“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…]