Oh wow, you’re so brave to have a baby at 42!

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that. And every time, I pause, partly to smile politely, partly to suppress the urge to say, Actually, I wasn’t brave. I was just finally ready.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? We love calling women “brave” when they do something outside the script. But brave?

Brave is being a gladiator in the ring, facing wild beasts in front of a roaring crowd. Brave is summiting Everest in record time, gasping for air but pushing through.

Me? I wasn’t brave. I was just ready.

And honestly, you know what bravery looks like to me now? Being a work-from-home mom with a toddler who doesn’t nap, doesn’t let me sit, and thinks my bathroom breaks are a group activity. That’s brave. That’s Olympic-level endurance! 

By 42, I wasn’t fighting anything. I had simply arrived at a place where motherhood made sense to me again. Where I wanted it. Where it felt aligned, even in all its unpredictability.

I actually felt ready as soon as I turned 40. But life, as it tends to, had other plans. I lost a year to miscarriages, quiet ones. The kind no one sends flowers for. But still, through that pain, the readiness stayed. In fact, it deepened. It was like my heart knew something my body hadn’t caught up with yet.

What’s funny is, when I see people congratulating younger women on their pregnancies, it’s all sunshine and exclamation marks. With me, it was more like… polite surprise. A little awe, a dash of curiosity, and a sprinkle of, “Are you sure?” Kind, but also kind of awkward.

Late motherhood is not celebrated the way early motherhood is. We still live in a culture where you’re supposed to have it all figured out by 30: the career, the husband, the kids, preferably two, with names that rhyme. But some of us? We’re just not wired that way. Some of us grow into motherhood. Some of us don’t know we’re ready until our 40s. And that’s not brave, it’s just human.

The idea that readiness has an expiry date is absurd to me. What if some of us are just meant to mother later? What if it’s not about ticking boxes by a certain age but about being in a place, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, where it finally feels right?

For me, it also coincided with turning 40 and that delicious shift where you just stop caring so much about what people think. It’s as if a fog lifts and suddenly, your choices belong to you again. That confidence, that clarity, it became the perfect soil for motherhood to bloom again.

And do I ever wish I’d had my second baby in my 30s instead of 42?

Not really. I don’t wish it. I just sometimes wonder… what if this readiness, this sense of being grounded, had arrived sooner? Could it have?

But then again, “Waqt se pehle aur kismat se zyada kisi ko kuch nahi milta.” You don’t get more than what’s meant for you, and never before the time is right.

And that’s the thing about motherhood and life itself. We’re told there’s a “right time” for everything: love by 25, kids by 30, stability by 35, and after that… Well, you’re apparently on borrowed time.

But, what if the only right time is your time?

So yes, this story is about becoming a mother at 42. But it’s also about unlearning timelines, resisting pressure, and making space for your own readiness. Not society’s. Not the world. Yours. Because readiness isn’t about age. It’s about alignment. And when you’re aligned? Whether it’s motherhood, love, career, or anything else. It flows.

And maybe that’s not bravery. Maybe it’s just finally listening to yourself.