50-year-old first-time father (of twins!) Paul Connolly insists late fatherhood is blessing By Paul Connolly The response from my mother wasn't quite what I'd expected. I'd just emailed a photo of myself with my three-month-old daughter Leila curled in my arms looking absurdly cute (her, not me). Donna, my girlfriend, had taken a quick snap of us and, knowing how much Mum adored seeing pictures of her new grandchildren, I mailed it over straight away. Two minutes later she called me, a heavy note of concern in her voice. Paul, my love, Leila is gorgeous, but you look awful. You look as though you've been in some sort of explosion. Welcome to the world of the 50-year-old first‑time father of twins, where the combination of three-hourly feeds, double nappy changes, squalls of infant bawling and trying to work five days a week saps every ounce of energy from creaking bone and jaded grey matter. Late arrivals: Paul Connelly with his partner Donna and their twins Caitlin (white sweater) and Leila (grey sweater) Yet far from cursing myself for leaving it so late, I believe late-life fatherhood has been a blessing for me. With our patience, solvency, security and abundance of time, I am convinced we old dads are better equipped for this task than our 20 and 30‑year-old selves would ever have been. For while the accepted wisdom is that your 20s and 30s are the ideal age for first-time fathers, this, I've come to believe, is utter tosh. Don't get me wrong: it's tough. All my male friends, mostly navigating the choppy waters of teenage children, warned me it would be arduous. Peter, a father of 14-year-old twins, said before my girls" birth, one month shy of my 50th birthday: "It will be much tougher than you can ever imagine. I only just made it and I was 36. I can't even begin to guess how tough it will be for a 50-year-old. One of the great ironies of being a man is that our gradual diminishing of virility is what fosters the qualities likely to turn us into good fathers Peter was right - it's been far harder than I thought it would be. And most of the time I do look as though I've just escaped from a collapsing building. So, why did I leave it so long to be a father? It was a mixture of selfishness, choice and bad luck. I've been with my girlfriend, Donna, for 15 years. She's the love of my life. When we met we were journalists working for newspapers. It was, it must be said, quite a glamorous life. I travelled round the world interviewing rock and film stars, while Donna worked mostly in London, organising photoshoots and picture editing. When we had time together we were out every night. Children were the last thing on our minds - we were too busy having a good time. We felt the occasional stab of pressure from our families to settle down and reproduce. Both of our parents had children young. My mother had my eldest sister when she was 19, while Donna was born when her mother was 24. Yet I'd never felt broody. I have several nephews and nieces and am fond of them all. But I could dip in and out of their lives. I didn't want the burden of children of my own. I liked being able to drop everything to, for example, fly to Tokyo to interview rock bands at short notice. I liked being able to surprise Donna with a spontaneous weekend in Paris. I enjoyed the freedom. Donna's indifference to children stemmed from wanting a career. She was very good at her job and wanted to see how far it would take her. She, too, had nieces and nephews, and if she wanted a child fix, she would pop round to see one of her sisters. We had a good life, so why ruin it with children? As the years progressed, however, there were almost imperceptible changes to the landscape of our lives. Paul Connolly believes his calmer nature will stand him in good stead as the girls get older We were still working very hard and enjoying three or four holidays a year, but to what end? We felt our lives had become a little pointless. After all, hedonistic 30 and 40-year-olds are a little sad. It didn't help that nearly all our friends had children. What were we missing? Donna, in particular, started to pine for children. So we tried. But to no avail. As the months and then years passed, we became resigned to the prospect of a childless future and cursed our early hesitation. Our last chance, at the respective ages of 38 (Donna) and 48 (me), was IVF. We went to our first consultation brimming with hope. It didn't last long. They analysed our DNA and assessed our chances of conceiving at between 7 and 11 per cent. Pretty hopeless, in other words. Donna came away distraught. Being a man, I suppressed the rolling tumult of dismay and thwarted desires, knowing it would do Donna no good to see me in meltdown. However, we decided to give it a go and endured two gruelling, depressingly fruitless, NHS-funded IVF cycles. Increasing the generation gap by delaying having children is an important factor in reducing population growth, Paul believes The woman endures needles, surging hormones and the indignity of being prodded and excavated. The man? Here's a wee bit of Tupperware and off you trot to that little room, sonny. One summer's day in 2012, Donna came running into the kitchen waving a pregnancy test: "It's positive, I'm pregnant!" She started to cry, which started me off. It seemed too good to be true. Unfortunately, it was. Five subsequent tests were negative. How she had got that first positive result we didn't know. We settled into deep, resigned despondency. We almost didn't bother with the third and final NHS-funded IVF cycle. Donna wasn't sure she could cope and the clinic's staff were hardly any more optimistic, deciding to implant two of the three fertilised eggs in the hope that "perhaps one of them might stick." On November 10, 2012, Donna had another positive pregnancy test. After the summer's overwhelming dejection we weren't immediately ecstatic. We couldn't allow ourselves to be. Three weeks later, we had an appointment at the clinic for a scan. "I can confirm that you are pregnant," the doctor smiled. But before we had a chance to react, he continued: "Indeed, you are doubly pregnant." Even now, writing these words, my eyes fill with tears. We were having twins. The accepted wisdom is that your 20s and 30s are the ideal age for first-time fathers is utter tosh, Paul Connolly says Caitlin and Leila are eight months old. They are bright, sparky girls with defined, and very different, personalities. Caitlin is a little daredevil with a tendency towards drama, while Leila is calm and laid-back. They could not look more different. Caitlin is the spitting image of her mother, while poor Leila looks a lot like her father when he was a baby. What they have in common, however, is the need for a lot of attention. And, as any parent of twins can tell you, twins aren't twice as much work as a single baby - it's more like three times as much. So, yes, it's no surprise that the toil is showing on this 50-year-old body of mine. I've become noticeably greyer during the last eight months, my back often seizes up as I bend down from my 6ft 5in height to retrieve a scuttling baby from imminent danger and I can't remember the last time I didn't feel fatigued to the core. 'I've known success, failure, bright starts and traumatic endings. Unlike younger fathers, I'm old enough to know that I don't know everything.' Paul Connolly But the pros, I believe, outnumber the cons many times over. The fact I work from home is a boon. I could be really involved in their lives right from the start. As Donna has pointed out, this would not have been possible ten years ago when I had an office job. I'm at the age where I can afford to pick and choose my work. Yes, I won't deny that should either of my girls be tomboys and demand a game of football in the garden, I'd struggle. I've had six knee ops due to football injuries and am unable to break into much of a run. But for me, the cons of being an older father end there. As men age, so their testosterone levels tend to dip. Some research suggests that after 30, levels of the hormone fall by 1 per cent a year. A drop in testosterone makes men less reactive and more patient. Thus, one of the great ironies of being a man is that our gradual diminishing of virility is what fosters the qualities likely to turn us into good fathers. I'm a good example. For much of my life I've had a volcanic temper, but in recent years it's calmed noticeably. And since the girls were born it's been under lock and key. If one of them goes into an inexplicable hour-long crying jag, I don't become cross; I try to calm her as best I can. I think for an older man to consider fatherhood, there needs to be a good chance he will see the child through to adulthood Paul Connolly, father of twins Even a decade ago I'm certain I would not have had the patience and would have headed straight to the pub. Now, I rock them and whisper "It's OK, Daddy's here," until they settle. My calmer nature will stand me in good stead as the girls get older. My father was a "hit first, ask questions later" type of dad. I swore I would not be this type of parent with my children. My relatively advanced years will help give me that pause between thought and action. I've also seen life. I've known success, failure, bright starts and traumatic endings. Unlike younger fathers, I'm old enough to know that I don't know everything. I know I am not invincible and that each moment shared with my daughters is to be savoured. Sometimes I feel a little sorry for young fathers - what wisdom can they pass on to their children? I am also far less selfish at 50 than I was at 30. This is due mainly to having accomplished a lot in my life. I've played sport at a high level, enjoyed professional success, got up to no good with rock stars and travelled extensively. I don't feel a need to do any of it again. It's not as if my life is over, rather that these things are not as important to me as spending time with my family. Work is still important to me, but it has to bend to accommodate my family life, not vice versa. As an older dad, I'm also doing my bit to combat overpopulation. A society in which everyone has children in their 20s will grow much faster than one in which parents wait until their 40s or 50s. If I'd had Caitlin and Leila in my 20s, they would probably have children of their own by now, rather than be trying to chew the tails off one of our cats. Increasing the generation gap by delaying having children is an important factor in reducing population growth. I'm sure there will be those who'll criticise me for being too old to be a first-time dad, who will claim I'm being selfish. Selfish for bringing two children into the world who will be loved and adored? Selfish for raising two girls who will grow into self-assured, confident young women with a contribution to make to society? Others will say it's unfair to have a child when you know age is against you. But death doesn't always follow the rules of logic. Four of my friends lost parents at a very young age. And I may be a big lad, but I have two 15st, 84-year-old aunts and an even more robust uncle of 88. The Connollys tend to be built for comfort and high mileage. If a man feels he has the energy and love to father children, age need not be a barrier - though I can't have been alone in feeling queasy when Rupert Murdoch had a child at 72. I think for an older man to consider fatherhood, there needs to be a good chance he will see the child through to adulthood. What is perplexing is that women, though being generally far more mature than men from an early age, run out of time physically. Donna - a sprightly 40-year-old with the engine of a 30-year-old - only just made it to motherhood, which seems crazy. Clever, driven women should be procreating. It seems like a bizarre kink in human evolution that women should have to make a late sprint for motherhood if they're ambitious enough to want a pre-child life. I'm thrilled we sneaked into the parenting game at the last minute. But that's it; there will be no more children. We want to concentrate on these two monkeys. They're plenty enough for this old man to be getting on with.