Cameron Diaz has become a mother for the second time at the age of 51. On 22nd March, the actor announced the birth of her son, Cardinal Madden, with her husband Benji Madden, 45, with whom she already shares four-year-old daughter Raddix.
As is always the case when a woman has a child after the grand old age of 35 – once nauseatingly referred to as ‘geriatric pregnancy’, now dubbed ‘advanced maternal age’, which I’m not sure is much better – the comments criticising Diaz came flooding in.
‘Isn’t she like 60 years old?!’; ‘Too old to be having a child, natural or surrogate’; ‘What selfishness to have children at that age’; ‘Why would you have a child at that age! She will be 67 when he is 16’.
The same happened when 48-year-old Hilary Swank gave birth to twins in April 2023, then when Naomi Campbell welcomed her second child last June at the age of 53. Do you know who didn’t receive such backlash? Mick Jagger, Robert DeNiro and Al Pacino, who recently had children at 73, 80 and 83 respectively. Where was the deluge of comments calling these geriatric fathers irresponsible and selfish? Or is the age at which you have a kid only a problem when it comes to mothers?
Every time a woman in the public eye gives birth later in life, such criticism – which is undeniably drenched in ageism and sexism – generates, quite rightly, dozens of incensed responses and feminist op-eds defending a woman’s right to have children at any age. But I’m always struck by the lack of nuance and perspective. I don’t think it’s selfish for people to have children later in life. But for the child, it’s not always straightforward.
My mum had just turned 39 when she had me. My dad was approaching 51. They were each other’s second marriage; I was my mum’s first child, my dad’s third. My half-brother and -sister are now both in their 50s and have children of their own, the eldest of which – my wonderful nephew, Jack – is just 6 years younger than me.
I can’t remember a time growing up when I wasn’t acutely aware of my father’s age. My mum, despite falling into the ‘advanced maternal age’ category, has always felt young in comparison. When I was a child, there was always the assumption that my dad – this smartly-dressed, grey-haired man – was my grandad. But despite being in his 50s, he was physically and mentally fit then. He would always participate in sports days and took me swimming every Sunday. In fact, there were advantages to him being older. He’d already established a successful business and had more time to spend with me as a result.
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Then, as an adult, I took on a growing fear that if I didn’t get a move on, my dad might not be around to see me get married, or meet the children I hoped to have someday. More recently, it’s the cognitive decline that reminds me, in the cruellest of ways, that the father I know and love is slowly slipping away.
I need to make it clear that I do not resent my parents for having me later in life. It wasn’t exactly a choice. I know if they both could have somehow rewound the years and had me sooner, they would’ve done so without second thought. Because the harshest reality of having a child later in life is also the most obvious: the older you are when you have a child, the less time you have with them, and them with you. When we’re young, it’s easy to forget or disregard our own mortality; it is one of the great privileges of youth. But growing up with older parents forces you to face the very real and very terrifying passing of time at a much younger age. It’s a feeling of living on borrowed time that, once it hits you, never really leaves.
I have no doubt that for men and women debating whether to have a child later in life, this must cross their mind. Speaking on the Goop podcast when her daughter was two years old, Diaz, then 49, said: “I've got 50 or 60 years to go – I want to live to be 110, since I've got a young child. I think you have this amazing moment in your 40s where you appreciate who your parents are, and I want to have that moment with her; be there with her in her 40s.”
Living longer is, of course, much easier for extremely wealthy celebrities with access to the world’s best healthcare. But given that the average life expectancy for men and women in the UK is 79 and 83 respectively, it seems unlikely that any parent having a child in their 50s would live to see their child’s 35th birthday. For most, they’d be lucky to live through their 20s.
I’m not a mother, and I don’t know if it’s really as difficult to be an older mum as society would have us believe. I also understand the many reasons why people – and I say people, not women, because lest the headlines on birth rates in this country deceive us, it takes two to have a child – would choose to start a family later (the financial implications, for one). Many, particularly those who have struggled with fertility, don’t ‘choose’ when to have a baby at all.
But I can’t help but look at my friends whose parents haven’t even turned 60 yet and not feel a pang of jealousy. I know that might sound odd at best, ungrateful at worst. The only way I can explain it is that it’s not a lack of gratitude for the time I’ve had with my dad, but rather a preemptive longing or mourning for all the time I won’t.
I also know that older parents don’t always make younger orphans. I am almost 32 and very lucky to still have my parents. I think of my dear friend who lost her incredible mum, her best friend, two and a half years ago. They shared a birthday. This year, my friend turned 32. Her mum would’ve been just 60 years old. To my friend, it doesn’t matter how old her mum was when she gave birth, she still lost her at such an unspeakably cruel age. I know she is reminded of all the time they should have had together every single day.
But to automatically leap to women like Cameron Diaz’s defence in the ill-informed name of feminism lacks the nuance and thoughtfulness this topic deserves. Yes, women – and men – should be allowed to have children whenever they want, but should we really be embracing parenthood in our 50s, 60s or 70s (or in Al Pacino’s case, 80s), knowing the difficulties and pain it will likely cause the child sooner? I know this may be an unpopular thing to say, but I’m not so sure.
But while I may be a 31-year-old daughter watching her beloved dad deteriorate, I’m also a 31-year-old daughter who’s lucky enough to have known the unconditional love of a remarkable, dedicated and compassionate father. When all is said and done, I wouldn’t trade our time together – now matter how comparatively short – for anything.
