Late pregnancies shouldn’t be framed as freakish feats or guaranteed back-up plans, but as stories of chance
Lord knows there are precious few stories these days that make one feel anything other than on the verge of striking Munch’s Scream face. But last week, I found one that made me do something I hadn’t done at a newspaper in a while: smile. “Chloë Sevigny, 45, is pregnant,” read the headline. “Ahh, how lovely!” I actually said aloud, to the alarm of the dog.
I’ve always liked Sevigny, who manages to be incredibly cool without also seeming like a complete dick, making her pretty much unique in the pantheon of cool celebrities (and, let’s be honest, cool people full stop). When I lived in New York I went through a mid-30s mini-breakdown about whether I would ever have kids. Occasionally, I’d see Sevigny, who is four years older than me, hanging out in my local park, looking like a woman perfectly happy with her life, as opposed to one who was going boss-eyed from a myopic desire to get pregnant.
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