What’s really annoying is people who find it so extremely odd that I have a 19-month-old kid at my extremely advanced age that they feel the need to ask me about it several times in a row.
“So. . . you’re saying she is your daughter?”
“She is.”
“Daughter?”
For just in case my language skills are so poor that I don’t know what the word means.
“Yes, my daughter.”
“Huh. And she’s how old?”
“Still 19 months old.”
“Huh. I guess I just didn’t know you had such a young kid. Your daughter, eh?”
One would think that academics, at least, would be more acquainted with the possibility of 40-year-old women having kids, but no such luck. I’m not in the least self-conscious about my age. But this is boring to me because I only like to repeat things in the classroom where I get paid to do it.
I have a colleague who gave birth at 47. I’m thinking of sending these folks to her so that she can give them a coronary with her late-life fertility and lighten my burden.
Maybe I should get a T-shirt that says, “Yes, I gave birth at 39. You mind?
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