Until recently, I haven’t given my age a second thought, nor how close I am to keeping Werther’s Originals in my purse— until I did the math. I could get a dowager’s hump any day now!
My mom had me, the baby of the family, at thirty years old. I had my girls at thirty-four and thirty-six. Although I still felt like a clueless, mere babe, I recall being in the “high-risk granny uterus” category during my pregnancy with Poppy. It wasn’t that great.