I'm an older dad but I was raised by a teenage mum – and this is what I learned from both experiences

When my wife and I attended prenatal classes, this being north London, most of the other expectant parents were also in their thirties and forties – but the midwife gave a speech about how lucky the one girl in her early twenties really was

David Ginola has recently announced that he’s becoming a father again at 51 (Getty)

On reading that former Tottenham Hotspur legend and shampoo salesman David Ginola has become a father again at the age of 51, my first response was: “Sacré bleu!” Sleepless nights, smelly nappies, illogical tantrums – that’s middle age for you. Who’d want to bring kids into it? However, having become a parent at a relatively late age myself (isn’t all parenting relative?) I must confess that my primary feeling for David is neither sympathy nor disgust, but envy.

There are many advantages to becoming a parent later in life, as I fortuitously discovered. I’d just turned 37 when our first was born; with some trepidation I realised that by the time she was a teenager I’d be 50 and if she wished to run rings round me, I wouldn’t be able to catch her. (This has proved to be the case.) By the time our son was born I was nearly 40; it was with even greater trepidation that I contemplated the coming decade, yet now I look back on my forties as by far the happiest and most enjoyable years of my life.

Being an older parent means you’ve already got a lot of stupid, immature and fun stuff out of your system – travelling, clubbing, drugs – that you certainly won’t be doing any more. You don’t resent your kids for stopping you doing those things, because you’ve stopped doing them anyway. In my case, I’d spent 20 years living fast (and almost dying young) – so being a dad gave me a great excuse to change my life, leave the pub before closing time and appreciate the myriad qualities of wet wipes (disposables, naturally).

Besides, having children doesn’t stop you doing things; you just do them differently. We’ve been fortunate enough to travel widely with our kids, and seeing the world through their eyes has given me a totally different perspective. Even at home in London I view areas differently now: I no longer want to live in a “edgy” or “lively” neighbourhood, just an area with a decent park. Pubs are still theoretically possible but unless it has a family room and chips on the menu, forget it. (As for pubs that expressly forbid children, like the dump we were barred from in Liverpool recently – who’d want to go somewhere with such a misanthropic worldview?)

As the child of a mum who was 18 when I was born (as was her mum before her) and a dad who was 22, I can see there are positives in being young too. When my wife and I attended prenatal classes, this being north London, most of the other expectant parents were also in their thirties and forties. There was one young girl in her late teens or early twenties moaning that she was too young for all this, that the rest of us had the advantages of maturity and security. The midwife asked if she had family nearby; the girl nodded.

“Look around you!” said the midwife. “Many of the other people here have parents who are dead, or they are too old to help, or live too far away to offer support. As a young mum you have energy, and after giving birth unlike these your body will bounce back – you are so lucky!”

I admit we did rather resent the suggestion that our bodies wouldn’t also “bounce back” – but of course, she was right. There are pros and cons to having children at any age, but I believe late parenting gives you a new lease of life, as well as a fresh perspective on your own parents. (Of course, there’s one thing that impending parents of all ages have in common: the complete inability to comprehend just how much their lives will change.)

I didn’t set out to be a “late dad”. For years all I was interested in was booze, music and adventure, and I’m pretty certain I’d have been a woeful parent. By the time I met my wife, however, I’d had enough of the street-fighting years and yearned for the quiet life; and, to my own amazement, to be a dad. Thankfully, we got lucky – and I never regretted it for a moment, as I’m sure David Ginola won’t either. As Ginola might say, in a sexier accent than me: “Je ne regrette rien.”