Late in the Game

Yesterday, I was in a crowded waiting room, trying to read Joan Didion’s Miami. I kept being distracted by the conversations around me, though, so I didn’t get very far into my book.

A couple of middle-aged women cooed over a two-year-old girl with a sippy cup. They launched into a discussion about their kids and grandkids, and one of the women had a rather fascinating story about having her first and only child, how she wasn’t supposed to have kids, the physical difficulties she endured during the pregnancy. She admitted to the other woman that she would have to wait a few more years before she’d get grandchildren, as she’d had her daughter “late in the game.”

Then she said, “I didn’t have my baby until I was twenty-nine.”

If it had been possible for me to dissolve into my chair, I would have.


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