When I was in my mid-twenties I decided that I would adopt a child when I turned thirty-two. I'll turn thirty-two next summer and by all accounts there's little hope for coming through on this promise. I live in a one-room studio and am nowhere near stable enough to convince any adoption agency that I'm parenting material. I'm still single so there's no immediate path for a more organic turn at procreating in the near future. I don't imagine being able to settle down in either respect over the next several years, and I think I can feel the beginnings of all my dead babies drying up inside me.
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