“Why aren’t you married?”
Ugh. Kids. They’re so unfiltered!
“Ahhh, well, you know, maybe I will one day and maybe I won’t. Not everyone gets married you, know?” I tell my niece. She tells me I should get married and have kids so she can have cousins. Ouch.
The following morning, I take a soiled blouse to the dry cleaners.
“Do you know what this stain is?” he asks, peering closely at the shirt. I try recalling the events of the long night out when he asks, “Is it crayon?”
It sinks in only later why he suggested crayons. But of course. I look the age of a woman with children who’d use crayons. Officially depressing. Very depressing.
And because all good things happen in threes, later that day I see my college classmate Christine announce yet another pregnancy via Facebook. Christine is the last person I thought would have kids. I thought she’d spend the rest of her life traveling the world taking amazing photographs, but now the most exotic place she gets to is Maine where she takes her kids to visit the grandparents.
Pregnancy talks around me these days are all about it being the “last one.” “this is it,” and “no more after this.” Moms of twos and threes ask about my experience with IUDs. The awkwardness of of that inquiry is lost on them. At least my niece thinks it’s still a possibility. People my age have concluded differently.