you ever just feel like you’re starring in some bizarre play where everyone else got the script but you like there you are at your sister’s baby shower all pastel balloons and tiny knitted booties and everyone is just SO happy for her and like I am too really I love her but then your mom hands you this squishy warm baby one of the other guests' kids and the little thing just latches onto your finger and you’re just holding it and it smells like milk and baby powder and everything innocent and then you hear it the sigh the one your mom does that means DISAPPOINTMENT the one that implies the family line is just going to… poof end with me the eldest daughter because clearly I’m just too busy doing whatever it is I do in the city you know like paying rent and trying not to drown in student loan debt and teaching fifth graders about fractions which believe me feels like a pretty vital contribution to society but apparently not enough to propagate the species because god forbid a woman just exists without a partner and a womb that’s actively churning out future taxpayers and it's not even about the baby part really it’s just the assumption the way everyone looks at you like you’re this fascinating anomaly this woman who chose a different path or maybe didn’t choose it at all maybe life just… happened differently and you’re standing there trying to conjure up a smile that doesn’t scream “I spend my evenings grading papers and wondering if I can afford groceries AND therapy this month” while your mother’s sigh hangs in the air like a judgmental cloud and the baby in your arms just coos completely oblivious to the existential dread building inside you and you just want to scream but you can’t because it’s a baby shower and everyone is just SO happy and you’re supposed to be happy too for everyone else’s perfect little lives for their perfectly planned milestones for their perfectly fertile futures and you just smile and nod and hand the baby back and try to look like you’re just thinking about how cute the baby is and not about how you’re 35 and wondering if you even want any of that if you ever will if it's too late if you even care or if you’re just angry that everyone else decided your fate for you years ago and now you’re just living out their predictions and you feel this hot flush of anger because why do people get to decide what success looks like for you what happiness looks like for you why does it always come back to the same damn thing as if your entire worth is tied to whether or not you produce an heir for a bloodline that frankly has seen better days anyway it’s exhausting you know just constantly fighting against these invisible expectations and you just want to disappear into the city concrete for a while where nobody knows your family name or your mother’s sighs or anything about you really just anonymous and free to be whatever you are whatever that is today