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I came across a Facebook post that made me do a double-take. Is this for real? It can’t be. Perhaps her child grabbed her phone and posted a joke. An old classmate from high school had just shared a cute picture of a chubby newborn, with the caption, “And now we have two grandbabies!” Two. Grandbabies. I’m 42, and she’s likely around the same age—41 or 42. What in the world?
Growing up in a small rural community, it wasn’t unusual for people to settle down, marry, and start families young. While not everyone followed that path, at our 20-year high school reunion, several from our class of 39 had already raised teenagers. Yet, I never considered how that timeline would shift as we aged: high school students grow into adults, and adults have children.
None of my friends are anywhere near being grandparents. I have a small circle of close friends from my hometown, whom I’ve known since kindergarten. Even those who had children “early” were still just 24 or 25. It’s still surreal to think their oldest kids are finishing high school now. I vividly remember their baby showers—mostly because I found myself staring at their moms, thinking, You’re about to have a baby; I don’t even own a plant! The thought of receiving an invitation for the next generation’s baby shower is unfathomable.
After leaving the farm for a more progressive liberal arts college, my social media feed is mostly filled with friends who have only recently welcomed their own babies. The culture at my college leaned toward obtaining postgraduate degrees rather than focusing on marriage. The idea of having a baby in your 20s was uncommon; most people tied the knot closer to 30 or later, and many had children well into their 40s. I can easily recall four college friends still dealing with diapers.
And then there’s my former high school softball teammate, who is now a grandmother. Twice.
I quickly updated my hometown group chat. “Wow. I think her husband is older, maybe?” responded Emily, attempting to rationalize the surprising news.
That thought provided a brief sense of relief: Okay, if she married an older guy, he might have wanted kids right away… so maybe the rest of us aren’t at the grandparent age yet. But we were just kidding ourselves. If she had a baby at 20, then it’s entirely possible her child could have followed suit, leading to her being a grandma without any high school pregnancies. The math adds up.
Yet, it still feels like a stretch. Even though my youngest is now eight and I’m, again, 42, I sometimes think it wouldn’t be that strange if I had another baby. My partner, however, does not share that enthusiasm. The look on his face is a mix of horror and disbelief, indicating he’s not on board with the idea.
Deep down, I know I don’t actually want to have more babies. While I adore the snuggles of a newborn, I also relish this current phase of parenting, where I can say, “Go back to bed, it’s not morning yet,” or “You’re old enough to make your own lunch.” You can’t negotiate with a two-month-old; you end up doing everything for them anyway.
I’d gladly hold a baby for a few hours, feed it, and cuddle it. Changing the occasional diaper is fine, but I’m not looking to be responsible for raising another child for the next 18 years. I’d prefer to enjoy a baby for an afternoon and then hand it back to its parent.
Wait a minute…
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Summary
The realization that peers from my generation are becoming grandparents is a jarring experience. Growing up in a small town, it was common for people to marry and start families early, and while my social media reflects a different reality with friends having children later in life, the thought of my high school classmates now being grandmothers is a shocking reminder of how quickly time passes. I enjoy parenting my children at their current ages, preferring to celebrate other people’s babies than to consider having more of my own.
Keyphrase: shock of realizing peers are grandparents
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