Anna Henkens Schmidt

Last night I dreamed I gave birth to a baby girl. It gets worse. My husband wanted to name her Descendia.  Which, on reflection, would have been the perfect name. Because if I gave birth to a baby at 46, I would feel as though I’d descended right into the pit of hell.  Don’t get me wrong. I love babies. My happiest memories are of caring for our newborn children. If I could revisit any time in history, it would be 18 and 15 and nine years ago, snuggling my precious babies. It’s not something I want to relive now, especially on the eve of launching our first daughter off to college. And certainly not in my late 40s.  For the record, I wanted to name the baby Adette.  Yeah.  Not much better than Descendia, but when I googled it this morning, I discovered it was a real name listed on a baby name site. According to nameberry.com, Adette is a feminine name with French influences. “The 'ette' suffix typically indicates 'little' in French, suggesting 'little Ada' as a ...

I waited outside the yoga class, feeling every bit like a middle schooler abandoned by her friends. The instructor was nowhere to be seen. Sweaty men grunted over weight machines. Others pounded the treadmill. A desk worker stared into the void. Had I gotten the time wrong? I pulled out my phone, opened the app, and found the schedule in black and white. Yoga stretch at 7 a.m. This was the location listed.  I arranged my mat. Placed my shoes perpendicular to the wall. Took an unnecessary sip of water.  No one looked in my direction.  The clock said 7:05. An older woman sauntered into the gym. She wore leggings, a long T-shirt, and sandals. Her body was goals—toned, muscular, effortless. Relief washed over me like a cleansing breath. “Are you taking this yoga class?” I asked.  She stopped, glancing at my bare feet. “No. I don’t do that kind of stuff.” “Oh.” “Exercise,” she clarified. “I don’t exercise.” “Noted.” Would this be an okay time to point out she was currentl...