Stop Telling Me to Have a “Last-Chance Baby”

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“Can I see your ID?” the cashier asked as two bottles of Merlot made their way down the conveyor belt.

“Of course!” I exclaimed with entirely too much enthusiasm.

“Oh, you’re almost 40,” she remarked. As I nodded and braced myself for a pity compliment on good aging, she pointed to my kids. “How old are they?”

“Um, 13 and 8,” I answered, secretly wondering whether their ages reflected mine.

“Well, you better hurry up and have another one before it’s too late!”

I nervously laughed. It’s a thing I’ve been doing a lot lately, what with all the sudden randos now residing in my womb. Last week, a neighbor suggested I hurry up and have a “last-chance baby.” A few weeks earlier, my son’s dental hygienist reminded me that my eggs weren’t “getting any younger.” Then there was that chatty stranger-grandma who practically guaranteed me a daughter, but only if I didn’t “wait much longer.” [read more…]

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