My supervisor looked around my cubicle and noted the standard company issue balloon and candy that show up when you have a birthday. "Oh, you just had a birthday?" he said intelligently. "Yup, last week," I said. "So what was it, 29?" he asked, thinking he was amusing. "No, 50," I said casually. He blinked in shock. "Oh, um, well, you don't look it."

I'm beginning to wonder if admitting to that "advanced" age is a good idea. Because it sounds a whole lot older than just 49.

Nah. Seriously, with the greying of America, you are so not alone...Me, for instance.

I think lots of people are still caught up on the 'women don't want to admit their age' malarky...so when you do, it's surprising and they don't know how to react. Or, at least that is my experience.

Actually at work, maybe better off not admitting you are 50. As someone 51, I will tell you lots of age discrimination out there.

I'm proud to be 38. When I say it, it seems so weird, because I still feel about 28 or so. And everyone thinks I'm in my late 20's, so I am fine with it.

I, too, never wanted children, and I think I have said it before, I would have hesitated a LOT more about getting married if D was a full-time custodial parent. I realize that circumstances can change in a minute, but the odds are against it. I would deal, and be fine, I think, and I love M -- but summers and holidays are really good for me.

Bonny, I am so glad you're not dead!

Guys, those Macaroni Grill frozen dinners -- the chicken florentine -- was really good! I added some chicken broth and more spinach, and it was quick and better than the Bertolli dinners, which I have been happy with.

People tell me I'd surprise myself.

I do fucking hate that. I don't want to surprise myself. Not now. Just...no. And, not all people surprise themselves. Not all good people make good parents. Sometimes the good choice is to not. Sometimes the neutral choice is to not.

Bonny, I am so glad you're not dead!

Woot! Me too.

I don't know what so many people have this fantasy that everyone has good parents.

I had wonderful parents. Who were, at certain times and combinations of circumstances, divorced, unemployed, addicted, mentally ill, dead, single-parenting, and/or generally without many time and support resources even when they eventually got the money resources. My resentment is more directed at the same people's fantasy that "good" always has to look like "available for mid-day commuting in a newish car".

Totally preaching to the choir, I know, not to mention late to the party.

Not everybody is meant to or simply wants to be a parent. I'm super proud and supportive of my friends who've chosen that route. It's not easy, especially when there's such censure against the choice.

My resentment is more directed at the same people's fantasy that "good" always has to look like "available for mid-day commuting in a newish car".

An incredibly good point.

You know, I've definitely thought about and wanted to be a parent, at different times of my life. But one of the things that seriously hampered my desire was society's expectations of what a good parent is. I would have gone ballistic at how judgy people can be (other parents and non-parents) and I don't know that I wouldn't have just been angry a lot of the time. Damn do I wish we had a more truly supportive and accepting society.

I am also glad you're not dead, Bonny, for purely selfish reasons--I'd have missed your wit and insight.

ChiKat, I'm glad the new vet is less gung-ho about invasive treatments. I know that tightrope you're walking, and I still have to be stern with myself for second guessing decisions I've made in the past. But my criteria then was, and would be now, what would I want for myself in that position. Being loved and coddled and allowed to enjoy my life is pretty high on that list, I'll tell you.

Confession: I had kids because that was the expected Next Thing. I was crap at it (Well, I was good at getting and being pregnant and delivering healthy, pretty babies. I was crap at parenting). I was way too young, and still too self-involved. If they hadn't been such stellar little human beings and suckered me into falling for them completely, I never would have made the effort to learn how to parent. I love my kids fiercely.

Looking back and knowing what I do now? I would have chosen not to have kids. There were moments of joy that I could never have experienced otherwise. But if we're being totally honest (and my offspring will not read this, ever), those moments don't balance the worry, the anger, the awful feelings of failure and futility, the certainty they're going to grow up to be axe murderers, the fear that your half-jest isn't half. I love my kids. But my life would have been happier, less stressful, and more personally fulfilling without them. Different uses for modest incomes, more travel, more experiencing the world first-hand instead of through them, insuring they had opportunities--which they often devalued and wasted.

Again, I emphasize, I love my kids. But it's a relief and a welcome development that parenthood is no longer a perceived requirement for being a married adult.