, of endless possibilities, but with that comes an undercurrent of regret when it feels like time is running out.I remember the first time one of my children told me they weren’t sure they wanted to have children. My heart sank. It wasn’t about them having a different vision for their life, but rather the unspoken acknowledgment that perhaps, just maybe, they were postponing it indefinitely. And now, years later, as I watch them settle into their lives, often busy with work, travel, and friendships, I wonder if they’ll ever have the space—or the desire—to bring a child into the world.
There’s an unspoken pressure that comes from being a parent. I know that. But there’s also an immense joy, and a longing, to see the cycle continue. It’s not just about the desire to hold a grandchild in my arms, though I’ll admit that’s part of it. It’s about seeing my children find fulfillment in a new and profound way. Parenthood is transformative. It teaches patience, resilience, and love in ways that nothing else can. I want them to experience that—just as I did.But perhaps that’s where I’ve gone wrong. I’ve allowed my own expectations to cloud their personal journey.
They’re not me. They don’t have to follow the same path I did. They may have different dreams, different timelines, and perhaps they will find joy in ways I cannot understand. But still, it stings. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wishing for that future I envisioned for us.I suppose the reality is that, just like in every other part of life, I have to let go. My children are adults now, and they will make the decisions that are right for them—even if those decisions don’t align with my own. If they choose to become parents someday, I will welcome it with open arms. But if that day never comes, I know I will have to accept that too, bittersweet as it may be.So, while I may feel disappointed now, I know that I cannot rush them. Life unfolds in its own time, and sometimes, that means stepping back, allowing space for my children to chart their own course—no matter how different that course is from the one I imagined for them. I can only hope that, in time, they will find their own reasons to embrace the gift of parenthood, and maybe, just maybe, I will be there to see it happen.
