My life is a kid-free zone. There are no children in my life. This is not a good thing, it’s not a bad thing, it’s just the way it is.

I am an only child, so no nephews or nieces. Of my cousins on my mother’s side, I am the fifth of seven. The oldest had a child first, then the second oldest, and so on. When it got to me, the baby train stalled for a few years, then it hit the next one in line, my cousin Anik. That was a milestone for me, an official realization that I was “skipping my turn”. The next one (and last) in line just dutifully reproduced, completing the cycle. I feel I have very little in common with the rest of my familial cohort, and hardly ever see them. They have bungalows, I have underoos. They hang out with my parents. I mean, I adore my folks, but I wouldn’t hang out with them if they weren’t my folks.

These differences always make me feel like an adolescent, a woman-child, not fully grown. For some reason, mortgage doesn’t count when it’s on a condo.

I’m thinking about all this because the universe has lately been conspiring to make me ovulate. Spring is springing. Last week, Paolo and his beautiful daughter Eva came for a lovely visit. Yesterday, I spent the day focus-testing my game with 5- to 7-year-olds. This morning, I went out for breakfast with Lynne and little Justine. I’ve seen more kids this week than I do in a typical season, and they are fantastic. I tend not to realize that.

It reminds me of what you end up not having, when you want it all. There was a time when this line of thinking would have been depressing to me, but no longer. I no longer feel like I could have made different choices, considering who I am. It probably helps that I’m surrounded with like-minded individuals who will either reproduce very late or not at all. Thank you education, thank you choices, modern life, individuality, egocentrism, thank you irrepressible wanderlust. Part of loving oneself is owning who you are, not constantly judging it. And if I ever reproduce, I’ll own that too.

As pseudo-wise as that sounds, it’s still probably easier to feel grown-up when you shop at Loblaws for bulk butt-wipes.